#i am wailing as we speak
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i am a huge advocate for sleep if i see one of you awake at 1 am or not sleeping on time reading my works i will crawl out of your bed and i will force you to rest. in peace. ☺️ /j
#blue talks! ✧˖*°࿐#no srsly#pls sleep#as someone who sleeps like three hours a night bc of school#i can tell you it's not worth it#i am wailing as we speak
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"the first casualty, when war comes, is truth"
i wish i wasn't writing this.
i wish i didn't have to caveat this whole statement with "by the way, i strongly condemn the killing of innocent civilians in any circumstance whatsoever" because i am a muslim and obviously every muslim voice represents all 1.8 billion of us, right? but your faves can go on instagram and loudly proclaim there is no two sides to this - i stand with the apartheid state bombing and starving children! with no consequences whatsoever. right.
i wish i didn't have to filter every bit of information i saw because of rampant lies and misinformation boosted across social media, especially when it shrouds the actual atrocities happening. it's still unconfirmed whether 40 babies were murdered by hamas militants - if true, it is an awful, awful act done by the lowest of the low. but as we speak, 447 children have been confirmed to be killed - murdered - in gaza just in the last few days.
i wish i didn't see videos of those murders. i wish i could wipe away the horrific wailing of a father as he clawed his daughter's lifeless body out of rubble, falling to his knees as he cried for her to wake. i wish i didn't see mothers clutching small, bloodied bundles in their hands, screaming and screaming and screaming. i wish i could forget that i have been seeing iterations of these videos coming out of palestine from 2021, 2014, 2009, 2006 - oh, basically anytime israel decided to launch an offensive on gaza.
i wish children didn't make up 47% of gaza's 2 million population, of which 4 out of 5 were living with PTSD and depression as per a report from last year (aka before this latest shitstorm started), because living in an open air prison under constant threat of bombing really helps make those childhood memories extra special. i wish these children were considered as human as those across the border, their lives as important and meaningful.
i wish that literal war crimes were not taking place in gaza right now. this includes the war crimes by hamas of taking innocent hostages - hamas, may i remind the reader, is a palestinian terrorist organisation but not all palestinians are hamas - and also the war crimes of the israeli government by literally ordering a siege of gaza with "no electricity, no food, and no fuel." this is to ensure that the children who aren't already dead are well on their way, i guess.
i wish we weren't watching an ethnic cleansing literally taking place in front of our eyes.
i wish i didn't feel so helpless. i wish i could console my friends who are on the daily losing multitudes of relatives, and who now have no way of finding out who else they've lost until the electricity comes back on. i wish my words didn't feel so hollow.
i wish i could wave a palestinian flag in solidarity but i may get arrested for it here, in the uk, so better not.
i wish. i wish. i wish.
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— JJK MEN WHEN YOU CAN’T SLEEP !
a/n: reupload from my old blog. jeehjajs i need them so badly.
NANAMI knows you’re not asleep. if there’s one thing you know most about nanami, it’s how light of a sleeper he is. that’s why, even though you’re struggling to fall asleep, you try not to twist and turn around the sheets, though that fails. it’s only when you hear him clear his throat (even though he did it on purpose just to let you know that he was awake), you decide to gently tap his shoulder. he responds immediately, shifting to his side so he can face you. “yes, baby? what’s up?” he asks, raspy voice and all. although it’s 2 am, you can perfectly make out nanami’s beautiful face with the help of the moon light, via the sheer curtains in the room. you find yourself getting lost in his beauty and it’s not until he gently grabs your hands and intertwines it with his that you finally get the courage, (or at least attempt to), speak to him about your restlessness. but he understands – he always does. “i’m not feeling that tired either,” he winks, “let me make us some tea and talk.” you want to tell him that you know he’s completely exhausted, but he’s already pushing the both of you out of bed and to the kitchen. you figured that he may not mind staying up for a bit more.
it’s not until you tap TOJI’s shoulder for the fifth time that he blinks and slowly comes to his senses. poor guy, he can hear your mumbles but he isn’t fully able to process what’s going on because of how drowsy he is. at this point, you’re staring at him with teary eyes and all toji can do is deadpan, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. “i told ya not to read the ending of that book this late y’know. if ya read it earlier, y’could’ve had more time to recover. ” he grunts. you sniff once and nod your head and all toji can do is roll his eyes as he brings you into a tight embrace. he can act irritated all he wants, but he finds it so entertaining that the book he recommended you to read really took this much of a toll on you. he read it on a business trip and thought you’d really enjoy it. boy was he wrong. “they didn’t end up being together, toji.” you wail, arms wrapping around his torso even tighter. “i know, baby. i know.” he sighs, planting a kiss on your forehead when you sniffle again. “toji, we can never break up. if i couldn’t handle the book’s break up, i won’t handle ours.” and he only chuckles, because honestly, why is this book putting thoughts like these in your head? it’s fiction, toji thinks, but then again, it’s you we’re talking about. “ya can’t get rid of me, ‘m in it for the long run, babe.”
if you can’t go to sleep, SATORU will definitely try to help or (for lack of better words) force you to go to sleep. when he feels you shuffling around, he’ll grunt before placing his body on top of yours, hugging you tightly before mumbling “sleep” in your hair. “i’ll try if you get off of me. you’re crushing me to death!” you say and he contemplates for a few seconds, but ultimately decides that you’re a really comfortable body pillow. from how he’s laying, he can feel your heart beating and your soft, steady breaths and it makes him wonder why he never thought of using you as a mattress before. “promise?” even though you nod your head, satoru can feel your smile on his collarbone which easily gives away that you’re not telling the truth. regardless, satoru still rolls off to the side and stares at the ceiling with you. “what’s bothering you,” he almost whispers, it’s soft and genuine and that alone is enough to make your heart throb at 2 am. it’s also really funny seeing his concerned look right now because he doesn’t know he’s overanalyzing the whole situation. you see, you didn’t eat dinner tonight. satoru ordered you takeout on his way home because he assumed you’d be hungry, but you weren’t, so you let him have yours.what you failed to realize though, is how hungry you’d be and now you’re facing the consequences. you finally sigh and turn your body so you’re face to face with him on the bed. “‘toru,” you bite back the laugh that wants to come out because of how serious satoru looks right now. you figured that you should tell him straight up to ease his mind of any possible negative thoughts he could be thinking. “i’m really hungry.” and gojo sighs, (you can’t tell if it’s of relief or disappointment so you choose the latter), and props his head up so his elbows are supporting him. “i am too.” “you ate your takeout and mine.” you mirror satoru’s actions, propping your elbow to get a better look at his face and he blinks at you twice. you can’t tell if he’s lying or not. “do you want food or not?” with that, you roll off the bed before stating, “i’ll get the car keys!”
#★⋆˚ signed by romi !#jjk x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk oneshot#jjk smut#jujustu kaisen smut#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#anime smut#nanami headcanons#nanami hcs#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo fluff#toji smut#toji x reader#toji x you#nanami fluff#toji x y/n#toji fushiguro#toji fluff#jjk x you#toji headcanons#gojo headcanons
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Woof woof… whimper
(Part 10… but technically a continuation of part 9)
Content:
Dub-Con/Non-Con, Knotting
It takes your cock-addled brain a second too long to process what Soap’s just said. What he’s implied. And by then he’s all ready for you to buck against him, confused and angry.
“That’s so — that’s not funny!” You shout.
But he’s got you pinned thoroughly, your chest flat against the mattress and your ass flush against his hips. His cock buried so deep you can feel the hot head of it bullying the deepest parts of you. All your struggling does is make you clench up tight around him, makes him feel that much bigger and meaner inside you. Makes him grunt low and ragged in your ear, all animal appreciation.
“I’m not laughin’,” he replies, nipping at your shoulder.
“G-get off of me, get out, get—”
His hand slides into your hair again, gets a firm hold at the roots and presses your face into the blankets, muffling your protests. Shushes you like soothing a panicked animal.
“Now, now,” he chides, “I still gotta prove I’m not compensating, don’t I?”
You suck in a breath, squeezing your eyes shut. There have to be a million explanations other than the absolutely ludicrous one he’s just presented to you. Cameras, microphones….
How did he know where you live?
How did he know where the spare key was?
How did he know where your bedroom was?
How did he find you at the bar?
Stalker, you tell yourself. He’s a creep, you’ve always known that.
Then where’s your dog?
“N-no,” you warble, bucking again. Nearly scream as his cock twitches inside you; only reason you don’t is because you can barely breathe as it is. He’s so deep inside that he’s practically in your lungs. “No way you’re my — there’s no way. You’re crazy. I’m gonna— ah!”
He draws out as you speak, gradual, and then plunges in again all at once, cutting you off. Grinds his hips in a dirty circle too, burying himself as deep as he can.
“Aww, poor thing,” he coos. “S’alright, baby, I knew this would happen. We jus’ gotta get all those big, scary feelings out first. Then I can explain it all nice and slow.”
You try to scream at him. Try to curse him out, tell him there’s no way in hell you’re listening to a word he says now; never mind letting him spend another second with his dick in you.
All that comes out is a high-pitched keen as he starts fucking you without further preamble. It aches, but you can’t tell in what way. If it hurts, if it’s the best you’ve ever had. Both? Your nerves feel haywire, brain dragged to lust-stupid depths.
“See, there we go,” he rasps, punctuating with a sharp snap of his hips on that last word. “My perfect little mate. Your cunt was made for my cock, made to be bred by me. Isn’t that right?”
You try to shake your head, but his grip keeps you from doing more than sending electricity down your spine, hair pulled taut.
“Yeah it fucking is,” he growls to his own question, canting your hips back further. His fingers grip cruelly into the flesh, sure to leave bruises. You wish you didn’t enjoy the sensation, wish it didn’t make you spasm around him helplessly.
“‘Bout time I owned you right back, don’t you think?” He continues, never stopping or even slowing. You yelp as he tugs your necklace again, arching your back at a steep angle. “Even collared yourself up for me. All it needs is my name.”
Something about that drives some awful, slutty part of your brain fucking wild. The idea of you with a tight leather choker — a collar — with his name (you don’t think about what name) hanging from your throat…
“Like that, don’t you?” He chuckles meanly. “Who’s my good little slut? Who’s my perfect, soaked little breeding whore?”
Tears spring to your eyes as you realize the “I am” is right there on the tip of your over-saturated tongue. If you had air, brain cells, any ability at all, you’d be crying it to the ceiling like the toy he’s treating you as.
He’s going to ruin you, you think. He’s going to fuck you broken. You’re crying and wailing on his cock, think you’d actually throw a tantrum if he pulled out and left you on the edge right now. Would, you realize in horror, beg for him to keep going.
And then he snakes his hand around your hip and starts rubbing your clit — fast, hard little circles. Just the way you like; the way you’d do it yourself. Relentlessly and cruel, even when you try to writhe away from how fast you can feel yourself getting to the edge. Almost frightened by it, how quickly he’s mastered your body’s pleasure.
Frightened by the extra stimulation at your entrance, too. A little extra friction at first — shocking because you’re leaving a puddle on the sheets. But then the friction becomes pressure, becomes… more.
“W-wha….?” You slur, hips wriggling.
Soap (Johnny?) snarls in your ear and that feeling at your entrance grows. Feels, you realize with alarm, like stretching.
“Gonnae take my knot so well,” he rambles, accent thick like syrup, trickling into your empty brain, filling you up with meaningless sounds. “Plug you up full of my cum, breed you right just like you need.”
Any questions or confusion are whisked away by the extra stimulation at your entrance. The sensitive nerves getting just as much brutal attention as your inner walls, your cervix, that sweet spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
It all becomes too much all at once and crashes through you, devastating. You clamp down around him tight and needy, lean all your weight back into his thighs. And he practically howls as he sinks into you and stays, grinding and humping without ever actually pulling out again. You feel a flood of heat that seems to go on for an absurdly long time, cock pulsing against your overstimulated walls, milked for every last drop.
You shudder as your brain tries and fails to process it all. Like trying to decipher a foreign language from white noise. It’s nothing but static to you.
You can feel a tongue against your shoulder, scraped of blunt teeth. Soap/Johnny licking the sweat from your skin and nipping bruises into the flesh. You make an annoyed noise that comes out whinier than intended, shoving at his face.
“Get off, you bastard.” Your voice is pathetic, thick with tears and fractured in a hundred places.
“Can’t, bonnie, even if I wanted to.”
You scowl, try to look at him over your shoulder. He takes that opportunity to nuzzle against your temple.
“What?” You ask. “What are you talking about?”
“Did ye hear me?” He chuckles. “Well, maybe not with the way you were screamin’. You’re all knotted up, baby. Can’t pull out — ‘less you want this pretty pussy to tear.”
You jolt, nearly yank yourself off out of pure fear, but Johnny keeps you still again, humming.
“Easy now,” he croons. “Still fussy? Need another to settle down?”
Useless as your brain may be, it recognizes what he means by “another one.” You think you might pass out.
“No,” you snap, petulant even to your own ears. “I want you to explain… explain everything.”
“Alright, hen. C’mere.”
He gently lays you out prone on the bed, then rolls you both on your sides. Hitches your leg up over his hip. You want to protest, but it helps the ache in your poor cunt.
“H-how are you still hard?” You pant, traitorous pussy twitching around him.
He growls in your ear, can feel him grinning against the lobe. “Will stay that way for a bit, lass. Don’ worry, you jus’ have to lay here all nice and still. Keep me warm while I explain things to you.”
And he does. How there are shapeshifters out there in the world, rare as they are. That he comes from a line of them. Recruited to military, as most of them are.
How he was on standard patrol when he smelled you for the first time.
“Like a wet dream, bonnie. Fertile. Spring. Smelled like mine.”
How he instantly knew you were his mate. That he just needed to make you see it. Never a good time to explain it all to you — and then there were interlopers and your silly little books and your pesky toys. How he tried to drop hints around the house, let you come to the correct conclusion on your own. But you never did.
“Honestly it’s a good thing I’m here, hen. You’re so oblivious. Lived with a man and never even knew it.”
That he tried to go about it the other way ‘round, as a man, but you’re just so stubborn. And then how it all led up to tonight. To you finally, finally realizing what you really needed: your mate.
You should be angry, furious. There’s a lot to say about… well, all of it. It’s horrifying and violating and… and…
And he hasn’t stopped bullying your clit since he started talking. Cruel, tight circles. Drawing the hood back with two fingers and stroke with a third, slow and languid and just soft enough to make your head spin. Rhythmless taps. Even pinches when you try to chew him out at one point, half turning to scowl. Instead have his tongue lapping sloppily at yours as your mouth gapes open soundlessly.
Makes you cum twice just like that without ever interrupting his own story, cock still hilted — knotted deep inside you. Honestly, you probably miss a good portion of it, some of the finger details for sure. But you get the broad strokes (among other strokes).
He licks at your overstimulated tears when he’s finished, nuzzling and kissing your cheek.
“I-I miss my dog,” you mumble finally, hands balled against your chest.
“Aww, darlin’,” he sighs, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We’re one and the same. I’m always your boy no matter what form I take.”
It would be more comforting if his dick didn’t throb calling himself your boy.
“‘Sides, I’m better than a normal mutt,” he continues, tugging you against his chest. You want to hate that is instantly makes you feel a little better. “Wolves mate for life, after all.”
#sorry this is a little shorter but uhhhhh i never know where to go after smut#anyway hope yall like it#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#thoughts™️#dark fic#woof woof johnny#woof woof au#wolf john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish
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He finds you falling apart; in complete shambles, a sobbing mess.
Malleus
He isn't certain how to handle such strong emotions, he doesn't know what to do when he finds you sobbing in the garden. As the tears fall down your cheeks and you mutter apologies to the fae, All he can do is sit next to you and kindly offer his shoulder and words of comfort, waiting for you to calm down so he may ask what is causing your soul such misery.
He hopes you will communicate what it is he could do to assist you. If a hug is what you need, he shall provide. If silence is what you wish for, he will grant it as such. If you are in dire need of a distraction, he knows a place you will adore while he speaks about its history. He is not the type to simply assume what will help in this situation- he will awkwardly hover until you guide him to the best possible course of action.
You must expect to find new trinkets and shiny objects to come your way for the next week- he wants to make it abundantly clear he wishes for you to smile once more, and he hopes to achieve that by his little gifts.
"My dearest, what causes these tears to flow so heavy from your eyes? Whatever it may be, I shall be by your side and face it with you, for you needn't suffer alone. Now tell me, who do I need to confront for stealing your precious smile away from me?"
Lilia
Lilia had known the ins and outs of emotions fairly well. He could easily read people- you were no exception. He understands immediately if you need a hug, to be left in peace, or to be endlessly pampered. Upon hearing your painful wails of sorrow, he was quick to react.
Any attemps at apologizing to him for your sobs were fallen upon deaf ears. You were quickly chastised for those "sorrys" and were engulfed in his embrace, his hand stroking your hair or rubbing circles on your back gently with a tune of old escaping his lips. He had used this method for his inconsolable children in the past, and he found it just as effective for adults as well.
Even thanking the fae for being there for you was also quickly shut down. He insists that you need not thank or apologize to him for your tears, for you were important to him thus it was a requirement he be there in your time of misery. You felt comfortable talking to him about your woes, the red eyed fae listening intently whilst brewing you tea, setting up video games, or cooking you a meal (you didn't have much of the energy to reject this offer, he was doing it purely out of concern for your being. Crying takes a lot of of someone, he must do his due diligence and be certain you are properly sustained!)
"Ah...it pains me to see such tears. Remember, time moves forward, and you shall prevail past this little bump in the road, my little bat. Would you like to talk to me about it? I give good advice, if I do say so myself! Or shall we change the pace and play some games? I am not moving from this spot until you are smiling and laughing again!"
Kisses, cuddles, and comfort <3
#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#malleus draconia#lilia vanrouge#twst x reader#malleus#malleus x reader#twst lilia x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader#malleus draconia x reader#i was crying until i started writing this to vent and now im slay#delusion for the win
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The mark of a soulmate
Small drabbles about meeting your soulmate.
Gn reader x Silver, Rook, Trey, Sebek, Kalim
Tw: None
2.5k words
Soulmates. A strange concept to you, but not to the residents of this strange world. Will you find yours?
When you came through that mirror, to this strange place of Twisted wonderland, you could feel a sting on your wrist. A small pain, like a sting of a needle, and then it was gone. When you had looked down at it, you had seen an intricate design. Curious about it, you asked the headmage.
“That is the mark of a soulmate! My, are they not common where you’re from?”
You shook your head.
“Not to worry. I’ll explain it to you, for I am so kind.”
“That mark is proof that out there, there is someone who is your other half. Their soul and yours complements each other in a way that no one else can. Meeting them will make you love the world just because it has them in it. Some people have multiple soulmates, others have platonic soulmates, but the most common is a romantic soulmate, and looking from your mark, it seems you have a romantic soulmate, and they’re rather close by. The mark gets darker and more defined the closer you are to them.”
With so much information, you could feel your head spinning. A soulmate? Such a thing really existed in this strange world you had been thrust upon by a dark carriage?
You stared at the headmage with a confused expression.
“Oh, you doubt me! How can you think that of your headmaster?”
You sighed.
“But how would I even know who my soulmate is?”
“You’ll feel it.”
“Feel it?”
The headmaster nodded.
“You’ll feel something pulling at your heart. Like a string.”
It all still felt like bogus to you, but who were you to deny his words? In a world filled with magic and talking animals, soulmates wasn’t such a strange concept.
“A soulmate, uh? I can worry about that later. It’s not like I’ll meet them any time soon, even if they are close by. This campus is massive.”
Silver
The mark on your wrist was a beautiful sword, glimmering silver enveloped by roses and their thorns, but they weren’t menacing, more like a protection to the splendor of the weapon.
Being in this strange new world was stressful. You didn’t know any of the material in class or had any street smarts. You were a stranger in a strange land, and everyday felt like a fight to stay afloat and not lose yourself in the unknown.
It all felt so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help but run into a remote place and hide under a tree, tears streaming down your face, hiccups assaulting your body.
A gentle tap on your shoulder made your head shoot up.
You locked eyes with a beautiful silver haired stranger, his kind purple gaze making you want to cry even more.
“Are you alright?”
He asked, a voice so soft and soothing, you broke into tears again.
You wailed and wailed and the stranger remained in place, his comforting hand stroking your shoulder until all your tears dried up and you just hiccuped like a child who just had a tantrum.
You finally felt calmer, but embarrassment was settling in.
“It’s going to be okay.” said the stranger, his sweet voice resonating through your head and making any embarrassment die down.
Looking at his eyes again, now calmer than before, you could feel something. A gentle tug, a pull from your… heart?
Your eyes widened. According to the headmaster, this meant that this guy was your soulmate.
As if he could read your mind, he murmured:
“I think we might be soulmates.”
You tried to speak, but instead a hiccup left your mouth.
The stranger put a hand in his pocket and took out a white handkerchief, using it to gently dab at your eyes.
“Do not cry, soulmate. It will be alright. I’m here for you.”
And he smiled. A smile so soft it felt criminal to be the cause of it.
Your hiccups finally settled, you thanked him.
“Thank you, …?”
“Silver. My name is Silver.”
Rook
The mark on your wrist was of a bow and arrow, poised to hit its mark with staggering accuracy, but more in the way a Cupid would hit its mark, a piercing of the soul and not of the flesh.
For the first time since you had come to NRC, you had Crowley's permission to head to the local town in this mysterious isle.
You had missed the hustle and bustle of strangers of different ages, of being a face in a crowd with no connection, even if at every turn you could spot the tell tale uniform of NRC.
Wandering through the town, starry-eyed and distracted, you tripped on someone’s foot and fell, grabbing onto them and making them fall too.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
You quickly got up and offered him a hand, but he refused, getting up on his own.
“You dirtied my uniform shirt!!” he screamed at you, a frown etched onto his features.
From the color of his vest and his peerless complexion, you knew he was a Pomefiore student.
“I’m really sorry. I’ll clean it-”
He looked you up and down and sneered.
“I should have noticed immediately. You’re the magicless half a student of that rundown dorm. No need for you to touch my uniform. Your filthy hands will only dirty it further.”
Rage filled you to the brim, and you were about to give him a piece of your mind, when an arrow passed through you both and landed on his vest, right above his shoulder.
“What do we have here? An altercation between our Trickster and Monsieur étudiant? What seems to be the problem?”
A man spoke from behind you, his voice close to your ear.
The student in front of you turned as pale as a ghost.
“Vice-house warden Rook! T-t-there’s no problem! None at all! I was actually leaving to take care of my dirty uniform!”
He scurried away, not even looking back.
“What a difficile Monsieur. Such cruel words for something so little.”
You turned back, seeing a blond man with a bow and a quiver filled with arrows, a gentle smile decorating his sharp features.
“Thank you for saving me. He was being really horrible for no reason.”
He reached over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, and you felt your heart pulse erratically beat in your chest.
“Non, non. It was my pleasure to save you, soulmate.”
Trey
The mark on your wrist was of a playing card, three green clovers dotting its white space, comfortably in each place, pieces of a puzzle missing a hidden piece, to be found by itself and no one else.
The campus of NRC was a truly gigantic thing. It felt so labyrinthic, paths and more paths crossing with each other and becoming one or diverging into many, butterfly wings of concrete and bricks.
Getting to each class felt like a wild expedition. Where would each corridor lead you next?
You mostly relied on asking others, but in a school full of villains not many would tell you the way, or worse, not many would tell you the right way.
You stared at the edge of a corridor, no path to “turn left” like that student from Scarabia had told you.
Frustration bubbled inside you and rose up, small tears threatening to slip from your eyes, but you held strong, and kept them trapped.
You turned back around and started your scavenge for your classroom again, tracing your steps to the entrance of the school building.
You counted each step in your mind, walking backwards but sometimes looking back to make sure you were going the right way.
You didn’t even register the change in the deafening silence around you, so concentrated you were.
A pair of steps became two, and as you were about to look back, your face collided with a wall covered in fabric.
You exhaled a quick “ow”, pinching your sore nose, closed eyes watery.
“That was quite the hit. Do you need some ice?” asked the wall.
Opening said watery eyes revealed that the wall was in fact, a person.
A tall man, green hair and glasses and a worried expression.
His worry for you made you feel strangely happy.
“I don’t think I need it, but thank you. Oh! But I do need your help with something else.”
You scrambled to explain to him your problem.
“Ah, so you need to go to animal linguistics class. It’s really close by. I can take you there.”
His smile was so mature, it made you feel like you could rely on him for anything. He couldn’t be lying.
“Thank you so much, senpai!”
Giving him your brightest smile, you followed after him, your heart soaring with happiness, the mark on your wrist so defined it looked like a fresh tattoo.
He’d let you notice it for yourself.
Sebek
The mark on your wrist was of a crocodile curled around a beautiful dark rose, its piercing gaze and ferocious fangs turned to any who dare harm it, but rather than animalistic, it felt noble, like a knight protecting its liege.
The horses of the equestrian club were magnificent things, varied coats and manes and tempers, all in (sometimes not so) clean packages.
You liked observing them, their manes floating in the wind, some of them unruly, some of them as docile as a house cat, as their riders took them around and around the race track, perfecting their skills as you watched from afar.
But curiosity had gotten the best of you one day, and you decided to approach the stables.
Sneaking in right after practice, the tired horses were resting on their wooden homes, the smell of hay and horse dung infiltrating your nostrils and making you gag, but you were already here, so why stop now?
You didn’t dare to approach too much, but being this close to them made you feel better. Even in this weird magical place, some things were the same.
A loud sound came from behind you, and you felt yourself freeze. The main door to the stable had opened.
Louder than the first sound, a voice yelled from behind you.
“WHO IS THERE? NO ONE IS ALLOWED IN THE HORSE STABLES AFTER PRACTICE!”
You slowly turned around, coming face to face with a tall light green haired man, his expression serious, frightening and yet also ethereal.
“I’m really sorry! I know I shouldn’t be here, but I got really curious and really wanted to see the horses.” you explained.
“THAT IS NO EXCUSE! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SEVERELY HURT, HUMAN.”
Even though he had approached you, he was still screaming loudly, making you flinch.
The horses didn’t seem to mind, perhaps used to his booming voice.
His tone wasn’t the nicest, but it didn't feel mean either. It was a strange mixture of emotions that neither of you were entirely sure of.
“You’re correct. I sincerely apologize.”
He kept his hardened posture and gaze, but an almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye told you that he appreciated the apology.
“IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE THE HORSES, YOU NEED TO ASK TO BE ACCOMPANIED BY A MEMBER OF THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB. AS A GUARD OF LORD MALLEUS AND A MEMBER OF THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB, I WILL DO MY DUTY AS BEFITTING OF ONE OF HIS KNIGHTS AND ACCOMPANY YOU IF YOU SO WISH.”
That was unexpected. The screaming, lightning eyebrowed boy that had the expression of someone with extreme constipation wished to accompany you. What a strange and wonderful thing.
“Then, Knight of Lord Malleus, I accept your offer. Next time you’ll have to show me around the stables and let me meet all the horses.”
You gave him your brightest smile, and watched as the tips of his ears turned pink.
In the dim light of the stable, neither noticed the intricate design on their wrist become fully inked, its splendor in full bloom.
Kalim
The mark on your wrist was of a beautiful exotic carpet, gold, red and purple thread intermingled to create an embroidered tapestry, who instead of laying flat or being rolled on its side, looked ready to soar into the sun.
Potions class always made you feel like some sort of ancient magic bearer, living by a bog and making frog stew.
It simultaneously felt mindless and stimulating, being so precise with temperature and ingredients and color of the potion but also mandating that you stir a pot for 10 minutes while looking for a color change from burgundy to pale red.
It all took ages to perfect, and a second to explode on your face.
You stirred the pot, your mind already outside of the classroom and in the lunchroom, boredom and hunger fueling daydreams of snacks.
You almost even wished for something to explode, just so you wouldn’t be as bored out of your mind.
Like the universe had read your mind, a loud thwack echoed from the window beside you, scaring you out of your mind, your arm moving on its own and accidentally elbowing your cauldron, the whole thing spilling on the floor, a goey slippery mess of red and chopped ingredients.
From the other side of the room, Professor Crewel gave you a look that said it all.
A thorough scolding later, and your after class lunchroom plans were dashed, as the bubbling mess of a potion on the floor was your mess to clean.
You sighed, but armed with a mop and some cleaning solution, you’d deal with it.
Looking at the window that had started it all, your eyes widened, seeing what you assumed to be the perpetrator of the loud sound still there waving at you.
It was some sort of a rug? And it was waving at you? But the strangest part of it all, is that you felt like you recognized this rug, like one recognizes a friend lost in a crowd.
You stared back down at the spilled potion, wondering if in its liquid state it caused some sort of hallucinations.
Your contemplations of your state of mind were interrupted by the door to the classroom loudly opening, and someone exclaiming:
“Found you!”
Turning back, you saw a silver haired youth barreling towards you and the spilled potion.
“Wait, watch out-“ you warned, but it was too late, as the young man was already with one foot on the puddle and the other in the air, his body directly projected towards you.
“waaaAAAAAHHH” he screamed as he fell on you, squishing you against the ground.
He quickly got on his elbows, looking down on you with an easy going smile.
“Oh, hi there! Sorry for falling on you. But my carpet flew away and Jamil would be super mad if he found out so I’ve been searching for it everywhere.”
You blinked slowly, the whole situation feeling like a fever dream.
You should be more appalled at whatever just happened, but seeing this stranger's smiling face made you feel soft.
Everything dictated that he should get off of you, but strangely you didn’t want him too.
A light turned on in your head, and you peaked at your wrist, the once slightly faded mark a vibrant work of art, like a freshly painted portrait.
Your eyes met the smiling strangers' red ones, and you smiled back at him.
“I think I already found the carpet.”
#twst#twisted wonderland#x reader#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#Silver Vanrouge#Rook Hunt#Trey Clover#Sebek Zigvolt#Kalim Al-Asim#KyusBow
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ᴄᴏᴄᴋ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋ
Pairing: Song Mingi x afab!reader
Summary: birthday presents come in all shapes and sizes…and are full of unwanted surprises just as it gets to the best part
Warnings: 18+ smut, porn w/no real plot, established relationship, big dick mingi, getting it from the b-b-back, hickeys, praise kink, pet names (princess), wooyoung cock blocking lmfao, clit smacking, dacryphilia, swearing
Authors note: this is mainly an extremely self-indulgent but the original drabble also slapped so here’s a full thing
Request: @ja3hwa, you ask, you shall receive!
Fuck, oh fuck fuck fuuuck
His strokes started painfully slow, lips leaving wet and purple blotches on her neck with small groans every time he bottomed out. She could barely keep her mouth closed with how her walls squeezed around him, like a warm embrace he couldn’t bring himself to let go of. Mingi’s grip bruised her skin, pinning her to the arm of the sofa, the fabric leaving a red rash as his skin slapped against hers with such a sinful volume that they became numb to the stinging.
“Fuck, Princess,” He groaned, his voice reverberating through his chest and forming melodies into y/n’s ears, arousal spilling onto his cock, “So fucking tight. Doin’ s’well.”
Hand snaking up her inferno chest, groping desperately at her tit before fingers wrapped around her neck, pulling her back flush against his chest, locking their lips together into a deep and languid kiss with tongues sharing saliva shamelessly in which it slithered down the corners of their mouths. Mingi’s hips rutted with a quickening pace, his other hand circling her throbbing clit. With her mind fogging with an indescribable pleasure, begs for more escaped from her throat in broken wails with every thrust hitting a deeper spot.
“Harder, Mi-Min!” her ability to speak coherently became a struggle with the way his fingers played with her clit is if it were his toy, slapping and pinching to send sparks through her nerves, “Cum on me, c-claim me!”
His fingers delved into her sopping folds, spreading the arousal over her thighs, and licking it off his fingers, only to play with her more with his strokes getting clumsy but harder.
“You like that, Princess? So fucking good f’me.” His husky voice shot straight to her core, a moan ripping through her with a hard thrust up. He let her body go, holding her face down into the sofa cushion and letting the arm keep her arse propped up for him, giving it a slap before smirking to himself. Tears pricked her eyes and ran down her cheeks, lips tugging into a smile as Mingi slammed his cock into her pussy, the golden hour glow accentuating the glistening sweat over their bodies while voices released a spectrum of high and low-pitched moans and vulgar language.
“S’fucking pretty when you cry, cry for me. Who-“ thrust, “makes you,” thrust, “feel this good?”
“Mingi! Mingi does!” she cried.
“That’s it, cum for m-“ his grumbling was interrupted by someone banging on the door, quite aggressively at that. He dropped his head, groaning in frustration and pulling out much to both their dismay. The couple looked at each other, Mingi asking for her to stay in the position while he slung his boxers and shorts back on lazily.
Opening the door with hostility, raging erection still present, he cocked an eyebrow.
“Hey, man! You weren’t picking up so I-“ Wooyoung lifted his gaze from his phone, only to cut himself off at the sight of his friend, dripping in sweat from head to toe, half-dressed and sporting a necklace of hickeys and one pissed-off expression, “-am going to let you get back to what you were doing. Sorry.” And he – wide-eyed – spun on his heel and power walked down the street.
Mingi returned to the living room, y/n still bent over the arm so prettily and still dripping from her cunt. Smirking, he stripped again, lining back up behind her.
“Just because we were interrupted doesn’t mean I’m not gonna finish the job.”
[Masterlist]
[Requests CLOSED]
2023 © STAR2FISHMEG All Rights Reserved - do not plagiarise, translate, repost, claim any of my works. If you notice that any of these have taken place, please let me know.
If you would like to be tagged in ATEEZ content, lemme know :) I'm always open for moots too!!
@araveninthedarknight @rainisawriter @babyboybinbin
#song mingi smut#song mingi#ateez#ateez smut#song mingi x reader#mingi#mingi x reader#ateez x reader
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Don’t Close Your Eyes
Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @palesweetscherryblossom @chickennugnugnug @murderofravens
Warnings: Platonic yandere themes, hurt/comfort, vomiting, painful migraines, Gojo is kind of a bad dad, Gojo obsesses over his daughter’s beauty
Summary: Your father, Satoru Gojo, gives you everything you want. What will happen when something you want breaks one of his very few rules? (Featuring Uncle Nanami)
Master List
—————————————————————————
You love your father with all of your heart, but it’s really hard to be his daughter sometimes. He spoils you rotten. You want ice cream or mochi for breakfast? Cookies for dinner? You got it. The most expensive sushi for lunch? Say no more. You want that really expensive necklace and designer outfit? Done.
He wraps you up in the thickest of blankets and carries you through life. If he had things his way, he’d make sure you didn’t even have to put a toe on the ground. You’ve never been confronted with any real world issues thanks to your doting pops, but you feel as though you’re living inside of a shell.
However, having inherited the Six Eyes from him, you suffer not only from an overprotective father, you also suffer from violent migraines due to oversensitivity and overstimulation of the senses. You’re extremely light sensitive. Even the dullest fraction of light can trigger a headache.
This being said, your daddy doesn’t allow you to cover your eyes…ever. He says, “They’re too beautiful to cover up” or “Why would you even think about hiding something I gave you?” You can’t even convince him to buy you those really dark sunglasses where no light can pass through.
You often find yourself trying to cut up towels for makeshift blindfolds just so you can get some sleep, but you’re only lightly scolded by your father and told not to “play with scissors” despite being fourteen years old.
———
Satoru comes home from a mission, greeting Nanami as he asked the blonde sorcerer to keep an eye on you while he was gone.
“How was she? Who am I kidding? She was perfect, wasn’t she?”
“No, she was not. She was crass and rude because she was in pain the entire time. She cursed me out more times than I care to tell, and she barely ate, and what she did eat, she threw up. Gojo, you have to do something about her migraines because whenever I come over to watch her, I end up getting them as well.”
The lanky man’s jaw hangs wide open as he listens to Nanami’s speech. After a minute of processing, he drops the bag of souvenirs on a nearby table and huffs a fatherly sigh.
“Are you sure it’s her? I mean, you could just be incapable of looking after her.”
“It’s not her, Gojo. It’s you,” Nanami states as he picks up his bag. “I’m leaving now. She’s upstairs in her room crying her eyes out because you refuse to do anything about her oversensitivity.”
With that said, Kento brushes past Satoru and leaves the Gojo household.
Satoru trails up the stairs, bag in hand, and knocks on the door twice. When he receives no response, only hearing you choking on sobs, he opens the door to see you shaking under the covers. He strides over to you, pulling the blanket back so that he can see you holding your head with your eyes squeezed shut. Placing the bag on the floor, your dad takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Hey, there’s my pretty girl. Uncle Nanami told me you were having a bad day. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Hurts!” Is all you can bite out with the amount of pain you’re in. You curse yourself for even speaking because your skull is pounding from all of the noise. “Please, Daddy, make it stop!”
He shushes you, pulling you up towards his chest so that you can cry into his shoulder.
“We could try a sedative?”
“Those don’t fucking work! You can’t do anything right! God, you’re fucking useless!” You grip his shirt and blow tears and snot into it as you wail at him in a fit of pain and teenage rage.
Gojo, being used to the cursing, only rolls his eyes. He can’t scold you right now. It wouldn’t help anyway. You wouldn’t even be able to focus on a lecture at the moment. Instead, he holds you closer and presses a kiss against your hair.
“Daddy, please…covering my eyes…it’s the only thing that works.” You flinch when the migraine feels like a brick has been smashed against the back of your head.
“You know the rules. I want to be able to see your gorgeous face every day. You’re my sunshine, sweetie. Your eyes are so beautiful.”
“Fuck you! Uncle Nanami lets me cover my eyes!”
“Well, then, Uncle Nanami isn’t going to be able to watch you anymore.”
You shake your head slightly, desperately. “I…No, you can’t do that. Daddy, please, I want to see Uncle Nanami!”
Gojo lowers his glasses and looks at you. “I’m your father, so I can do whatever I want. These headaches are just a phase. You’ll grow out of them. You don’t need to cover your eyes. I never wore them as a child. You didn’t have these migraines as a little kid, so you’ll probably get over them at some point. You just need to-”
The storm in your head causes violent waves to crash against your skull, rattling the ship that is your brain. Blood rages in your ears, and you can only hear your father’s voice in a low hum before succumbing to nausea for the fourth time today.
Throwing your blanket off of you and reaching for the trashcan that’s right by your bed, you hurl into the black plastic bin that’s almost half full of your bile and stomach contents. Gojo looks into it and can clearly see that Nanami had made you fish for dinner.
Your father does his best to try and comfort you, rubbing your back as you vomit water and whatever else your stomach can wretch. Coughing signals an end to your regurgitation, and you put the trash bin down on the floor in front of you.
Calmly now, with no heat or bite behind your words, you look away from your father and ask, “Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
You hate to ask him for this after being so angry with him, but a comforting presence next to you can sometimes help with your migraine induced insomnia. It can sometimes even dull the headaches to a certain extent.
“Of course. Anything for my little girl.”
Lying down, you rub your temples as Satoru trails the tips of his fingernails up and down your back. Being emotionally drained and physically exhausted, as well as having your father sit right beside you, it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep.
As Gojo watches his precious angel close her eyes, he runs his fingers through your hair and smiles. You’re finally asleep and looking peaceful. If you had eye coverings on, he wouldn’t be able to see the whites of your lashes curving as you enter a dream.
He knows in his heart that he’s doing the right thing.
#triggering content#triggering themes#yandere themes#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere x darling#jujitsu kaisen#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere satoru gojo#platonic yandere satoru gojo#platonic yandere nanami#yandere nanami#yandere nanami kento#yandere gojo#platonic yandere gojo#yandere gojo satoru#platonic yandere uncle#platonic yandere father#platonic yandere
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My post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure has just updated! Read it here, for free on my Patreon! This is only the third installment of PART TWO, so it's still a great time to hop on board!! I just made a summary of the first part, here, which tells you basically everything you need to know about Lou, her unrequited(?) love, and the ill-advised journey she is beginning as of this update.
In the previous update, we found out (kind of) what the object of Lou's affection wrote to her in that heavily, heavily perfumed letter. In this update, she has to deal with what she learned. Her traveling companion/special delivery, Holliday, is being... quite nice? At least, comparatively? They have a bit of "And There Was Only One Bed" going on, in that they're sharing a tent made for one. That's fun, right? Sleepover!!
Excerpt under the cut!
“I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news, Lou, truly I am,” she said. She stroked the back of Lou’s hung head. Lou was surprised to find she found the gesture comforting, not condescending or overly familiar.
“It’s not all bad,” Lou said, her head still resting face-down on her knees. Her voice sounded pinched and nasal to her own ears and her throat felt almost too tight to speak. The knees of her jeans were thoroughly soaked through with tears. “She said she loves me.”
“Oh,” Holliday said, her brows knitting together. She held her other hand to her chest. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“She said. Right? That she loves me back?” Lou said. “She did say.”
“Oh, honey,” Holliday said. She cupped Lou’s chin and tilted her face up, searching her face for something, but Lou didn’t know what. Her hand was not as soft as Lou had expected it to be since everything else about her was so refined. “Bless your heart.”
Something about having to meet her eye made the tears start back up with renewed vigor. It hurt. It hurt bad. She wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, but that wasn’t how these things worked and frankly, Venus was right. That only made it hurt more. She couldn’t even gnash her teeth and wail against the injustice of it all. Venus was right, she was never around. She was always away. She was unpredictable and unreliable. She’d been so happy to be a rolling stone, gathering no moss for so long and now it was biting her in the ass. Turned out, girls liked when you were a little mossy.
#Wasteland Pony Express#katieakipresentsthewasteland#original fiction#original content#oc#Lou#Louetta Primrose#lesbian fiction#interactive fiction#choose your own adventure#queer western#western romance#cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other#lgbtq fiction
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✎ sub afab childe + dom amab reader notes: just rough filthy wall sex; dirty talk; degradation. Bitch i was horny when i wrote this. Again, NOT PROOFREAD.
It was really really REALLY fucking hard to do normal chores around the house when your boyfriend is roaming the entire place with those tight yoga pants that show off his plump ass so well. Forget chores, normal daily actions were now difficult to go on about without a boner in your pants.
And my god when he bends down to pick something up and his fat cunt just peeks at you from behind. Even eating a damn meal is making you sweat just because he likes to “stretch” himself and “do yoga” at the same time you’re eating dinner.
You don’t know who gave him the idea to do yoga at home and recommended those tight ass pants but you’re just praising that good old lad because it wouldn’t have led to the present situation.
Your arms hooked under his leg, carrying him like he weighs nothing. His back against the wall, arms around your neck and his mouth screaming whorish moans.
He feels you in so deep in his womb he fears you’re gonna split him open with the way you’re moving so damn rough and fast.
He didn’t even mean to tease you? He just was following the advice from his friends on how to stay fit these days.
But how could he complain now when you’re filling his cunt so well. Your thick cock just drilling into his sopping fat cunt and he can do nothing but cry and moan.
“You did this on purpose didnt you slut? You made sure i was looking at you all those times while you were bending down and showing that gorgeous ass to me huh?”
He wish he could deny it but his brain has turned to total mush so he just lols his tongue out and nods like a brainless bitch. Not even a few seconds has passed and he is already going dumb on your dick.
“Yea thats right, take that dick like the good fucking bitch you are ”, his cunt squeezes down on your dick so hard when you call him that and it just fuels your lust. Hugging him to your chest and groping that ass while you treat him him like a fleshlight.
“Ahn~ sh-shit am g-gonna cum w-wait”, he cries out, his hands clawing at your back, trying to slow you down but you just dont falter.
Your neighbors are probably gonna complain tomorrow about the loud and scandalous noises coming from your apartment but you give two fucks about it.
With a loud wail, his eyes roll back as he cums on your cock, his entire body shaking. His voice all hoarse and breathless as he mumbles your name. It looks like he won’t be able to speak without sounding scratchy for a while.
“We are not done yet hun”, you huff out in his ears as you carry him to your bedroom. “Huh?”, childe mumbles mindlessly not understanding your words but feeling a shiver run down his spine.
He will probably also not be able to walk for a while…..
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When I go onstage, I usually joke a lot. I joke on purpose, first of all because I want to believe I’m funny. But there’s another reason: Any Palestinians operating in the public eye, especially Palestinians who have suffered Israeli violence, are expected to behave a certain way. You are supposed to be miserable—head bowed, wailing and weak and asking for mercy. You’re supposed to be polite in your suffering. And I completely refuse this. I refuse these politics of appeal. I don’t want to appeal to anyone. I can experience travesty and tragedy, and profound loss, and I can still make a joke about it. And that is the full spectrum of Palestinian humanity—or human humanity at large. We are human not just because we cry when we lose our mothers, or when we lose our homes, or because we have pets or hobbies. We are humans because we feel rage and we feel disdain—because we resist.
And I am honestly grateful for my disdain, because it reminds me that I am human. I am grateful for my rage, because it reminds me of my ability to react naturally to injustice. I am grateful for the opportunity to be flippant, to satirize and ridicule my impenetrable, indelible occupier. So, I invite you all to interrogate your biases as you leave this lecture, to interrogate what makes you want to qualify a Palestinian’s humanity. And I invite you, again, to be brave.
Mohammed El-Kurd, The Right to Speak for Ourselves.
[emphasis added]
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i just rewatched the fisher king and all I can think about is Hotch gently rocking jack's stroller as he spoke to Hailey
And it got me thinking what if he did the same with baby Ellie but in less gruesome and stressful moments 💀 like she had been crying for her daddy all day so you decided to take her to see aaron, after making sure he wasn't too busy or anything
And he just has that big smile on his face when he sees you with little Ellie in her stroller, immediately putting his arms out so he can pick up his little girl 🥹
He keeps her up in his office, away from all the noise and whatnot and just either holds her in his arms while talking to her and doing paperwork (we love multitasking) or just rocking her stroller while talking to her 🥹🥹🥹
i am currently dying thank you
🥺🥺🥺 ellie’s the biggest daddy’s girl there ever was
like the second she left aaron's arms that morning when he had to go, instant tears - which he felt horrible to leave too :( he tried holding her for just a few minutes longer, but that did nothing because again, he inevitably had to go. at this point ellie knows how to say dada too, so that's mixed with her wailing, and it's just heartbreaking :((((( like him closing the door to the sound of her crying, calling for him, tore up every piece inside of him 🥺
when he gets to the office, aaron's not in the best mood so to speak, he's rather grumpy >:(, but he eagerly gets busy just for the day to go by quickly. back at home, there's literally no luck in calming her, so around aaron's lunch break, you call and ask if you're able to see him for a moment/drop her off for a while (you’ve been aching to go grocery shopping too, but bringing a sobbing baby would not make the trip enjoyable for anyone). it's merely a paperwork day, so aaron accepts at once and tells you to please come
ellie continues to sniffle and cry for him in the car, but the second the two of you enter the bau, it switches off - as if she knows where she is and who she's about to see. and when she does see aaron !!!!! :DDDDD it's as if her treacherous morning never existed she's ALLLL smiles <333 she's instantly making grabby hands at him, babbling, and the second she's in his arms, she's burying her little face into him ☹️🥺🥹🥹💓💞💓
in his office, (also crying at the visual of him lifting her stroller up the few short stairs to it) she's in his arms with him as he works until she falls asleep, and then she's in her stroller (which doesn't take long because poor baby girl wore herself out) he's gently pushing her back and forth, whenever someone comes into his office to give him papers/to talk, he makes sure they're on the quieter side as to not wake her too. hehe the team also keeps coming in to visit and gush over ellie 🥹<3333 especially penelope. hehe aaron repeatedly has to tell her to stay in her bat cave to get work done, but he loves it 🥰🥰🥰🥰 it pulls a smile out of him every time
#let's talk aaron <333333#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#ellie hotchner <3#aaron hotchner imagine#criminal minds imagine
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You know, to get political for a second.
It hasn't escaped my notice that every time someone brings up the presidential election. There is ALWAYS an early 20-somethings queer person in the comments or replies going on and on about how Biden won't help Palestine, about how Biden is doing a genocide, about how "Israel this and that" and like...
You're all fucking idiots for falling for this. You are. Because those people saying that shit are either the morons we see protesting who can't answer which river and which sea they're screaming about or who don't know what Hamas' charter says, OR they're the same fucking bots who appeared all over tumblr back before the 2016 election to try and convince all of us, using the hot political topics at the time, not to vote Dem. Because they had a vested interest in us not voting Dem.
And just to speak on the whole Palestine thing here... Do you really thing. That Trump. The racist fascist who openly wants to be a dictator. Who is buddy-buddy with Netanyahu, the other racist fascist who wants to be a dictator. Is going to do anything other than give Bibi the fucking green light to do anything he wants? If you think that Trump is going to be better for your "Pro-Palestine" movement (which, btw, is in quotes because the vast majority of the idiots supporting it don't know jack shit about what's going on and don't actually care about the Palestinian people, seeing as they have a habit of cheering for the terrorist organization that uses them as human shields, steals their money and aid for their own devices, and they have a lovely habit of attacking actual Palestinian peace activists who call them on it and ignoring what they say they actually need so...) than Biden? You're out of your fucking mind.
Holy shit I am not going to sit here and watch people fall for the same BS they did back in 2016. Israel and Palestine is the hot-button topic right now. Every time you see someone talking about how Trump has promised to roll back all the protections that the Biden/Harris admin has put in place, every time you see someone pointing out that the Republicans LITERALLY have a plan to fucking turn our country into an Evangelical hellscape, there is some fucking numbnuts in the notes, probably with a pride flag in their bio, wailing about "Genocide Joe".
And you all need to ask yourself why the hell there are all of these nearly-identical blogs. All doing the exact same thing every time someone tries to point out that another Trump term would see people literally dead and our country fucking torn apart, possibly forever. Use your fucking brains.
#politics#i/p#us politics#FUCKING YOU'RE ALL MORONS I SWEAR HOLY SHIT#this is the same stuff that happened in 2016 wtf is wrong with you
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•✮🕷️𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐤𝐢𝐝🕷️✮•
part one • part two (you are here) •
⋆pairing: miguel o’hara x wife!reader
⋆warning(s): i got translations from spanish dict, if i did something wrong, please correct me. i tried to use the right definitions/context to use those definitions in! also pregnancy.
⋆a/n: oh i love writing sassy spider-people
"And then the hot sandwhiches in the cafeteria suck ass, like, at least melt the cheese. I don't want some luke warm sandwhich that can't decide whether to be hot or cold!"
I hum absentmindely, playing with my bracelets as Ben Parker keeps mumbling and moping on and on about how his life is so terrible compared to all the other Spider-Men. Honestly, when I said he was allowed to get some things off his chest, I thought he meant telling me about the mission that went bad with him, not his whole life story from birth to this moment. He sighs dramtically, plopping his head down at the table we're sitting at, and I flinch at the sudden jolt of motion, my eyes lifting to look at him. He lets out a low, dramtic wail. "See? You don't care either!" He drawls. I roll my eyes.
"Nobody is looking at you, Ben, quit it." He rolls his head to the side with the most awful puppy-eyes I have ever seen. I give him a sarcastic, annoyed smile.
"Sorry, correction. Nobody is looking at you as if they hold any sympathy for you," I tell him as I stand up, having to take a moment to regain my balance from the whale that I am now. He sneers at me, his hair all dishelved from the way he's been tugging at it for the past hour. "I'll have you know that many people give their sympathy to me! There-there should be a book written about me! Or-or even better, a movie!" He calls out with frustration as I walk away from him. I scoff, not even bothering to justify his shouting at me with a glance over my shoulder. The doors to the cafeteria open and then close, and I heave out a sigh.
I think I'd hurl myself out the window if I hear his life story for the 30th time. It's a topic he loves discussing.
"Hey! Y/N!" I hear a familiar voice call out to me. I whip my head around. It could be any spider-person calling my name. From any floor, wall, ceiling, corner, web, anything. You never really know where to look when you work at a place like this.
The voice calls my name again, and this time it's more clearer, calling out behind me. I turn around and see Gwen walking towards me, a smile on her face. I let out a small breath of relief, grateful it's at least someone I enjoy being around, and not like one of the mind-numblingly boring Spder-Men who can't quit talking about how rough they have it. I hope you get who I'm referring to.
I walk a few steps, beginning to speak and raise my hand to wave in greeting, but she stops me with her hands. "No! No! Please, we'll meet you there."
Considerate. I love it. But I also hate it.
I put one hand on my belly, and one hand on my hip, jutting it out with. I give her a soft smile. "You're awre I can still walk, correct? I'm not toally useless," I sigh. She shrugs, not really responding. She holds her hand up to gesture to....something. But I don't really see what it's supposed to be.
"This is Miles," she smiles, with a hint of annoyance in her eye. I look to the side of her which she's gesturing to, but I raise my eyebrows.
"Gwen? Have we really drove you that crazy that you're making people up?" I ask, looking back at her. Her face drops in confusion, and she looks to her side. She groans, throwing her hands down into fists and spins around. I look past her, and I see another teen, presumably Miles, awe-struck and looking around everywhere. He seems a bit lost, but that doesn't hold a candle to the child-like wonder that is clear on his face.
"Miles! I told you not to fall behind!" She shouts at him. Immediatley, he snaps out of his daze, and he looks at her like a lost puppy. I've seen that before. I um, the pieces clicking in my mind, and I watch on with amusement.
This is the kid Gwen usually doesn't shut up about.
I snicker.
Cute, I think to myself as he smiles at her and mumbles an apology. They both clearly have feelings for one another. But, there is that air of nothing is established. A sort of tension. He looks at me finally, and his eyes immediatley drop to my stomach.
"You're pregnant?" He blurts out, and, despite his dark skin, I can still clearly see him blushing at his outburst. I furrow my brows at him, a bit worried that he might faint. Gwen closes her eyes, annoyed, and elbows him in the gut. I bite back a smile while straightening.
"Yes, I am pregnant. And don't even think about apologizing, all the new recruits have the same reaction." I smile as I think back to all of the young adults and teens I've met, each wondering in shock how I'm able to fight crime with two babies in me.
He goes to talk, and stick out his hand for me to shake, but Gwen hits him again.
"He's actually not a recruit, Miguel needed to see him. He's caused a bit of....well..." she trails off. I let out a small sound of understanding as I look at her while she's explaining. I look back at Miles.
"Well, I've already heard so much about you. I really do hope to see you joining our ranks someday," I say politely. I stick out my hand this time, and he takes it, a bit awe-struck. "Well, you know what they say," he says. He holds my hand as I look at him, expecting something. I quirk my eyebrow up. "What? What do they say?" A beat of silence.
"I have no idea."
I stare at him for a moment. Gwen didn't tell me this kid was so dorky. The again, all the Spider-People come from dorky backgrounds. I nod slowly, my hand retracting from his as I put it to my chest. "Great..." I trail off. I shake my head, and I look at Gwen again.
"I was actually just about to go see him, he hasn't had lunch, and I grabbed him an empanada, he usually goes nuts for them," I giggle, holding up the small container in my hand, which was long-forgotten while Ben shared his deepest, darkest corners of his soul. Again.
Miles lights up at the sight of the empanada.
"My grandma used to make those! Fueron los mejores (They were the best)," he beams, putting his hand on is hips, his chest expanding with pride. He bumps his shoulder intp Gwen's, who looks like she wants to crawl into a hole at this moment. I watch with endearment. It is endearing, how he gets all excited. I was the same way learning Spanish, wanting to expand my knowledge for Miguel. I wait for a moment for him to explain himself, my lips quirked up in a small smile.
"See? I know Spanglish," he chuckles, clearly getting prouder of himself. I smile widely.
"Que maravilla (wonderful)," I respond. His face drops, and he looks down, rocking on his feet, his voice growing quiet. I chuckle. "Oh...I see you...know..." "If you don't mind, Miles," Gwen says through gritted teeth. She looks back at me, her smile still strained. "We're going to keep moving along."
I shrug.
"I'll come with, give Miguel his empanada." I walk over to Miles, putting my arm around his shoulder. This throws him off, his eyes growing wide. He glances to the side, then back at me, not knowing what to do. I point to his chest with the empanada-hand. "También me encantaría escuchar más de su español (I'd also love to hear more of his Spanish)," I grin.
✮•
"Oi, there's the little child-bearer," Hobie announces as he gets up from his spot, walking over. He goes to put an arm around me, but I dodge, smacking it away. "Call me that again and I will give you something much, much more painful than giving birth," I growl. He doesn't even looked shocked, he loves riling people up. He pats my head, and walks a bit ahead of us. I scoff at his back, his guitar hanging so loosley off of it it makes me wonder how it's even managed to stay on for that long. I glance over my shoulder at Miles, who still walks a bit behind the rest of us. I slow down my pace, and when we're at the same speed, I whisper to him.
"You okay, kid?" His shoulders tense at that name, so I put my hands up in retreat. "Sorry, I wasn't the biggest fan of it either at your age," I chuckle. He glance at me, trying to find the amusement, but his laugh just comes out....dead. I sigh.
"Listen, Miles, I don't know what happened before you got here. I frankly, maybe I don't want to know. But just know it's nothing we can't fix, alright?" I mumble, bumping my shoulder with his for some light encouragement. He smiles just a tiny bit, his hand coming up to rub the shoulder I bumped bashfully. "Yeah...thanks."
I watch as he walks a bit ahead of me, and I watch as he looks at Gwen with...almost a longing gaze. A bit sad, too. I frown. I know how rough this kid has had it, Gwen's told me, and sometimes I would see him come up in the feed occasionally when I would cover for Miguel, giving him some much-needed rest time. I watched just as I did now, a frown etched on my face, wanting to reach out and tell him that this job does get better, but he wouldn't know I was watching. He still doesn't know I'm watching as we walk through the doors and into my husband's office. I fall into line with the teens, and look up at my husband and his beloved platform. Going down. Slowly. Inch by inch.
I groan inwardly.
This thing again.
I remember my first day here, I thought it was the most terrifying thing, seeing his broad back, all hunched over menacingly over the screens. Then, his mask came down, and I couldn't focus the entire time he was explaining everything to me, I was too focused on his face.
He claims he didn't know what I was doing, but I know that he was just as distracted as I was.
Miles glances at Gwen, and she shakes her head, indicating him not to talk. "I know, it's slow," she says. Miles still looks confused, and he looks over her shoulders and at me. I wave my hand in the air dismissevly. "It's his thing," I mumble under my breath, so Miguel can't hear us. God forbid we ruin his whole macho-'I'm so menacing,' act.
"Miguel O'Hara, meet, Miles Morales!" Gwen announces. No response.
"Ay, ¿Qué tal, tío? (Hey, what's up, dude?)" Miles smiles. "Yeah, I speak Spanish," he announces in front of me for the second time today.
I heave out a sigh, letting my head roll to the front. I look up again, and when I speak, my voice comes out in a shout. I have no idea what he can or can't hear from his mountain hideout.
"Amor, lo entendemos, puedes dominarnos. ¿Apuremos esto, por favor? (Love, we get it, you can overpower us. Let's hurry this up, please?)"
He grumbles something in Spanish, but I can't catch it. He spins around, shooting me a glare. "Glad to see you've met my wife," he says to Miles after giving me a hard look. Miles looks between me and my husband, his eyes scrunched together. He doesn't dare speak yet, however. Miguel smiles angrily, baring his fangs. "Something I had, like most things here now, no control over. Funny, considering I run this place!" His voice gets louder and a bit more sharp as he continues talking, and his hands come to his hips. I roll my eyes, making a sound of annoyance. I heave out a sigh. Miles steps forward, his hands moving while he speaks.
"Listen, man, I'm really excited to get going, I got some fresh new ideas on how to catch the Spot. You know, he just wants to be taken seriously-"
"Oh! Great. Uh-huh, uh-huh," my husband mumbles with a small, pestered smirk as Miles speaks. He lets out a very loud, very agressive roar as he hurls a piece of technology at Miles. Gwen and I both shout with shock, jumping out of the way, and Miles covers his head. Miguel doesn't even stop to consider what he did.
"You were worried about Spot, I'll worry about Spot!" he continues to yell at Miles. Miles is shaking, his eyes bulging with fear at him.
Gwen looks violated, and a bit worried for her friend. "Miguel! It's not his fault!" Miles agrees with her, nodding repeatedly.
"It was his fault, he blew another hole in the multiverse!"
"He didn't know any better!" Gwen shoots back. Miles doesn't quite know what to say, standing there awkardly, as if he and his friends' mom are fighting.
I step forward now, my head lowering as the platforms still moves slowly down.
"Miguel, think about throwing wires at someone! He was just tryng to do what Spider-Man does!" I try to rationalize. His head looks sharply to me, his eyes glowing red. It doesn't faze me, however. I've been on the receiving end of that look a few times, so I'm used to it. "Y/N, you're supposed to be on maternity leave!" He shouts. He holds up a hand, holding in a breath.
"Just...nevermind. You all knew what the risk here was! Gwen! You did! And you-!" Miguel looks to Hobie, pointing at him. Hobie is sliding down a metal arch, head first, on his back, just...enjoying life. As if this is really just his entertainment he threw together. Miguel sighs. "I was gonna try to ignore you," he pauses, before looking away again. "I can't, I just can't-"
"I ain't even here," Hobie mumbles in his thick accent. Miguel shakes his head, his thumb and index finger squeezing the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head as he walks a bit down the platform. I glance towards Gwen, who is already looking at me, silently begging me to say something, anything to try and calm my husband down. I sigh.
"Miguel, darling," I begin. Hobie groans.
"You know, just as a heads up, how married are you two gonna be today? Because I'm debating whether or not to sit here through all the pet names," he says, very annoyed, as he gets up from his seat, walking over to me and putting his arm on my head. He looks down at me, expecting an answer. I let a glare linger on him, and I look back at Miguel.
Miguel turns around again, his gaze boring into my eyes. "You fixed the whole catastrophe on Earth 199999, we can fix this. Don't go so hard on the kid!" I exclaim, gesturing towards Miles. He puts one hand on his hip, and another up to drag across his face, stretching it out.
"No, no, Y/N. He blew another hole in the multiverse! And that little...nerd and Doctor Strange fixed it. Not me! I'm just there to clean up stuff they don't know about so their lives can continue on, all happy and perfect!"
We all stay silent. Hobie lets out a low whistle, and Lyla appears on my shoulder. "I think he's projecting again," she whispers in my ear.
Miguel gestures for me to come over, once his platform has hit the ground, and I sigh, walking over.
"Can you just-just take my side on this? You've seen what these things can do," he murmurs lowly.
"Frankly, I think you should go lighter on him. He hasn't been here for more than 10 minutes, this is all very new. Quit yelling!"
"Uh-oh, mommy and daddy are fighting!" We hear a different, slightly older voice calling.
Hobie calls out. "Oh boy! Humbling reality Spider-Man has arrived!"
Miguel's whole body tenses, and his eyes shut with annoyance and anger. I turn to the door, and in walks Peter B. Parker. The man who practically trained Miles, and the man who thinks he's Miguel's best friend.
He walks in wearing a pink robe over his spider suit, and a baby carrier, but, no baby. He chuckles, a warm smile on his face. "Besides, Y/N's right, don't be so hard on the kid. He had a terrible teacher! He had no chance!"
"Peter!" Miles bounds over to him, giving him a big hug. Peter chuckles, patting his head. "Hey, kid! Don't mind my friend Miguel here, he looks scary but he's got no bite!"
Miguel growls, turning his back towards everyone, mumbling some curses, followed by Peter's name. Peter then makes eye contact with me. "Y/N! You're getting so big!" Miguel turns his head around sharply, his eyes glowing and his fangs baring with rage at his comment.
He winces immediatley. "Forget I said that."
Miles begins to ask him a string of questions, but his eyes travel down to the baby carrier. "Wait-what's is that? You have a baby!" He asks, pointing to it. Peter pats the carrier proudly.
"I have a baby!" He exclaims, mimicking Miles' excitement. At that perfect moment, Mayday crawls down from the ceiling, cooing. I get happy instantly, and she sees me, and squeals. She begins crawling on the walls, cooing and talking to herself in a string of babbles as I wave towards her, beckoning her over.
"Kid's an anarchist," Hobie mutters to himself. I frown at him, but I can't help but feel a bit of amusement at this.
"Don't forget to keep your daypass on, honey!" He calls out. He chuckles, and he begins to climb up the wall too, calling out to his child. Miguel shakes his head, letting his head rest in his hand, muttering "no puedo más," in a low, stressed voice. I put a hand on his back.
"Sólo aligerar (just lighten up), it's a baby, amor."
"¡No voy a entrar en esto ahora mismo! (I am not getting into this right now!)" He hisses, I hold my hands next to my head, signalling fake surrender, and turn back to father and daughter.
Peter laughs, reaching out for Mayday, but she swings away with her own webshooters. She swings next to me, landing on one of the consoles, and I pick her up, nuzzling my nose against hers.
"I knew I was gonna regret making her that webshooter, I shouldn't have done it, that's an actual mistake." Peter hops down, watching me as I play with Mayday. She reaches out to Miguel, and I put her on his shoulder. Besides, I'm not supposed to be carrying anything heavier than 20 pounds. Miguel just stares ahead. Peter perks up again, taking out his phone. "You guys wanna see pictures?"
He runs over to Miles and Gwen, putting his arms around their shoulders.
"Are-are you sure? She's right there..." Gwen trails off when Peter turns on his phone. "This one is the studious one, and-and, oh! The next one you're gonna crack up! Oh-oh, Miguel's gonna die" He laughs. I beam at him. He seems so proud and such a loving father. I put a hand over my pregnant belly.
Peter runs over to Miguel, showing him pictures. "You know I'm trying to hold a serious, adult conversation here," Miguel says quietly as he tries to keep staring ahead. Mayday crawls all over him, sometimes hitting him gently. Peter groans.
"You know, you're the only Spider-Man who isn't funny, we're supposed to be funny!"
"The fate of the multi-verse-"
"You always lose me with that!. You say "the fate of the multiverse," and my brain dies!" He exclaims. Mayday rolls on Miguel's shoulder, sqeualing when she falls. Miguel catches her, holding her like a....football. I roll my eyes. "Será mejor que no seas así cuando tenga a tus hijos (you better not be like this when I have your children)," I say to him. He shakes his head, his eyes wide with shock and offense. "Wha-I-no! I'm just not the biggest fan of the Parkers! Sabes que puedo ser muy amoroso cuando él no está aquí para molestarme, ¿verdad, mi amor? (you do know I can be very loving when he isn't here to annoy me, right my love?)" He says through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice to a level so that only I could hear it. I put my hands on my hips, giving him a 'then show it,' look. Peter puts his hand over his heart in mock offense.
"Wow, you truly hurt me. And Mayday. You want a baby's feelings being hurt on your conscience?" He stops, and sniffs the air, then looks at Mayday. "You smell that guys? Mayday took a crap. She's a Parker!" He calls out, taking her from Miguel and walking towards where he came in. "That's what hapens when a Parker eats an avocado..."
Miguel sighs, walking over to me and putting his forehead on the top of my head defeatedly, shutting his eyes. He's exhausted, I know that, and our height difference allows us some very interesting advantages. I reach around his neck and pat his head like a little kid as I watch Hobie pick Mayday up, saluting her.
Miguel straightens again, stepping away from me. He addresses Miles again, this timecalmer, but he's still annoyed. With everyone around him. Well, not me. I smirk. He could never be too annoyed with me.
"Miles," he begins, putting his hands on his hips. "You disrupted a canon event.
"Canon event?" Miles asks, but before Miguel can explain, Peter B. pops up again, a full spider web now formed as Mayday crawls and bounces on it.
"The kid wasn't thinking. That's not how he works!"
"That's insulting."
Miles takes a few steps to the right, looking at the ground thinking. "Wait," he looks bakc up at Miguel. Miguel raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. "What are you upset about, I saved those people!"
Miguel fully steps off his platform. I give him a look, silently shushing him.
I take a step towards Miles, putting a hand on his shoulder, looking at him. "That, unfortunatley, is the problem here," I sigh, looking at him, implying an apology with my tone. Confusion is etched onto his face, and I can't blame him.
"Lyla," Miguel calls out. The hologram appears. "Do the thing."
"The thing?" I ask. Lyla smirks. "What thing?" She continues for me.
"What do you mean, what thing? The information explain-y thing!"
I scoff, taking my hand off of Miles' shoulder. "You're sounding like a mob boss, sweetie. We're not that kind of powerful," I tease, poking him in the side. Lyla laughs, but pulls up the vast, complicated web of canon events, similarities, and differences of all the Spider-People.
"Woah."
Miles steps forward, turning in a circle around himself, oogling at the intricate design.
"What's this?" He breathes out.
"This, is everything."
#miguel x reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara smut#spiderman 2099#spider man#spider man into the spider verse#across the spider verse spoilers#miles morales#gwen stacy
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Forever and always.. or maybe never.
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x reader
Hanahaki Disease!AU
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.
Summary: Some say that you cannot die from a broken heart, but how wrong they are. When your lover and husband, Aemond Targaryen begins to find comfort in another, the universe takes pity on you. Well, if you can count a deadly flower disease as pity.
❗️TW❗️: Profanity, mention and descriptions of blood, descriptions of choking and vomiting, hints to infidelity, mild mature scene, violence, character death, angst
(A/N: Hello, this is my own take on Hanahaki's disease with Aemond! Feel free to comment your thoughts, I am always open to criticism and feedback! I hope you enjoy!)
Word Count: 3.3K
Your love for Aemond hadn’t always been unrequited. At least you’d like to think it wasn’t. Both of you had grown together in the red keep as children. The two of you read together, ate together, and overall grew together. Aemond was your best friend before he was your betrothed. Whenever his mother was busy, it was your side that he clung to. The two of you were so attached at the hip that Alicent even took you to driftmark with them. You and the beast that came with you of course. No one really knows how you stumbled upon a hyena pup, nor how you tamed it to your side as a child. Nevertheless, they never forbid you from having it. If the Targaryens could have their dragons, and the Starks their dire wolves, then certainly you could have the tricky little beast that you insisted on calling Lark. In some ways, Alicent was thankful that you insisted on keeping it. After all, it was your hyena that stood between Aemond and the other children on that fateful night in driftmark. The beast had acted as your legs and ran faster than you could to reach the devastating brawl before you. Despite Aemond’s wails of pain, Lark refused to let the guards come too close. Only when you arrived did she move aside. Regardless of being young, that was the first night you realized your feelings for Aemond Targaryen. The very sight of him bleeding and broken struck you so deeply that you felt as if you had been maimed too. Alicent had noticed the change as well as she watched you stand by her son's side whilst he received stitches. Her dark eyes gazed deeply at how tightly you held Aemond’s hand, as if he would disappear. Aside from her, no one had ever loved her son this passionately, not even his own father.
“Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders” Rhaenyra demanded.
“ Was the blade of your son’s knife not enough sharpness for the night?” All eyes turned to you in surprise. You had never been known to speak out if it did not benefit you. Most of the time you were seen standing to the side, watching while others tore each other apart. Aemond could always see past it, see your true intentions. He knew you were studying how different people fought and where their weak points were. You had been around the red keep long enough to know that Lucerys Velaryon was Rhaenyra’s soft spot, and tonight you planned to use that against her.
“ You should watch your tongue when you speak to me” Rhaenyra warned, her eyes flickering over to her father to see if he would do anything.
“ or what, you’ll have Lucerys cut it out like he did Aemond’s eye” The neutrality on your face was enough to both scare and amaze Aemond.
“ You dar-”
“ Enough! My son has lost an eye and now you insist on arguing with a young girl?” Alicent moved up next to you, a hand on your back in support. She knew how terrifying it was to stand alone in a room full of adults scrutinizing you. That’s how her wedding felt after all. The queen’s hand never wavered through the interrogation of the green children. You held Aemond’s hand and she held you. Until things escalated that was. When the queen rushed towards Rhaenyra you stepped in front of Aemond. Shielding him from the sight of his mother in the midst of such violence. All Aemond could see in the midst of chaos was you, and all you could see was the river of blood on Rhaenyra’s arm. Little did you know how familiar you would be with crimson rivers in due time.
It was shortly after that night when your betrothal to the second son was announced. Alicent assured that it was needed to form an alliance between your family and theirs, when in reality it was a match made to ease the worried queen’s heart. In her eyes, no one else was a better match for Aemond than you, and for the longest time, you believed her. Oh, how foolish you were.
Six years passed with ease for the two of you. The first four were filled with fleeting touches, deep conversations, and young love.
“What is this, my lady, a journal?” Aemond’s voice floated around you as his chin found purchase on your shoulder.
“ And if it is?” You hummed, closing the leather-bound book a bit too quickly.
“ Then I fear I must inspect it. Wouldn’t want my future wife to be keeping secrets from me.” You recognized the playful jest in Aemond’s voice and wasted no time in rushing up from the bench.
“ Not so fast, my love.” Aemond chuckled, ensnaring you from behind.
“ Aemond!” You protested, smacking his locked arms with the leather bound book.
“ Have I ever told you how much I adore it when you fight back?” Aemond snickered, his breath hot on your neck.
“ You pervert!” You feigned offense before looking ahead to your pet, “ Lark, get him girl, c’mon!”
“ You know she won't come. That ole girl loves me as much as she loves you." Aemond smirked, whistling for Lark in the way you taught.
" Traitor." You grumble with a hidden smile as the Hyena trots over to the pair of you casually.
The two of you were married when he was seventeen and you were sixteen. Your union was repeated twice over. Once in front of a sept full of people, and then in the tradition of old valyria. Aemond wanted reassurance that you would never part from him. Your marriage fueled two more years full of what was now mature love.
The edge of your teeth pulled at the pillow of your bottom lip as you stared at the dark oak door. The sound of jeering men swarmed your thoughts and threatened the bile at the back of your throat. You tried to hide your discomfort for Aemonds sake, but he was keen to your reactions by now.
“ Do not fret, my love, I will not let them hear your noises. I would never let them hear what is only meant for me and you.” Aemond spoke lowly, using your hips to turn you towards him and away from the door.
“ They’ll hear regardless.” You muttered bitterly, “They’re sat out there with their ears pressed against the door just wa-”
“ I said they would not hear you and I meant it” Aemond murmured into your ear with a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath it.
“Aem-” You sighed contently.
“That’s it..sȳz riña.”Good girl. Your breathing faltered as the pet name slipped past his lips. He had figured out how much you liked to be praised from your journals.
“ You r-remebered…”You managed to gasp as he trailed down your neck.
“ I remember anything and everything that has to do with you, my love. I always will.” Aemond promised between wet kisses. You shouldn’t have believed him, but you did.
You never would’ve thought that you could fall deeper in love with Aemond Targaryen after that night, but nine months later proved you wrong. The sight of him by your side as you delivered your son set permanent hearts in your eyes. He had not cared for the blood or screams, only you and the babe. The babe who he later named Aemys because it was as close as he could get to amethyst, your favorite color. Every little detail of the things he did revolves around you. That’s what fueled your denial the first time you coughed up blood.
Your eyes stared hard at the bloody petal laying in your palm. Had that come from you? You had read strange tales of those who bled flowers, but you believed it only to be fiction. Surly your blood would not change at the ripe age of ten and nine.
“ The flower that once bloomed love will soon bloom blood. “ Helaena aimlessly mumbled to herself from beside you.
“ What..?”Your heart sped up as you analyzed her words. No one had ever paid any mind to her silly riddles, except for you.
“ Blooming blood blooms a burial.” This time Helaena was focused on you as she spoke. Her eyes filled with unknown sorrow. You left Aemys to play with his cousins as you rushed to the library. No one else was there to question your sanity as you pulled book after book from the shelf to find the old dornish fables that lay hidden among them.
“Hanahaki..”Every word, every page, and every definition seemed to tear you apart further as you read. No other condition led to flowery bile except for this one. Aemond loved you though. How could this be possible?
Your thoughts would be answered two morrows later when Aemond returned from his siege of Harrenhal. Everyone had expected to see him arrive on dragon back alone, certainly not with a strong bastard. A gorgeous strong bastard at that. You felt your chest tighten as you gazed upon her dark flowy locks and enchanting eyes. Oh by the seven, how could you spite him for loving someone like her? If circumstances were different, then perhaps you too would fall under her spell. It wasn’t until you saw the way she clung to Aemond’s arm that the coughing fit started. This had to be it. What else could it be? Aemond hated physical contact with strangers, yet he let a previously unknown wetnurse cling to him like a paramour. The harder you thought about it, the harder you coughed. The fit only resulted in a petal or two, but in time that would grow. The longer Alys rivers stayed, the worse you got. Both you and the universe could feel Aemond straying from you, even if he spoke differently.
“I am not in love with her!”Aemond snapped, reaching his breaking point in this petty argument that had started hours ago at dinner.
“ You do not see the things I see, Aemond. The way you defend her, encourage her, look at her…all in the way you used to look at me-” It took effort to fight down the sickness as you fought. It had been months, but you made no move to tell Aemond, you couldn’t.
“ I do not love her as I love you-”
“ Yes, but you love her!” You cried in outrage, gripping the wall near you for support. Everything became so out of focus as you spoke the words. It was the first time you had ever admitted it to yourself. The dew of brick cooled your skin as you leaned against the wall. Your body trembled with deep echoey coughs as petals tore their way up your throat.
“ I did not mean to make you sick, dear wife” Aemond spoke softly and simply. Wife. He had never called you that before, not even on your wedding night. It was always my love or Ñuha prūmia. How ironic for him to call you his heart when sooner or later he would be the reason yours cease to beat.
“ Just go, Aem, please.” You pleaded, turning away, “I do not wish to fight.”
“ As you wish.” Aemond’s bow before he left was the final straw to crack your heart open. Why must he be so formal when you stand dying a few feet away? How can he not see how badly you suffer? Were the shadows beneath your eyes, or the crack of your lips not big enough clues for him? Would you need to be dead for him to finally understand?
Unfortunately for you, that’s exactly how it was going to be. Everyone else around you had begun to notice the shift in your behavior. The fatigue, the paleness, and the emotions. Alicent first noticed it when she sat in the nursery with you, Helaena, and the children just after supper. She saw the way your eyes refused to leave Aemys as if it would be your last look. The way you held him was the same way she held Aemond when he lost his eye.
“ He’s a clever boy.” Alicent smiled as Aemys recited a word back to one of his cousins.
“ That he is.” You agreed, melancholy ghosting your lips. It hurt the queen to see you this way. You were a part of her almost as much as her children. You came to her as a child she was not forced to love nor conceive. Yet you wormed your way into her heart as if she had carried you. The sight of you so sickly and sad tugged at Alicent’s heart.
“ You’re sick, are you not?” Alicent proclaimed in observation rather than a question.
“ Mhm, In a way I suppose I am.” You hummed out softly. It had gotten to the point where it was hard to speak most days. The petals had begun to come up in thick, dry heaves, with occasional thorns that tore at your throat.
“ Have you told Aemond?” The queen inquired.
“ Aemond is the reason I’m sick in the first place.” You grumbled before sighing in defeat, “ Or I suppose it’s more of my fault. I was foolish to think he would ever actually love me.”
“ You don’t mean-” Alicent’s soft words trailed off abruptly. Alicent Hightower was no stranger to the hanahaki disease. She too had suffered through it once. Except she learned how to get around it.
“ I do.” You answered simply, with no trace of sadness or indifference.
“ There are ways around it my d-”
“ Such as forgoing my love for Aemond, I know. I could live a long life if I cast aside every loving memory I hold of him, but alas it is not that easy. I have tried, if that brings you any comfort. In the midst of the night when my eyes are swollen from tears and the blood in my throat is so thick I cannot breathe, I have tried, and I have failed.” Alicent’s eyes well with tears as you speak, almost as if she’s dared to imagine you in such dismay. You reach out to soothe her hands comfortingly, but she grips onto yours tightly instead.
“ It is not easy, but you must keep trying.” Alicent urges, a wobble to her voice.
“ There is no reason for me to put myself through the agony of erasing my happiness when I am already in physical torment. The sight of Aemond is the very reason I wake up every morning. Hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, and feeling his warmth are all things that have kept me going. Forgetting those would be forgetting myself.” You reason, a wisp of remembrance in your eyes.
“ If not for yourself, then for Aemys” Alicent argues.
“ Aemys is one of the reasons I have chosen to give up. Every time I look at him I see Aemond. They are alike in everything but the eyes. The mere sight of that boy reminds me of the night he was made, of the love and passion Aemond had for me. Yet he no longer holds in regards to me. I would rather Aemys hear stories of his parent’s love than grow up with two plain parents.” The child in topic bursts into giggles a few inches away, stealing your attention from the queen. Your eyes crinkle with happiness and you move to turn towards him, but Alicent holds firm.
“ Aemys needs his mother.” She argues once more.
“ He does not. Aemys will have a loving father and grandmother by his side. Alongside his aunt Helaena, Uncle Daeron, and three beautiful cousins. Even Aegon cares for the little rascals’ life.” You chuckled.
“ That is n-”
“ Please, I have made my choice. I appreciate your council, but it is too late. I fear after I lay my son to sleep, it will be my last night alive. I thank you for all the love and comfort you have given me in my lifetime. I love you, mother.” You pressed the meat of your cheek against Alicent’s hand in farewell before standing.
“ If you’ll excuse me-” As you stood to retrieve your son, Alicent excused herself from the room hastily. Never did she think she would find herself running through the castle’s corridors, but yet here she is. Alicent’s heels had been long forgotten and the emerald hem of her dress dragged upon the stone as she made haste to the library, where Aemond would be.
“ Aemond! Ae-” The frantic shrill of the queen mother’s voice echoes throughout the shelves.
“ Mother?” Aemond calls out, emerging from a row with a disheveled Alys in tow, “ Is something wrong?”
“ You hide away fondling a wet nurse while your wife withers away! Have I truly raised you this way?” The despair in Alicent’s voice takes Aemond by surprise. He reaches out to hold her arms, but she pulls away.
“ She is not withering away, mother. She has assured me that it is just a small cold.” Aemond speaks calmly, in hopes to ease his mother’s franticness.
“ A small cold!? She has every sign of hanahaki disease and you have not suspected a thing?” Alicent refuted.
“ Because it is not possible! I love her!” Aemond snaps.
“ Not enough!” Alicent sighs, “ In no world should I have had to be afraid of letting her go in fear that I would not see her again. She has accepted her death, Aemond. How far out of love have you fallen with her to the point where your wife greets death openly?”
Aemond doesn’t bother with a reply because he’s already on his way out of the door. His pounding steps reverberate through the empty halls and the tremble of panicked breathing surrounds him. Fear nearly eats him alive as he reaches the door to your marital chambers. Never has he been terrified to open those doors to the sight of you. He had never once feared finding you dead, but now he has. Slowly but surely, Aemond pushes the giant oak open. He spots you knelt on the balcony in your nightdress, looking up at the stars. Lark lay whining at your side until she hears Aemond shuffle forward. Much to Aemond's surprise, the hefty beast that once worshiped him as you did, bared its teeth to him.
"Please.." Aemond wasn't sure if he was pleading to Lark to let him pass or to the gods for your life. Either way, the Hyena was the first to answer him. Lark moved aside slowly so that Aemond may pass, but still kept defense from a ways away.
“I-” Before a word can even escape his lips, you’re lurching forward. Aemond rushes forward and sinks to his knees to hold you. The convulsions of your stomach can be felt as he circles your waist.
“ I’m so sorry, my love, please.” The cold wash of fear grips his spine as blood and flowers paint the floor. He has no idea what to do. You’re not saying anything or doing anything to cease the onslaught of terror, yet you’re not pushing him away either. On the contrary, you’ve tangled your fingers with the hand he has over your stomach.
“ I love you. I’ll always love you.” Aemond croaks helplessly into your hair as you lean back against him. It’s too late, you had once said. It seems that the universe had agreed. Your breathing rattled to a stop and the grip of your hands weakened. “ I love you. Forever and Always. I promise.” Aemond whispered, pressing a salt-soaked kiss to your temple as he felt your heart slow. The thump that once echoed through your back onto his own heart stuttered to a stop, and with it so did Aemond’s world.
Part 2
#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon angst#aemond targaryen angst#angst
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My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers
Chapter 1: Don’t Cry
Ch. 2 | Masterlist 🖤
14K words // Din Djarin x Pregnantf!reader
Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles to find certain words. The reader is pregnant!
Tags: SMUT virginity loss, con-non-con, made-up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, 18+ DNI.
Warnings: Child loss, Pregnancy, Birthing, Blood, Death?, explicit mention of child loss and grief, guys this is dark.
A/N: I got this idea as I was dying in the shower from period cramps & also from a bot I used to use on Janitor AI before it was privated (RIP Din Bot). For logistics, we will just pretend that the Razor Crest didn’t get absolutely obliterated. For timeline reference, this takes place after season 3. Im convinced Din & Grogu are gonna have fun son/dad bounty-hunting adventures as Din teaches Grogu how to be a Mandalorian. Slight flashback in the middle of how reader and Mando met. Grogu has been working on his force flips lmao. I imagine the reader having an accent kind of like Gal Gadot, idk just roll with it. Also, I am so sorry if you cry reading this, I know I did writing it.
His hands ghosted over the silky skin of her back as he watched himself disappear and reappear from her stretched cunt. Slick mixed with blood pooled at the base of his cock in a ring, and the sound of her whimpers reached his ears through the thick metal of his helmet. The feeling of her tightness was so inviting, so hypnotizing, he felt possessed. He didn’t even mean to finish inside of her, he’d have to pay extra for that.
From the incense heavy room he found himself standing at the edge of an enigmatic forest, encircled by black rock. An ethereal silence enveloped the scene, leaving him with an eerie sense of detachment.
His eyes shifted as he looked up on a pool of steaming water, obscured by the thick veil of steam, he saw her. The woman he’d been with on Tattooine so long ago. She struggled, her words lost in the hissing steam as her trembling hand gently grazed her belly. And there, in the midst of the dream's uncertainty, he witnessed the miracle of life itself—a whisper of cells coalescing into a fragile existence, pulsating with an otherworldly vitality.
Yet, the serenity was short-lived. The gentle whisper transformed into a nightmarish wail—a blood-curdling scream that tore through the tranquility of the woods. It was a scream of agony, of despair, and it emanated from her trembling lips. Her lips, soft and inviting, the same ones he'd yearned to kiss that night when he had ventured into the pleasure house.
The piercing screams grew louder, echoing through the dream, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with torment. As he watched her agony unfold, he was jolted awake, his head colliding with the unforgiving overhead storage. The sudden transition from the surreal to reality left him momentarily disoriented.
In the dimly lit living quarters of the Crest, Grogu, the young green child who had become an unexpected but cherished presence in his life, cried out from his sling, hanging above Din's bunk.
With a heavy sigh, the sound reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet, Din rose to his feet. The aging joints in his knees protested as he reached out to comfort the child, his gloved hands gently lifting Grogu from the nest of makeshift fabric.
"I know," Din murmured softly, his voice a quiet rumble as he cradled the child in his arms. "You saw it too, didn't you, kid?" Grogu, with his large, expressive eyes, gazed up at Din with a mournful look and reached out, tiny green fingers brushing against the Mandalorian's helmet.
After the tumultuous events that had reshaped his life, Din Djarin had never allowed your memory to occupy his thoughts. Amidst the whirlwind of reuniting with Grogu, aiding Boba Fett, and playing a pivotal role in the reclamation of Mandalore, you had become little more than a faint blip on his radar—a passing connection that had provided a brief interlude of solace in the midst of his relentless journey.
But now, as he cradled Grogu in his arms, looking into the innocent, sorrowful eyes of the young child, he couldn't deny the awakening of something deeper within him. It was a sensation that transcended the confines of his dreams, a connection he felt as profoundly as the vivid dreamscape that had woven itself into his consciousness.
The realization slowly dawned upon him: you were more than just a fleeting memory. You were an integral part of the enigmatic tapestry of his life, and the threads of fate had woven your presence into his destiny in a way he had never expected.
Breaking free from his reverie, Grogu's tiny green form squirmed wildly in Din's arms, his latent Force abilities propelling him away from the Mandalorian's grasp. With agile grace, he leaped and bounced his way through the ship's cramped quarters, a small but energetic whirlwind of curiosity. Din could barely react before Grogu vaulted into the cockpit.
Din's boots thudded on the ladder's metal rungs as he followed the young one up into the cockpit. A chorus of wild babbling reached his ears, punctuated by the frenzied pressing of buttons on the navicomputer.
"Don't touch that!" Din exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice, his heart racing as Grogu's tiny hand hovered perilously close to the power reset button. He couldn't help but be wary of the mischief the child could unleash.
The young one looked up at Din with eager eyes, babbled something incomprehensible, and tentatively touched the screen. Din cocked his head, his tinted visor reflecting his curiosity. With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the console and entered a code to initialize the navigation system. "Is this what you want?" Din asked, studying Grogu.
In response, Grogu emitted a single, distinct "Patu" sound, his tiny fingers now reaching for the code panel. Hesitating only momentarily, Din bent down, lifting the child to eye level with the buttons. Grogu began to press a sequence of buttons, his small, green hands navigating the controls with surprising precision. Din's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing.
"You know where she is?" his voice came out raspy. Grogu completed the sequence, and his innocent gaze met Din's as the navicomputer diligently calculated the numerical sequence. After a few moments, a series of beeps indicated the successful completion of the calculations. Din turned to read the result, the Aurebesh characters on the screen spelling out "Kith."
"It's in the Baxel Sector of the Outer Rim," Din murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, as he looked down at the child now resting contentedly in his lap. Grogu gazed up at him, then shifted his gaze to the navicomputer.
With a reluctant sigh, Din pressed a sequence of buttons to engage the hyperdrive. Whether he liked it or not, the path ahead was clear. He had to check on you. As the ship surged into hyperspace, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this journey was far from ordinary.
—
The path up to the Mountain of Mothers was a grueling journey, especially with your feet swollen and aching. It wasn't just a hike; it was a trial, a test of endurance to prove the worthiness of those seeking parenthood. The heavy pack you carried pressed on your lower back, making each step a test of your will. Normally, the pack was shared by the "Irrit" or father, but "Illa-ishi" or lonely mothers like you were compelled to carry it alone. The remnants of those who hadn't made it to the Mountain of Mothers were marked by the skeletons you passed on the way up.
The lower pool of the mountain lay two days away, and the upper pool required an additional five days of journey. Yet, something in your heart told you that this child would be with you in two days. As you followed the ascending trail, you crossed paths with an "Illa" or mother, accompanied by her Irrit. He bore their pack with pride, walking just behind her. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a testament to the culture you held dear.
"Noona" or baby was the foundation of your beliefs, the embodiment of the life you and your "Manna" or partner created together. Reaching the Mountain of Mothers and returning with a child was the highest honor, a symbol of worthiness.
The Illa halted on her descent and, with an air of pride, revealed her noona, wrapped in the family cloth. "Noona asa illa-ini!" (it’s a girl) she declared with joy, unveiling a beautiful baby girl. You couldn't help but smile down at the tiny noona and the Illa who showed her off with such pride.
“Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit,” (baby is worthy of her mother and father) you responded with the customary blessing, bowing your head in reverence. The mother and father returned the bow, acknowledging the blessing. However, the mother's eyes soon drifted to your belly and the heavy pack that weighed you down.
“Asa Illa-ishi?” she asked softly, her face clouding with sadness. (Are you a lonely mother?)
Summoning all your strength, you fought back the tears that threatened to well up. With your head held high and a tender hand resting on your belly, you spoke resolutely, "A illa-ishi."
I am a lonely mother.
—
The journey through hyperspace had indeed stretched far longer than Din had anticipated. A full day had elapsed since that haunting dream, leaving him with the unsettling sensation of being trapped in some unseen, cosmic rotation of time. However, that ceaseless ticking eventually brought them to the end of their journey as the ship dropped out of hyperspace in front of a smaller, mysterious planet, its surface adorned with sprawling waters and lush forests. As he guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, the Mandalorian noticed a stark absence of the usual signs of civilization—no traffic control, no spaceports, not even a refueling station. The setting felt eerily reminiscent of the world of Sorgan.
Din hovered uncertainly in the atmosphere, his mind racing. Grogu, seated in the co-pilot's chair, played with the mythasaur skull around his neck, seemingly unfazed by the situation. As Din stared at the green child, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair.
"Now what…?" Din muttered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the details of the dream, seeking any hint or clue that could guide their search.
In his mind's eye, he saw you, your form shrouded in mist and glistening with sweat. The dress you wore clung to your figure, the fabric a soft white-grey that accentuated your curves as you breathed heavily. His brow furrowed in concentration. There was water, almost like a waterfall, surrounding you, with black jagged rocks supporting your form. Your feet were immersed in milky water, reminiscent of a hot spring.
Din's eyes snapped open. A hot spring. It wasn't much to go on, especially for a planet that could potentially be dotted with such natural wonders, but it was a lead worth pursuing. His hands sprung into action, deftly pressing a sequence of buttons that initiated a signal, a ping to any electronic communication device on the planet's surface.
Grogu's focus shifted from the mythasaur skull to the Mandalorian, the child's curious gaze following Din's swift movements. Din soon located the nearest signal on the planet's surface, and as he brought the Razor Crest lower, he was struck by the intensity of the landscape. Towering thick trees covered nearly every inch of land, a vast, unspoiled wilderness that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The planet's terrain was marked by colossal mountains that sliced through the canopy of green like serpents in water, their peaks jutting out in sporadic bursts.
It was a breathtaking and untamed landscape, like nothing Din had ever witnessed. His gaze scanned the vast expanse below, tracking the signal as he searched for a suitable place to land the Crest. Finally, he spotted it—an elevated landing pad erected above the treetops. It seemed to be a small station, but it was a potential refuge for refueling and gathering information, a step closer to finding you
"K1 to RC 4577, you are clear to land at dock 7," a thickly accented voice echoed through the Razor Crest's comms system, providing the coordinates for their landing.
"RC 4577 to K1, recieved," Din responded, his gaze shifting to meet Grogu's eyes. The Mandalorian leaned over to offer a piece of advice to the child, "Always be kind when you land; most landing bay employees often know the most information." Grogu looked at Din, his large eyes brimming with understanding, and he babbled something that Din accepted as an acknowledgment.
With precision, Din guided the Razor Crest toward its designated dock and gently brought the ship to the surface. As he withdrew his hand from the control lever, he noticed a subtle tremor in his own fingers. It had been a long time since he had felt such a physical manifestation of emotion, not since he had lost Grogu to Moff Gideon.
In response to the tremor, Grogu cooed softly and reached out for his protector. Din's gaze locked onto the child, his trembling hands cautiously reaching out to embrace him. Grogu instinctively placed his tiny hands on either side of Din's helmet, offering comfort and connection. A sense of relief washed over the Mandalorian, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The small hands on his helmet made a soft "plink" sound that resonated through his interior comms.
"Thanks, kid," Din murmured, his voice laden with gratitude, but his words unable to fully convey the depth of his feelings.
Exiting the ship, Din carried Grogu in his sling, the child's presence providing a grounding force amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. A young mechanic in worn-overalls approached, his basic broken but comprehensible. "Need refuel?" he asked, to which Din nodded in acknowledgment. The mechanic, unfazed by the Mandalorian's helmet, started toward the fuel hose.
"Hot springs?" Din inquired, his voice barely audible above the wind that whipped violently across the landing pad. The mechanic turned, his eyes reflecting confusion, but Din simply nodded and reached for his credits, preparing to tip the young man for his services. Glancing around the landing pad, he spotted a few other ships—a transport vessel and two cargo ships.
The pad itself had clearly seen better days, and the gusts of wind whipped violently across its aged metal surface, causing a tumultuous symphony of sound. At the front of the landing pad stood a small rectangular building, featuring one set of large bay doors. It seemed to be the station's main structure. Adjusting Grogu in his sling, Din began to make his way toward it, his steps determined.
The small building served as a cover for various ships, a mix of those dusted and covered with the weight of time, and others gleaming with newness. Inside, a modest diner and café shop hummed with activity, a few patrons engaged in quiet conversations. At the front, an older man sat at a makeshift desk, engrossed in the workings of a peculiar-looking computer. As Din approached, the man stood abruptly, his enthusiasm palpable.
"Hello, traveler! Welcome to Kith!" he greeted with a giant smile. "I am Don Mai, the residing Mayor. We are humbled by the presence of a great warrior such as yourself!" With a reverence that bordered on adoration, the old man bowed deeply.
Din suppressed the urge to laugh, already forming an opinion of the enthusiastic mayor that he made a mental note to tell Bo Katan about later. Before Din could utter a word, Don Mai thrust a paper pamphlet into his hands, his speech transitioning into a rehearsed spiel about Kith's culture and history.
"Kith has a rich culture and even more intense history! Women from all over the galaxy come to experience the Mountain of Mothers and—"
“The Mountain of Mothers?" Din interjected, his tone cutting through the mayor's ramblings.
Don Mai's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, the Mountain of Mothers has been around since the dawn of life on our humble planet, and its springs offer—"
"Hot springs?" Din interrupted again, his focus unwavering.
"Uh, well, yes, you see, the springs offer—" Don Mai began once more, but Din's impatience grew apparent.
"Where?" Din's voice was firm, demanding answers without the unnecessary embellishments.
Don Mai huffed, "The Mountain of Mothers is the largest mountain range on Kith. You should've seen it from your ship. If you take the elevator down to the planet’s surface, there is a speeder rental that can take you to the base of the range," the old man explained, his tone slightly deflated by Din's lack of interest in his detailed lecture.
Din places the paper pamphlet in a storage pocket on his bandolier as Grogu watches closely.
“And the elevator?” Din asks not looking away from the old man.
"To the left of the fuel pump on the landing pad. Just remember to pay your respects to the Gods as you visit the—"
The old man's voice dwindled into the background as Din walked away from the building and back onto the landing pad. He made his way to the fuel pump and, as instructed, looked to the left to find a rickety-looking elevator, seemingly manually operated. The metal showed signs of rust in various spots, and the wire pulley appeared to be in need of greasing. The flooring of the elevator was a grate that revealed the ground thousands of feet below. Grogu emitted a series of frightened squeaks and coos as Din hesitantly stepped onto the grating.
"I know, kid… let's just... get down there," Din muttered through gritted teeth, steeling himself for the precarious descent.
Din's hand gripped the elevator crank tightly, his patience stretched thin as he began the painstakingly slow descent. Halfway through, he had to switch arms, the anger at the archaic contraption bubbling beneath his calm exterior. It was unusual for him to get frustrated with inanimate objects, but this elevator was testing his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached the bottom of the landing pad. With a forceful yank, Din opened the rusted gate, stepping onto soil that felt surprisingly soft underfoot, reminiscent of the sands on Tatooine, albeit less yielding.
The area below was like a forgotten tourist hub, the shops standing silent and forlorn, each manned by a lone shopkeeper who stared into the emptiness, boredom etched across their faces. It was a desolate sight, a place trying to be lively without the visitors to make it so.
Walking further, Din noticed a row of rusted speeder bikes, the rentals. His heavy boots left imprints on the sponge-like earth as he approached. A few of the shopkeepers stirred from their boredom at the sight of the silver-clad Mandalorian passing by.
Reaching the speeder rental, Din was met by an old Aqualish man, the grey of the hair surrounding his face telling tales of years of service.
"How much?" Din asked, his voice reflecting his growing impatience.
"Fifty credits," the Aqualish garbled back.
"Thirty-five," Din countered, his tone firm as he shifted his weight to one side. Grogu cooed softly from his sling, his wide eyes observing the bartering process.
The Aqualish nodded in agreement and walked away to retrieve the speeder keys.
As Din adjusted Grogu in the sling to access his credits, he caught sight of a couple approaching from the earthen road. The man carried a hefty pack on his back, and the woman cradled a baby in her arms. The pride in the man's eyes was evident as he helped his wife walk toward the shops.
"Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit!" the shopkeeper, an elderly woman across the street, shouted at them. The couple bowed softly in acknowledgment as they continued walking. Every shop they passed echoed the same foreign phrase, and Din watched with curiosity. Upon reaching the elevator, the man removed his pack, fashioning a makeshift seat for his wife as he started cranking the elevator back up to the top of the landing pad.
The sound of a throat clearing broke Din's concentration. The Aqualish man stood, hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the payment. Din sighed inwardly, realizing he had been lost in his thoughts. He paid the credits and received the keys to the rusted speeder. Adjusting Grogu in the sling, ensuring the child was safely nestled in his lap, Din ignited the speeder and set off down the only trail leading out of the market.
The only path to the Mountain of Mothers.
—
The pain in your swollen belly intensified as you stood at the base of the last incline leading to the lower pool. The journey had taken a heavy toll on your body, leaving you exhausted and in constant discomfort. Your feet were swollen, your hips ached, and everything hurt, but the cramping in your abdomen was what worried you most. The night before, you had barely managed to rest, opting to lie on the soft ground without bothering with your bedroll. Restlessness had plagued you throughout the night, and now the cramping made it clear that your time was approaching.
Today would be your last day on this arduous journey. The lower pool was just above you, but the pain in your body seemed unbearable. You knew it was all part of the gods' plan for you, but you never expected the pain to be this intense.
As you struggled up the final incline, a sharp pain ripped through you, and you stumbled. Your pack felt impossibly heavy, and your breaths came short. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as a wall of rock loomed ahead of you.
"Itta non a dashi," (I will not die here) you whispered defiantly, mustering the strength from the deepest part of your being. As your emotions surged, you felt the baby shift within you. With renewed determination, you regained your balance, placing a loving hand on your swollen belly.
The next incline lay ahead, one of the most challenging parts of the journey. You could see evidence of past mothers who had slipped or stopped, their bones scattered in the crevices of the rock. For Illa-ishi, like yourself, the task was solitary, without the help of an Irrit to assist with the ascent.
You stood at the base of the rocky cliff, gazing up at the tantalizing promise of the lower pool. The rhythmic thunder of the waterfall beyond the peak urged you forward, swirls of steam rose into the air, a tantalizing promise of the lower pool just a short climb away.
Thankfully, the rugged rock face bore shelves that made the treacherous climb more bearable. Growing up you heard tales of a time a century past when an Irrit, a kind-hearted soul whose manna, a young woman, could not walk. In a display of unwavering determination and love, he took chisel and hammer in hand, carving these sturdy, stone steps into existence. With these ledges, he could secure her safely to his back and ascend the daunting precipice so she could birth their child.
Taking a moment to catch your breath, you surveyed the ascent before you. The harsh sun beat down, casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Determination burned in your eyes as you figured out the best plan of action. With a surge of resolve, you slipped the heavy pack from your sweat-covered body, feeling an immediate relief as the oppressive weight fell off you and onto the gritty dirt below.
With your pack discarded, you dragged it to the base of the wall where the first of the man-made shelves jutted out, a mere foot of space cut into the unforgiving rock face. Despite the fatigue gnawing at your muscles, you carefully planted your foot on the ledge, finding just enough space to stand. Bending down carefully you pulled the pack onto the ledge beside your feet. Your birthing gown, gauzy and light, provided a surprising ease of movement. Once you’d made sure the pack was secure you looked up and examined the next shelf. It was a little high of a stretch but you gripped the wall above to steady yourself, your gown billowing slightly with the effort.
Your hips protested with each movement, but the primal instinct to survive drowned out the pain. With staggering determination, you raised your leg, using the hold of the wall to leverage yourself onto the rock shelf to the left. Your arms, weary but unyielding, lifted your body until you were safely on the shelf.
Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glanced back down at the last shelf, now below you. Gathering remnants of your strength, you reached down, hands trembling slightly, and lifted your pack with both arms onto the shelf beside you. Only one more shelf remained, higher up and to your right, a final obstacle before hauling yourself onto the top of the cliff.
After a short rest, you locked eyes with the next shelf, determination burning in your gaze. With a swift motion, you reached up for a gap in the wall to get a grip. Sliding your right hand into the sharp crevice, you pulled with all your might, grunting with effort as you lifted your right leg onto the shelf, which was higher than the last. But in that moment of triumph, a sudden jolt of pain radiated from your lower back all the way to your fingertips, and you lost your hold, a gasp ripping through you.
Stumbling backward, you were saved only by your pack, which you used for leverage to steady yourself. The contraction was fierce, so intense that it was only when you absentmindedly touched the dress covering your belly that you realized you'd sliced your palm on the unforgiving rock. Scarlet red stained your gown, creating an almost perfect handprint. Oddly, you felt no pain in your hand, your senses consumed by the tightening in your abdomen, which worsened with every passing moment.
“Issa non a tishi noona..” (its not time yet baby) you groaned out in pain, your voice strained and breathless. Your eyes clenched shut as you tried to endure the relentless waves of agony.
You stood trembling on the shelf of the wall for a good minute or two before the contraction finally subsided, leaving you panting and exhausted. It was then that the sharp sting in your hand dominated your senses. You examined your hand, the crevice in the wall had sliced deep, and you could see the gash, making your stomach turn uneasily.
Reaching into your pack, you found the medipack, fingers trembling as you carefully opened it to retrieve the gauze and a bacta spray. With great care, you held your injured hand out in front of you and applied the bacta spray to the gash, wincing at the initial sting. Then, you gently wrapped the gauze around the wound, ensuring it was secure. The sharp pain began to dull as your trembling hand capped the spray, carefully returning it to the medipack.
With a sigh, you straightened up, taking a moment to regain your composure. The pain in your hand was no longer the foremost concern, and you couldn't let it distract you from the task at hand. You knew that each moment counted in this climb, and you needed to find the safest route to reach the next shelf.
Reassessing the situation, you examined the uneven rock wall before you, trying to identify the most secure handholds and footholds.
An idea crossed your mind and it could be great, or the worst idea ever and you could fall to your death but you were determined. You carefully maneuver around your pack and push it closer to the end of the shelf. You carefully placed a leg on the pack and then another, standing precariously on your pack which provided you almost a foot of extra height, you used the wall to steady yourself. You prayed to the Gods and reached with your right hand for the crevice that had so rudely marred your hand. Finding more traction with the gauze you confidently pulled yourself extending your right leg so your foot found purchase on the shelf. A victorious smile crossed your face as you then pushed off your pack with your left leg and hoisted yourself onto the shelf. A quiet laugh left your lips as you clung to the wall you were now facing.
Looking to your left, you bent down carefully to grab your pack. This shelf was a lot shorter, jutting from the wall maybe only eight inches. You had to precariously grab your heavy pack with one hand and quickly cram it under your left leg to prevent it from plummeting to the ground below.
You were so close now that you could feel the cool mist from the water above, and the deafening roar of the falls filled your ears. Perched roughly 15 feet above the ground, you took a moment to catch your breath. You dared not look down, fearing that it would disrupt your balance. Instead, you pressed your belly tightly against the rock wall in front of you, your heart pounding with both exertion and anticipation.
After a brief moment of rest, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was it, the final leg of your treacherous journey. You had one more pull, one last push, and you would reach the lower pool, your goal within your grasp. But you also knew that a single mistake could lead to a disastrous fall, a fate you couldn't afford.
Taking a deep breath, you raised your arms above your head, your palms resting on the ridge above. With utmost care and precision, you hoisted yourself up, quickly placing both feet on your pack. The pack provided just enough height to get your elbows onto the smooth rock above. You pulled with every ounce of strength you had, feeling your belly scrape against the unyielding stone as you lifted.
Luck was on your side, as your feet managed to find a foothold through the worn leather of your boot. This newfound leverage allowed you to push yourself up, resembling a sea lion clambering onto a rocky outcrop. With sheer determination and the last vestiges of your strength, you quickly pulled your right leg under you and pushed yourself onto all fours on the smooth rock face. Your heart raced, your hands and knees trembling from the exertion, but you had made it. You had reached the final stretch of your perilous ascent, and the pool ahead awaited, a shimmering reward for your indomitable spirit.
A sob escaped your lips, a surge of emotion you hadn't anticipated as the reality of your accomplishment finally caught up with you. You had done it. You had managed to make it to the lower pool, and the inviting, milky-warm waters beckoned to soothe your weary body. Steam swirled around you, creating an ethereal atmosphere as you lay there, taking in the moment.
Rolling onto your back to face the sky, you watched as a giant silver ship soared high above the mountain. Your eyes followed it for a brief moment before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the blue sky. Tears welled up and trickled down your cheeks, their salty warmth mixing with the refreshing mist from the pool. You felt the gentle movements of the babe inside you and couldn't help but smile through your tears.
"Noona...we made it," you whispered in basic, your hand tenderly caressing your belly. The connection between you and the life within you was stronger than ever, a bond forged through this incredible journey.
After some time, you stirred, realizing that you needed to retrieve your pack. With some effort, the pack proved easier to handle than your own weight combined with the growing life inside you. You unzipped the pack and reached for your bedroll when another sensation, different from the earlier contractions, radiated through your core. This time, it felt like pressure, a clear sign that the moment you had been anticipating was drawing near.
After finding the bedroll, you took a moment to survey the area for a suitable spot to lay it down. The relatively flat rock surface encircling the spring was a dark black, a stark contrast to the frothy blue of the hot spring's waters. The ancient, tranquil pool was surrounded by old, tattered bedrolls, some empty, while others still held the silent remains of Illa-ishi who hadn't been as fortunate as you.
You sighed softly, the weight of the past and the solemnity of the place pressing down on you. You knew what lay beneath the surface of this hot spring – the resting places of those who had undertaken the same treacherous journey but hadn't emerged victorious. Out of respect for their memory, the people of Kith never dared to touch the remains. Instead, they left the bones where they lay, allowing them to become one with the planet's core, a final return to the world from which they had come.
Gently, you found a clear space amidst the bedrolls and laid down your own bedroll. It felt strange to rest among the remnants of those who had gone before you, but you also understood the significance of this place.
It was believed among your people that the Mountain of Mothers was the handiwork of the divine God of Kith, a deity whose love for his wife, Illa-ishi, was as vast as the universe itself.
Illa-ishi’s womb had cradled life for what seemed like an eternity and her body bore the weight of years, while her heart bore the burden of unbearable pain. Witnessing his beloved wife suffer, Kith, with his divine hands, crafted a pool at the mountain's base. Its waters held the promise of relief, a balm for Illa-ishi's agony.
While Kith labored tirelessly to raise the Mountain of Mothers, Illa-ishi, driven by a desperation born of unending torment, embarked on a solitary climb up its slopes. With each step, she ascended toward the heavens, seeking solace that seemed perpetually out of reach.
At the pinnacle of her journey, amidst the tranquil waters of the divine pool, Illa-ishi's child was born. Yet, there was no cry of life, no breath to fill the air. In a heart-wrenching moment, the lonely mother, overcome by despair, embraced the waters that had promised relief. She allowed herself to be consumed, seeking peace in the depths of the pool.
Kith, returning to find his wife and child lost to the pool’s embrace, was consumed by an anguish that eclipsed the stars. In his sorrow, he performed a deed both divine and sacrificial. In a resolute act, he harnessed the remnants of their life force, infusing it with the very essence of his divine being, and breathed life into the creation of the upper pool atop the Mountain of Mothers.
This upper pool, borne from his profound sacrifice, was destined to be a reward for those who completed the arduous journey together. It was a testament to the strength of unity, the enduring love that bound families and lovers, and the rewards that awaited those who surmounted the trials of life.
Yet, even in the splendor of his divine creation, Kith's sadness consumed him. He recognized the fundamental truth that Illa could not always survive, and that Noona may not always breathe. And so, the first pool, at the mountain's base, remained untouched, preserved as a sanctuary of rest and respect. A place where Illa-ishi, and Illa could find solace amidst the beauty of the Mountain of Mothers, where the waters whispered stories of love and sacrifice, and where their weary spirits could find respite beneath the endless expanse of the starlit sky.
In history there was only one illa-ishi who succeeded in birthing a breathing babe at the first pool, and she had birthed an evil so strong it was said to last generations.
You knew your heart, and you knew your babe. You had come here to rest.
—
The hike was hard. Din was breathing heavily under the weight of his armor and the burden of Grogu, who looked around the desolate landscape with a sad curiosity. How many skeletons had they passed? What kind of place was this? Why were you here? The guilt gnawed at him with each step he took. Why had he even gone to seek out pleasure from solitude in the first place? He thought back to that night…
The night was dark and heavy as Din sat alone in the dimly lit corner of the cantina in Mos Eisley, his thoughts consumed by a yearning for Grogu. The scorching sands of Tatooine outside were a harsh reminder of the precious time he had spent here with the child and Peli Motto. They had been moments of sanctuary, where the galaxy's chaos seemed miles away.
Nearly a year had passed since he'd entrusted Grogu to Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, a decision made with the best intentions. But that choice had left a void within him that he could hardly bear. Sleepless nights had become his constant companion, and the craving for both rest and peace had grown unbearable. And yet, he found himself agreeing to help Boba Fett in the midst of a brutal war, a commitment that seemed at odds with his desire for tranquility.
But in that cantina, he made a solemn decision. He had to seek out Grogu one last time, he had to give Grogu the chain mail that he had made for him. Just, as a way to protect him nothing more… He ran his fingers over its cool surface, a gesture that silently conveyed his unbreakable resolve before he pocketed the beskar.
As the night deepened and the alcohol flowed, he realized he had indulged in more Corellian Whiskey than he should have, knowing he needed a clear head for the journey that awaited him. But the whiskey's burn was a welcomed distraction, a temporary escape from the overwhelming pain of missing Grogu.
In the midst of his solitude, the cantina's atmosphere began to change. A group of scantily dressed women, draped in silks and adorned with gold, entered the establishment. They moved with grace and charisma, engaging patrons in conversation, flirting, and distributing holochips for a nearby pleasure house. Din snorted at the thought. When was the last time he even had time to fuck anything but his palm?
When was the last? He wondered trying to think back over the years since he’d acquired the responsibility of caring for Grogu.
Years. Actual, years.
In his inebriated state, Din found himself clutching the holochip, his steps unsteady as he navigated the narrow streets of Mos Eisley towards the establishment advertised on the chip. He had given in to a reckless impulse, fueled by a desire to escape the pain of missing Grogu, and a fleeting sense of excitement at the prospect of companionship, even if it was just for one night. The weight of the impending war, as Boba Fett had described it, loomed in his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder if this might be his last moment of solace.
Entering the dimly lit and shady establishment, he was met by a greasy, overweight man berating a young child. The sight of the child sent a wave of unease through him, casting a shadow over his already troubled conscience. What kind of place was this, where children were exposed to such depravity?
"Not for sale!" the greasy man barked at Din, as if reading some unsavory intent in the Mandalorian's eyes, he shielded the child, pushing her back behind a tattered curtain.
“I wasn’t…” Din’s words faltered, the very thought of such exploitation sickening him to his core.
But the foreman, undeterred, eyed Din up and down, his gaze lingering on the gleaming beskar armor. “You’ve got money, I’ve got girls,” the man said, his voice oozing with a repugnant confidence.
Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts a jumbled mess, still reeling from the shock of seeing a child in such a place. He stumbled, his voice faltering.
The foreman, undeterred, went on, "I have a girl who just became available. She's not been with anyone, you'd be lucky to find a deal like her on this side of Tatooine." He reached into a box of hologram pucks, selected one, and placed it on the desk. Activating the hologram, he presented it to Din.
Din's gaze fixated on the static image, his eyes locked on the visage.. Strangely, he felt a deep pull within him, as if your image was both familiar and enigmatic, stirring emotions he couldn't quite place.
"How much?" Din's voice, though filtered through his modulator, held a heaviness, a mix of curiosity and longing.
"Four thousand credits," the foreman stated, avarice evident in his words.
“Four?” Din repeated, incredulous, his disbelief met with a dismissive glance from the foreman. “How much does she get?” he demanded, his tone sharp and unwavering.
The foreman's look turned defensive, his response sharp, "Two thousand. My girls are lucky to get any at all."
Din's resolve hardened, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a threatening edge that he usually reserved for bounties. "I'll pay six thousand, and she gets four thousand."
The foreman's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard, but a vile smirk soon crept across his face. "Deal. Right this way, sir," he beamed, all too eager to make the transaction.
The foreman led him through a maze of dimly lit hallways filled with disturbing moans and an overpowering, artificial perfume that hung heavily in the air. The cacophony of voices from behind the closed doors was a haunting reminder of the grim reality of this place, and the perfumed scent was a failed attempt at masking the despair that lurked within.
At the end of the corridor, the foreman unlocked a door and gestured for Din to enter. "I'll send her in," he grunted, closing the door behind Din.
Din stumbled into the room, the alcohol coursing through his veins, muddling his thoughts. He took in his surroundings, finding himself in a chamber that seemed a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment. A makeshift bed of luxurious pillows lay on the floor, richly woven tapestries hung from the ceiling, creating a semblance of privacy. Incense burned intensely, casting a hazy atmosphere, a chair rested by the door infront of a towering golden-framed mirror that rest to the right.
This must be a more expensive room, he thought, his mind reeling with the absurdity of it all. He couldn't help but question himself, wondering what he was truly doing here, and if this was the way he wanted to fill the void left by Grogu.
As the room's fakely lavish atmosphere weighed upon him, the door behind him swung open gently. He turned, his movements slow and heavy from his armor, to see you enter. Your form was meek, draped in a light blue silk garment that covered more of your body than the women he had seen in the cantina. Gold metal accents adorned your wrists, ankles, and neck, casting a subtle glow in the dim room.
Din's breath hitched as he observed you, his gaze tracing your figure from your feet to your face. Your flushed face and the nervous way you looked down at the floor beside him made it clear that you were unfamiliar with this line of work. He saw you absentmindedly running your index and middle finger along the material of your flowing skirt.
He couldn't explain it, but something about your vulnerability, the innocence you still carried despite the circumstances, touched him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the foreman had lied about your experience, but as he watched you in silence, he knew that the greasy man's words were painfully accurate.
Din shifted slightly, causing your gaze to snap to him quickly. His visor concealed his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. He observed for another moment, considering his next move. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves. The process was deliberate, one finger at a time on the right hand of his glove, until he was able to pull it off, revealing his bare hand. His eyes never left yours as he started to work the other glove off, the tension in the room growing palpable.
Your gaze drifted from his visor to his hands, watching intently as the gloves came off. As soon as he removed the gloves, he walked to the chair by the door and set them down gently. Your gaze followed him as he approached, your hand never leaving the doorknob the entire time. It was as if you were waiting for him to make a move, to confirm the fear that had taken root in your heart.
Din stopped a few feet away from you, his gauntleted hand hanging by his side. There was something in his stance, a subtle softening in his normally rigid posture that made you feel he might not be the threat you initially perceived.
He straightened as he turned to face you, extending his tanned and calloused right hand as a peace offering. It hung there in the space between you, a bridge across the vast divide that had separated your worlds. The look you gave him that night pierced through his then-buzzed haze, and as your gaze moved from his visor to the palm of his outstretched hand, you ever so softly smiled.
Your hand moved slowly, with a slight tremble, as you placed it in his. Maker, it was so soft, so... loving. In a way, it reminded Din of his mother's hands. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his face when she would kiss him on the top of his head or brush his hair back. It was a memory buried deep, one he rarely let resurface in the harsh reality of his life.
He watched you, unknowingly holding his breath, as your eyes flitted from his hands back up to his visor.
That night was almost eight months ago, and in the span of those months, the galaxy had shifted beneath Din Djarin's feet. He had fought with Boba Fett, gotten Grogu back, found his covert and embarked on the perilous journey to reclaim Mandalore and his Mandalorian status. The weight of leadership, the responsibilities, and the relentless pursuit of his beliefs had clouded his thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.
As he walked through the dense forest, the guilt that had been gnawing at him grew ever more oppressive. He'd been so preoccupied with his own mission, his people's future, and the legacy of Mandalore that he hadn't even spared a thought in your direction. He had foolishly assumed that the foreman would handle any potential consequences of their night together, perhaps naively believing that you would choose to remain silent. However, what if you hadn't told the foreman? What if you carried something precious from that night, a part of him he was yet to know about? He had neither your name nor any means of contact, and that realization weighed him down like a camtono of beskar.
With every step, the burden of his guilt pressed down upon him, and he mentally berated himself for not knowing your name or sharing his. He deserved this guilt, for in his quest to rebuild his world, he had unintentionally left a piece of himself behind. If you were pregnant, how were you supposed to find him in the vastness of the galaxy? He couldn't shake the thought that he might be a father, and yet he had no way to reach out to you.
Lost in thought and oblivious to his surroundings, Din hadn't even realized that he'd strayed from the trail until a blood-curdling scream pierced through the forest's silence, shattering the walls of his introspection. His eyes darted ahead, and the only thing he saw beyond the thick undergrowth was a rocky precipice. Steam rose from somewhere below, and the scream, unmistakably human, sent a chill down his spine.
—
After doing your best to set up a makeshift camp amidst the unforgiving terrain, the contractions began to increase in intensity and frequency. Drenched in sweat, your body ached with fatigue, and desperation for the comfort of the hot spring surged within you. In your birthing gown, you summoned every ounce of strength to embark on the journey toward the soothing waters.
With slow, measured steps, you made your way to the spring, determined to find solace amidst the throes of labor. The contractions continued to grip you, and you fought to maintain your composure, focusing on deep breaths as you moved closer to the source of relief.
As you neared the milky waters, the soothing sound of the waterfall dumping cool water into the far end of the pool filled your ears. The natural geothermal heat emanated from the earth beneath the water, warming the fresh, chilly stream. You gingerly lowered yourself to the spring's edge, wincing through the persistent contraction that clawed at your strength.
With immense effort, you managed to sit on the edge of the pool, your feet dipping into the perfectly warm water. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the soothing waters enveloped your aching limbs. Slowly, you eased yourself into the warm embrace of the spring, its shallowness just deep enough for you to sit comfortably, your head above the waterline.
The warmth cocooned you, providing the much-needed respite your weary body craved. In the midst of your struggle, the hot spring became a sanctuary, a place where the pain of labor met the healing balm of nature, and for a fleeting moment, you found solace amidst the turmoil, embracing the precious gift of warmth and comfort in the midst of the wilderness.
You had lost track of how long you sat in the soothing water, your fingers pruning as the serene ambiance of the hot spring washed over you. Contented sighs intermittently left your lips as you found a momentary respite from the relentless contractions. The world around you seemed to blur as the hot spring cradled you in its gentle embrace.
But all too soon, your tranquility shattered like fragile glass. A pained cry tore through the rocky landscape. Your eyes shot open, searching for the source of the distress.
Your gaze darted towards the rugged ridge you had labored to climb mere hours earlier. Two voices reached your ears, one male and one female, carrying on the wind. Panic surged through you as you observed a hand ascending the top of the ridge. Your heart quickened, and you realized there were people approaching, their presence entirely unexpected.
With haste, you sprung up from your spot in the spring, water cascading off your birthing gown as you clambered to the edge of the pool.
A man, seemingly oblivious to your presence, ascended the ridge, a pack strapped to his back. He reached the flat rock and extended his hand below him. Your bare feet met the cold, rough surface of the gravely rock as you hurried over to the edge, your heart heavy with empathy for the woman in dire need. Down below, on the third rock shelf, you saw a woman, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her birthing gown stained with the evidence of her struggles.
“Isa a happis” (I will help!) you called out, your voice resolute, your determination evident. You easily crouched down next to the man, extending your hand to the one who was suffering. She gazed up at you, gratitude filling her eyes as she grasped your outstretched hand.
“Ona tice!” (On Three!) The man standing beside you declared, his voice strong and determined. You locked eyes with him, sharing the gravity of the situation, and both of you prepared to pull the distressed woman to safety. With a shared resolve, he began to count down, and on three, you pulled the woman up with surprising ease, your muscles working in harmony to lift her to safety.
Wide-eyed, she arrived at the top of the landing, blood staining her birthing gown, a visceral testament to the life that sought to enter the world. She cried out in agony, her body in the throes of birthing pains. Your attention shifted to the Illit, his face etched with desperation as he removed his pack, his hands trembling as he tried to assist his manna.
He grabbed her, his touch gentle yet urgent, realizing that there was no time to lose. Even as you watched, you could tell the baby was coming, the process inevitable now. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the rocky walls, a symphony of pain and life in the midst of nature's raw beauty.
“Noona essa comesei ittina!” (the babe is coming now!) you urgently announce, your voice steady and commanding, as you motion for the father to cease his movements. He gazes at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and sadness, the emotions palpable in the misty air.
Your own contractions, once so overwhelming, are now distant memories as you shift your focus entirely to the woman and her impending delivery. You position yourself between the woman's legs, and she leans back on her husband for support, the bond of love and trust between them evident in the way they clung to each other during this moment.
With gentle but purposeful hands, you begin to move the gauze of her birthing dress out of the way, revealing the sacred space where the new life is making its entrance into the world. The sight fills you with a profound sense of awe and wonder, the beauty of life in its most raw and unadulterated form.
As you catch the first glimpse of the emerging baby, a smile naturally graces your lips, a radiant reflection of the profound beauty you are about to witness. You look up at the father, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and connection as you prepare to assist in guiding their child into the world, an act of grace in the heart of nature's splendor.
“Noona essa comesei! Attari noona bassi?” (The baby is coming, the baby cloth?) you urgently conveyed to the father, the intensity of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He blinked, momentarily caught in the whirlwind of emotions before comprehending your words. With careful haste, he gently leaned his wife back, supporting her amidst the agonizing pains as he reached for his pack against the wall.
Desperation etched on his face, he hurriedly threw various items from the bag, scattering them around in his search for the baby cloth. Every passing second felt like an eternity as the mother cried out in pain, her body instinctively bringing forth the baby as your hand supported its head.
Finally, after emptying the entire bag, the Illit father's shoulders slumped in defeat. His frustration boiled over, and he struck the rock wall with his fist, a primal cry of helplessness escaping his lips.
In the midst of this despair, you remained calm, your instincts taking over.
“Asa Passi! Attara noona bassi!” (In my pack! I have the baby cloth!) you shouted at the father, your voice carrying the urgency of the moment. With a quick motion, you pointed to your own pack, signaling where the much-needed baby cloth could be found. Your other hand remained cradling the head of the newborn, offering support and comfort to the laboring mother.
You ran a soothing hand over her leg as she summoned her last ounce of strength, pushing with all her might, and then, in a powerful moment, the babe broke free into the world. The father, having located the cloth meant for your own child in your pack, rushed over, his eyes wide with anxiety. You accepted the plain cloth from him, wasting no time in wrapping the baby in it.
The newborn lay still and silent, not letting out the expected cries that heralded a new life. A sense of despair washed over you, and you shared a helpless glance with the father, both of you fearing the worst.
The mother's wails of agony resonated in the rugged landscape, echoing the heartbreak of a life not granted breath. The anguish in the air was suffocating as she reached for her still baby, her hands trembling. With a heavy heart, you gently transferred the infant to the mother's waiting arms.
She cradled her lifeless child, tears streaming down her face as she caressed the baby, whispering soft words of love and heartbreak. Her cries mingled with those of her husband as they shared the unbearable moment of loss.
Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tore yourself away from the heart-wrenching scene of the manna. You felt a surge of emotions, a profound sense of hopelessness, reminiscent of the day you had received the news of your own pregnancy.
—
The anguished screams pierced the rugged terrain, reverberating through the rocky expanse, and Din felt his heart plummet through the soles of his boots. Grogu, sensing the turmoil in the air, cooed softly from the safety of his sling, nestled beneath Din's protective hand.
Carefully and quietly, Din approached the edge of the rocky ridge, his heart pounding with trepidation. As he looked down into the precipitous drop-off, his eyes fell upon a scene that nearly froze his heart in his chest.
Down below, amidst the harsh and unforgiving black surface of the rocky cavern, he saw you kneeling, a stoic presence, between the legs of a pregnant woman who was hemorrhaging profusely. The woman's anguished cries filled the cavern, echoing against the unforgiving walls.
Din's eyes then shifted to a man, who appeared to be the woman's partner, desperately rummaging through a pack, panic etched across his face. You spoke urgently in a language Din didn't understand, the words punctuated by fear and sorrow. The man seemed to heed your words and swiftly abandoned his fruitless search, rushing over to another pack that lay nearby. The man retrieved a gray cloth from the second pack and hurriedly approached where you were crouched.
Din observed, his eyes transfixed, as you, kneeling on the rocky cavern floor, expertly assisted the pregnant woman. With a mix of awe and sadness, he saw you pull a beautiful, newborn baby from the crying mother, delicate and fragile in your hands.
His gaze lingered as you carefully, almost mournfully, opened the grey cloth. To his dismay, he recognized the symbol displayed on it – a mudhorn. It was the very same symbol etched onto his own pauldron, the only identifier that you could tie to him. He watched as you used the cloth meant for your child, his child, to wrap the now purple baby in the blanket with meticulous care.
Cries and sobs filled the air as he watched from his hidden spot on the high cliff above. His sounds were likely muffled by the nearby waterfall, but he felt Grogu pulling at him, desperate for attention. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He continued to watch, hidden in the shadows.
He observed as you struggled to stand, your belly full with his child, and as you respectfully walked away to what he could now confirm as your pack. He could see the pain etched on your face, the tears in your eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt deep within him. The weight of his past actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.
Din had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of; he'd walked a dark and treacherous path. He had hated himself when he handed Grogu over to the client for a camtono of beskar, but now, seeing you here, in this vulnerable moment, he hated himself more than he had ever thought possible.
The symbol on that blanket, the mudhorn, was a reminder of the choices he had made and the lives he had affected. As he watched you cry softly, he knew he couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path now, one that might bring redemption and peace.
—
Hours passed by as the mother and her lifeless baby lay on the rocky outcrop. The father, now solemn and determined, prepared the pack for their descent. He spared you a thankful glance as he gently helped the mother stand, their shared grief connecting them. With cautious and uneasy steps, they began their descent down the cliffside.
The mother cradled her unbreathing babe, her heart heavy with loss, as she slowly made her way towards you. With some effort, you rose to your feet and met her halfway. Tears welled up in your eyes as she kissed your cheeks in gratitude.
“Illa-ishi, missa.” (Lonely mothers, sisters.) she said mournfully, her words heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. She placed a gentle hand on your belly, a silent acknowledgment of your pain. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, you couldn't hold back a sob, and the two of you embraced tightly. In that moment, she became your sister in grief, and your shared loss bound you together in a way that words couldn't express.
As she and her husband began their descent, you watched them with a heavy heart. The blanket you had intended for your own child now wrapped around her lifeless baby, providing some small comfort in their time of mourning.
Left alone once more, you couldn't hold back your tears as you watched the husband carefully guide his grieving wife down the steep cliff and out of sight. As they disappeared from your view, a profound sense of isolation settled over you, and you wept softly, your heart heavy with sorrow.
Returning to the healing waters, you couldn't help but notice that your contractions had inexplicably ceased. Confused but hopeful, you gently felt around your belly and were met with a delicate, reassuring movement from within. A smile, albeit a tearful one, graced your face as you carefully lowered yourself back into the pool, ready to embrace whatever destiny the Gods had in store for you.
The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. From your elevated position, you had a perfect view of the sky as it transformed into a breathtaking canvas of purple, pink, and orange ribbons. As you smiled to yourself, entranced by the beauty of nature, an unusual sound suddenly pierced the tranquility of the moment, snapping your attention to the cliff edge. Your heart raced as you strained to identify the source of this unexpected disturbance, a sense of both trepidation and curiosity gripping you.
As if by magic, a form suddenly flipped up onto the solid ground level with the pool. A small, green being emerged, making noises that were nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. Yet, an overwhelming feeling of joy washed over you as you beheld the sight of this tiny creature toddling towards you.
Driven by curiosity and amazement, you pushed yourself up and out of the water. Your birthing gown clung to your body as you moved, but you paid it no mind. Stepping onto the rock, you slowly rounded the corner of the pool to greet the small being.
To your astonishment, you realized it was a baby, with wide, innocent eyes and a furious babble. The baby lifted its tiny hands towards you, and you couldn't help but crouch down as best you could, your heart filled with warmth. "Noona?" you asked the little creature with a soft, amused laugh. In response, the tiny being gave you a toothy grin, and it made you laugh even more.
Your attention, however, shifted from the small being to a pair of gloved hands gripping the side of the rocky cliff. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized those gloves, and heat rushed into your face. With wide eyes, you watched as a figure clad in silver beskar, a Mandalorian, lifted themselves effortlessly over the cliff face and stood there with an almost regal grace.
From your crouched position, you observed as the green baby waddled over to the Mandalorian and tugged on his shin armor. The Mandalorian, with his helmeted face turned towards the child, bent down to pick up the little one, and you couldn't hide the confusion that replaced your initial joy.
—
Din's eyes remained locked on your form as he swiftly pulled himself up onto the flat surface of the cliff. He saw you kneeling down, fingers outstretched towards Grogu, the shock etched across your face. But his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wet dress that clung to your swollen belly, a stark reminder of your impending motherhood.
As he felt Grogu tugging at his shin armor, he silently bent down to pick up the child. Still, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he struggled to find the right words to explain this unexpected reunion.
“I... I had a dream,” he finally managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.
Your eyes softened, and he witnessed your composure crumbling before him. Your confused and shocked expression melted into a soft frown as tears welled up in your eyes. Before he fully registered it, his feet carried him closer, and he knelt down in front of you with Grogu still cradled in his arms. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, hoping to offer some form of reassurance.
"Please... don't cry," he implored softly, the tenderness in his voice evident. However, he watched as you recoiled from his touch, your reaction sharp and violent, like a wounded animal cornered in fear.
—
"Don't cry," his voice was a gentle whisper from behind as he reached out to sweep your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with his left hand. His thumb, soft and reassuring, brushed away a solitary tear that had collected in the corner of your eye, preventing it from descending down your cheek.
The cold, unyielding embrace of his armor pressed against your back, a constant reminder of his presence, as if he permeated every inch of the room. You lay face down on the makeshift bed within the opulent suite, placed there by him in silence. His helmet tucked against the back of your head as his right hand reached around the front of your body to work open your tight entrance. He smelled like musk, metal, and something floral.
You didn't know his name, and in truth, you knew very little about him. All you knew was that he had paid a considerable sum for your services and bore a mudhorn symbol on his pauldron. The hushed whispers from the other women in the establishment painted a picture of a bounty hunter, a formidable figure who held the favor of the new Daimyo. He was a source of fear and fascination, and the idea of him both terrified and intrigued you. But, above all, you craved freedom more than anything else, and this was a means to an end.
As the moments unfolded, you couldn't hold back the tears that escaped, mingling with a confusing mix of emotions. It wasn't bad; he wasn't unkind. In fact, you found him surprisingly polite. He had said nothing, just removed his gloves and led you to the makeshift bed, where he now pressed into your body from behind.
It felt fine, maybe even surprisingly good, but your stubbornness held strong. You were determined not to give the foreman the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed the path you had chosen to earn your freedom. The thought of succumbing to pleasure and surrendering to the moment felt like weakness, and you clung to your resolve with unwavering determination.
However, as his fingers moved softly, so softly, you couldn't help but feel your resistance slowly crumbling. Each touch was skillful, and the sensations they evoked were impossible to ignore.
You could feel a pleasure building within you as he continued his careful thrusting into your tightness. His thick fingers curled slightly as his thumb worked your clit. His left hand rests by your head as he made sure to move any hair out of your face. You had no idea if he was watching you through his visor, but you had assumed so because he wiped your tears and told you not to cry. The build up turned into a tightness that needed to be released, he could tell by how hot you’d gotten under him and how your walls fluttered on his fingers.
He felt a pride well up in him at the knowledge that he still had the ability to bring a woman pleasure but also that you’d finally relaxed enough to allow yourself to feel this. He closed his eyes for a moment just to focus on how your walls felt around his fingers, he willed himself to listen to your body. Upon each drawback of his fingers he worked to spread your tight cunt just slightly- three, four, five more thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tremble under him.
His eyes snapped open, and he observed you biting your hand to stifle any sounds. He felt the flutter of your walls on his fingers as he stilled in order to relish in the feel your softness. He watched you come back from wherever you had gone in your high, his hand moving gently to caress the hand you had bitten, the teeth marks already leaving a faint purplish hue. As his thumb brushed over the marked area, he felt the slight tremor in your body, your vulnerability laid bare, and saw the glistening tears welling up in your eyes once more.
“Don’t cry.” he said again before moving to sit back on his heels. He admired your form, the way the flame lit room made your skin look like silk. You were totally bare to him, he’d undressed you slowly and carefully placed your clothing next his gloves on the chair. He was still fully clothed save for the gloves he’d removed. He watched as your form began to stir, and he carefully placed a hand on your lower back to keep you down. You immediately complied. With a sigh he slowly ran his hand down your back to the curve of your ass and to the back of your thigh. He could see the slick from your arousal glimmering in the soft light.
He could see everything, every intimate part of you, and yet he didn’t allow you the joy of seeing him. He couldn’t.
You sat, staring at the wall ahead of you, the seconds feeling like hours, with him seated behind you. The situation was embarrassing, and you could only hope he wasn't disgusted. You had assumed he was finished with you after whatever had just happened, only to be gently pushed back onto the bed, not harshly but rather in a silent, pleading manner. After a moment, you heard him stir behind you, and you froze, your ears attuned to his every movement.
You heard a soft rustling of fabrics and buckles. He came to rest on you again, with his left hand resting by your left hand. His right hand gripped your waist as he shifted you back towards him. This position shifted you more so your backside was resting against his thighs while your chest was flush with the pillows beneath you. He was able to bend over you more like this so he comfortably rested on his left arm above you.
His right hand left your waist and you felt the warmth of his hand in between your legs. You could feel the soft head of his hard cock turn to velvet as he ran it through your slick folds. You clenched the pillow underneath you as you braced yourself for the pain the other women had told you about. You felt pressure against your entrance and instinctively you tried to move away only to feel his hand move like lightning from between your thighs to your waist as he anchored you in place.
He didn’t say anything just held you there as he slowly pushed the head of his cock deeper into your entrance. His grip once iron on your waist turned soft as his thumb brushed circles into the skin there. Slowly he sank deeper and that’s when you felt it, the sharp uncomfortable sting. You tensed under him at the pain and you felt him freeze above you. His left hand moved to grab your face beneath him, turning your cheek so he could see you. You looked over your left shoulder to peer up at him, his cold visor returning your gaze. You couldn't help the tear that fell as you clutched the pillows.
"Don't..." his voice was strained through the vocoder, and you knew he was holding back, for you.
—
"Do not say that to me!" Your pained and thickly accented voice ripped through the air as you swatted his arm away. The green child yelped softly at your sudden movement.
Din's eyes widened. It was the first thing you had said to him. You hadn't spoken a word that night. He recoiled from you in shame.
He watched as you cried, emotions swirling within him like a chaotic storm.
"You shouldn't be out here," he managed to say as he stood abruptly, his words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. He glanced around, finally taking in the grim surroundings. Blood still pooled on the rocky ground where the woman had given birth earlier. Even worse, the remains of skeletons lay strewn about, their shattered bones mixed with the gravel under his boots.
"This is a graveyard, not a place for a woman in your condition to give birth," he grumbled, regretting the harshness of his words. The eerie desolation of this place was overwhelming, and he couldn't make sense of anything. The grim reality of death and birth intertwined in this forsaken corner of the galaxy was too much for him to bear.
Your face, your soft, beautiful, and glowing face looked up at him then.
"This is where I am meant to be," your broken voice hit him right in the chest.
For a moment, Din just stood there, his helmeted gaze locked on you. Grogu stirred in his arms and he set the child down. His gaze shifted from Grogu to the pack leaning against the rocky wall, the very same pack he had seen a man carrying at the market, with his wife in tow. It was the same pack he had witnessed being carried by the man who was desperate, carrying his bleeding wife. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Din's mind.
"Did you... carry that alone?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked from you to the pack and back.
You huffed, annoyance coloring your features, and moved to stand. Din instinctively reached out to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You stood, resolute, and locked eyes with him through his visor.
"Yes. I am illa-ishi," you declared firmly, your words laden with meaning.
Din furrowed his brow, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Illa-ishi?" he repeated, the word alien to him.
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized he didn't understand. "I am a lonely mother," you tried to find the right words that could translate to Basic.
He continued to stare, his helmet giving away nothing. You huffed in frustration and attempted again, simplifying your words. "I am alone." you finally settled on, hoping he would grasp the essence of your situation.
Din just stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the green child peered up at you, as if offering a sympathetic glance. Frustrated with the language barrier, you turned to walk towards your pack and bedroll.
As you began to walk away, Din's gloved hand gently gripped your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks. You shot an annoyed look back at him, silently demanding an explanation for his actions.
Din's gloved thumb moved soothingly circles on your arm, his gaze locked on you. He took a moment to search for the right words, his voice barely rising above a gravelly whisper.
"Is...is this mine?" he questioned, his words weighted with uncertainty, his voice low and husky.
Your eyes fixated on his hand caressing your arm, and tears welled up again, threatening to break free. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to hold them back, forcing yourself to look directly into the reflective visor of his helmet. You saw your own tear-streaked face in the cold, mirrored surface of the Mandalorian's armor, and it was a sight that turned your stomach.
"Yes. I've... never been with another. Only you," the confession tumbled from your lips, the words feeling strange and heavy in your mouth. Your body tensed, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness envelop you, a contraction, your first since the bleeding mother had shown up. You gasp in agony as your knees buckle under you.
"Dank farrik!" Din's initial worry had given way to frustration as he cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed you, his gloved hands steadying you gently while Grogu made a sad noise from his perch on the ground.
"We have to get you out of here. Is there a medcenter near here?" His voice trembled with desperation as he crouched down to meet your gaze.
"What?!" You hissed exasperatedly through the pain, your frustration and agony making you bristle.
"Medcenter!" Din almost yelled, and his eyes widened when you shoved him away.
"Issa noona ibaniss a plantissia ata mountina as illa! As illa a ma a iss!" you shouted at him in anguish, your words foreign to his ears but laced with undeniable determination. (My baby will be born on this planet, at the Mountain of Mothers, like my mother and the one before her!)
Din stood there, still as stone, as your scream washed over him.
He looked at you, his gaze falling to your trembling hands, one of them wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself and regain control.
He was going about this the wrong way. You had climbed the treacherous cliff, your cloth bore the sigil of the Mudhorn, and your pack was identical to the ones the men had carried. You had a well-thought-out plan; he just hadn't been part of it.
With newfound determination, he approached you, taking careful, measured steps. Kneeling down beside you, he spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"How do I help you?" he asked, his words breaking through the haze of pain that enveloped you.
You slowly looked up at him through your tears, your eyes locked onto his helmet. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mouth slightly ajar as you processed the situation. With a trembling hand, you pointed towards the spring nearby. "Take me there," you said softly, your voice heavy with the weight of your suffering.
In an instant, Din's strong hands found purchase under your knees and behind your back, and he lifted you with great care, not wanting to cause you any harm. You flushed with the ease of him carrying you, a thought flickering across your mind of how much simpler scaling the cliff might have been if he had been there. But you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, focusing on the immediate task at hand. You wrapped your left arm around the back of his neck and placed your right hand protectively over your belly, the hard surface of his armor uncomfortably pressing against your side as he carried you toward the inviting hot spring.
"I can go from here," you said in thick, broken Basic, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.
Din regarded you, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. His gaze alternated between the steaming water and your face. "You want to go in the water?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation.
"Yes, I can go from here," you repeated, pushing against him with a touch of defiance. His grip tightened, surprising you with its strength, and you nearly yelped in response. Shooting him a displeased look, you tried to assert your independence.
"What, and let you slip?" he asked, gazing at you through his visor before looking ahead. "No." He had made up his mind, and there was no arguing with the Mandalorian's decision.
As you were lowered into the hot spring, the initial shock of the water's heat gave way to a soothing relief. Din was surprised by how inviting it felt, and he understood why pregnant women sought refuge in such places. The water enveloped his boots and rose just above his knees as he carried you into the pool. You held onto him with a newfound intensity as he descended, afraid that he might lose his footing. Your disbelief mixed with gratitude as you realized the extent of his support.
Finding solid ground beneath the water, Din gently released your knees, allowing your feet to dip into the warm embrace of the pool. His hand slid from your back to your waist, ensuring your stability, and he positioned himself behind you in the water. You stood just below his chin, and if he desired, he could easily rest his chin on your head. His right hand remained on your waist, his gloved fingers splayed out on your side, providing you with a reassuring and protective presence.
A powerful surge of emotion overcame Din as he felt the subtle movements of the life within you under his fingertips. He stood there, motionless and transfixed, as you faced away from him, both of you submerged in the comforting warmth of the spring. His eyes traced the contour of your back, the gentle rise and fall as you breathed, and then slowly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he found himself resting his forehead against the back of your head, his helmet touching your soft hair.
He grappled with where to place his left hand, uncertain of the right way to provide comfort. His gaze drifted downwards, fixating on the water where he saw your dress floating softly as it began to soak in the pool. Carefully, he moved his left hand to the small of your back, gripping the back of your waist with a gentle touch.
In the midst of his turmoil, a soft, barely audible sob escaped his lips, and tears welled up inside his helmet, tracing their way down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice broken and full of guilt. It was a plea for forgiveness, an attempt to convey the overwhelming regret that consumed him. He clung to your form, feeling the life inside you, the life he had a part in creating and then abandoned.
His wallowing in self-recrimination was shattered by the sound of your voice and the tender touch of your hand as it caressed his right hand.
"Don't cry," your words were soft and filled with sincerity. In that moment, as the tears flowed within his helmet, you offered him understanding and forgiveness. He felt worthy of neither.
#din djarin x pregnant reader#din djarin x reader#din djarin x female reader#din djarin#mando#the mandalorian#mando x reader#star wars#star wars the mandalorian#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters
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