#Arsenal pack and moon

[insomniakisses]

Moon's First Day

Warnings/Nates: Omegaverse Au, Pup!Reader, Mixed Arsenal Pack, Part of Moon and sunshine au.

It was January 2022 and today was your first day at arsenal, your first day meeting the team and the first time on a senior team. Though most importantly at a club in England. At the age of 16, You had recently moved from your home in the Netherlands to a small apartment in London. Your apartment was small, your belongings few and the building wasn’t the safest. But you couldn’t afford much more.

You were full of nerves by the time you reached the training grounds, hands shaking slightly as you signed the contract and took the photos. Then came meeting the team, and your nerves grew tenfold. You had been told they were nice, you had seen their interactions before and come to that conclusion as well. But that was with each other, it didn’t necessarily mean they would be nice to you or even like you.  

Entering the field, you looked around shyly, the team was they’re in the middle of drills and you felt yourself shrink in fear. They were even more intimidating like this, running and tackling with the ball and the sound of chatter and yells made you feel tiny and insignificant.

What you didn’t know was that you were being watched, Viv was stood having a break and drinking her water suddenly realising why she recognised your name when they were told who was joining. You didn’t know each other, though you knew of her of course she was one of your idols after all and you’d be playing with her on your national senior team for the first time this year. Having played for the youth teams prior. Shockingly, Viv also knew of you having looked into you when she saw the new name on the list for the national team. She never realised you’d be at arsenal too. But you were so young, you couldn’t be living on your own in a new county, could you? What parents would allow that?

When the drills were over you were led towards the team, their boisterous and hyper energy stilling when they take you in. The older girls immediately softening, Katie reaching out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

“I didn’t realise we were getting a pup today” she jests, but no one responds their too busy looking at you.

You feel your embarrassment grow at her comment, the girls seem to pick up on the dejected look that flashes through your eyes at her comment. Viv steps forward hand rubbing your back, as she pulls you into a side hug. Shocking both herself and the team at her need and willingness to physically comfort you.

You awkwardly lean into her hold, nodding along shyly as everyone makes their introductions. When its your turn to speak you shyly mumble you name feeling Viv squeeze you tight and they all coo at you letting out relaxing scents as a way to get you to relax.

Leah stealing you away from the comfort of Viv’s hold to run you through some drills though one thought ran through Viv’s mind as she watched you go. Her face pulling into a confused frown as she turned to her girlfriend, “Surely she isn’t staying on her own?”

Beth simply shrugs in response, her face equally concerned as she looks over to you, “Surely not, I mean she’s tiny!” Beth exclaims, laughing in disbelief at the suggestion your parents would have cared so little as to let you move to a foreign country and live by yourself.

-

As training progressed and you settled a little more, you began to become a little more talkative. The flurry of questions from the girls certainly helped that, and it was all going smoothly until Viv asked you a more serious question.

“So where do you and your parents live? The city can be quite daunting for a pup, I’m sure they’ll be picking you up today. I hope its not a long drive?”

All eyes were on you the longer you stayed quiet, an awkward and embarrassed flush painting your face. “I- uh… My parents are still in the Netherlands... I live alone.” was your quiet response a series of outrage following the statement the girls simply not believing or accepting that you could be telling the truth.

Getting up Viv stares at you face serious though concern shines in her eyes, she outstretches her hand to you. “Show us.” It wasn’t a question, and you knew that so with a sigh you took her outstretched hand letting her lead you to her and Beths car, more than sure the others would follow in their own.

The drive was short and tense, you weren’t sure why they seemed to care so much you were fine. Sure, you ran home from the station every night, sprinting up the stairs too scared for the elevator that had seem better days and you locked the door pushing a chair in front of it when you got in. Leaving the lights off for an hour just in case someone followed you, since one time they had. But you were fine.

-

When you pulled up to the apartment building you saw Katie, Caitlin, Lia and Leah stood by their cars waiting for you as you got out of Viv’s. Letting out a shaky breath and an awkward chuckle you led them inside, mentally cringing when your pervy neighbour made a comment on his way to the lift. Not just hearing but feeling the growls that the girls had let out in reply, your small body being pulled into Lia immediately as she glared at the now closed lift doors.

You simply grabbed her hand and gently tugged it mumbling as you led her away, “We should take the stairs… I always do, Safer…”

The girls took in the change of tone when you said the last word, faces hardening at the thought of you staying here longer. That feeling growing when they saw your apartment, it was tiny and very unsafe. Not to mention your lack of food or well… anything. Had you just left and been given nothing?

“Pack your stuff Liefje, you’re moving.” Viv spoke, walking into your bedroom to start gathering your things, her anger growing when she realised you had only a handful of clothes. The other girls noting you only had plastic cutlery and paper plates. You were not okay, not safe at all, but they were here now. They were going to keep you safe and that would start at Viv and Beth’s place.

[williamsonarssnal]

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | L.W (part.1)

SILVER SPRING ⸻ leah williamson x swimmer!reader.

warning: angsty, mentions of marriage, heartbroken (L & R), confused (R). English isn't my first language!

In London, the vibrant city that pulsated to the rhythm of football, Leah Williamson shone like the Sun, illuminating the Emirates Stadium with her grit and talent. Y/n, on the other hand, an Olympic swimmer, was the Moon, gliding through the crystal-clear waters of the pool with the grace and strength of a celestial body.

Leah, the fearless captain of Arsenal, was admired by crowds, her radiant smile and unwavering leadership making her an icon of the sport. Y/n, on the other hand, conquered the world with her perseverance and discipline, each stroke bringing her closer to Olympic glory.

Though Leah and Y/n admired each other from afar, their worlds seemed to coexist in different orbits, like the Sun and the Moon. Leah, always surrounded by spotlights and applause, craved a quiet and cozy love. Y/n, dedicated to her passion for swimming, saw marriage as an obstacle to her freedom and dreams.

One day, fate brought them together at a charity event. Leah, enchanted by Y/n's beauty and determination, approached timidly. Y/n, admired by Leah's strength and humility, felt an unexpected connection.

"Hi, I'm Leah," she shouted over the loud music.

"Y/n, nice to meet you, England captain."

"The pleasure's all mine, gold medalist."

Over conversations and secret meetings, Leah and Y/n discovered a deep and sincere love, a feeling that transcended societal expectations. But, like the Sun and the Moon, they also carried their own dreams and ambitions.

Leah, wanting a future with Y/n, proposed marriage. Y/n, overwhelmed by the love she felt, found herself in a dilemma. Her heart belonged to Leah, but her soul longed for the freedom of the water.

"I can't, Leah."

"What?"

"I can't focus on starting a family with you right now."

Leah was still in shock by the woman in front of her's response. She was sure Y/n loved her with the same intensity. She was sure she was doing the right thing, the woman just got up and walked towards the door, since clearly the movie had been ruined. Y/n, on the other hand, sat on the cold living room floor while her shared dog lay on her legs trying to comfort her. Marvin was a Golden Retriever that Leah had given her for her birthday after finding out how much she loved the breed, he was a constant reminder of how much Leah cared about her and how they were already a family. This crazy decision of hers was already affecting their son.

She was already regretting her actions and how she was being arrogant putting her career above her perfect relationship, but now it was too late and Leah was probably at Lia's or some teammate's house. Tears streamed down her face, she was feeling so stupid for letting the love of her life walk away.

Days went by and Leah still hadn't spoken to her or even sent a message, she was living on autopilot. She entered the club without greeting any teammates and just changed in silence, training non-stop. In addition to taking advantage of the times when Lia asked to pick up Marvin to stay with Leah for a week and since the dog was shared she agreed immediately starting to accept the end of her relationship. Lia was angry at what she did to her best friend, but sad to see her state as she packed the dog's things.

"You're an airhead, girl," she said, and you just shrugged, trying to ignore the woman's words, just smiling faintly when your dog barked trying to get your attention. "Don't ruin your family, he needs you two together." You looked at her a little surprised, not knowing what to say, just lowering your head as you both walked away.

It was exactly a week after Marvin left and without the dog at home you spent more time training until the peak of exhaustion, doing several laps of different strokes each time wanting to break your record. Your cell phone was on silent so no one could disturb you, you were swimming butterfly and it was clear how much you liked the stroke, your favorite, you had such a great facility. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins, pushing her to surpass her limits. But then, a sharp pain shot through her calf. A relentless cramp seized her, paralyzing her movements.

Panic took hold of S/n. She tried to fight the pain, but it was futile. Her arms grew heavy, her legs refused to obey. She began to sink, the crystal-clear water turning into a suffocating nightmare.

In her last moments of consciousness, images of her life floated through her mind: the Olympic glories, Leah's love, the promise of a future together. Anguish and regret gripped her. She had sacrificed everything for her dream, but now, with death lurking, she realized that Leah's love was what mattered most.

[aww-canon-no]

Steddie (Deaf Steve) Pt 2

You asked, so I’m here to give you more.  This time from Eddie’s POV.

First kiss, sequel to Shoot Your Shot.

*** 

Soon Enough

Rated: T

Steve/Eddie

Modern AU, first kisses, Deaf Steve, ASL

(Content warnings: mentions of childhood neglect/abuse)

Eddie has never, ever once believed in conformity.  And he’s not about to start now.

(Eddie’s ASL fuck-up is translated in notes at bottom of this fic)

*** 

Eddie Munson’s life has always been…difficult, to say the least.  Born under a bad sign, Wayne liked to call it, but in a kind of affectionate way.  The way where he’s holding small Eddie who can’t stop crying and wondering why all the other kids in his class have really nice parents who buy them things and, you know, feed them.

Wayne stepped in when he could.  He never failed to show up with food and threats against his brother when he heard Eddie’s tiny, broken voice on the other end of the phone because his dad was too drunk or too high to feed him.  Eventually they struck a deal.  Eddie’s parents disappeared after signing some scary looking paperwork, and Eddie got to pack all his things and move to Wayne’s trailer which was small compared to where his classmates all lived, but nice.

So nice.

Like washing machine and running water nice.

He won’t have to be the smelly kid in class anymore.

He just didn’t realize how reputations clung in small towns.

So suffice it to say that Eddie abhors difficult things—including difficult people.  It’s why, when his little lambs started going on and on and fucking ON about their cool, badass older friend Steve who used to date Nancy, Eddie was determined to never meet him.

It wasn’t just the jealousy.

It was that Steve communicated on a whole other level.  Literally.  He was Deaf.  He went to the Deaf school that wasn’t anywhere near Hawkins and he knew no one, but somehow Steve and his perfect fucking hair was still popular amongst people who weren’t freaked out by the whole, he can’t hear shit, thing.

Yeah, it definitely wasn’t jealousy.

It was the fact that Steve was complicated and he used a whole separate language and Eddie just…had no plans to involve himself in that.

Never mind the kids were over the goddamn moon about being able to know ASL.  They communicated with it during campaigns whenever they didn’t want Eddie to know their plans, and—although Eddie actually did look up stuff online about Deaf people (all that stuff about capital D and lowercase d and the community and culture was all very overwhelming) he was pretty sure his little lambs were technically not allowed to make up sign names for all the creatures in their guides.

But they did it anyway and who was Eddie to stop them.

He ended up picking up a few things by osmosis, whether he liked it or not.

But he was determined, damn it.  He existed over here, Steve existed over there, and they all lived happily ever after.

Until the afternoon he walked into Scoops Ahoy.

***

Eddie had actually gone in to bother Robin.  They were sort of outcast friends.  Two freaky little gays at Hawkins High, though she was younger than him and had absolutely no interest in DnD, but they had a shared trauma bond of bullies and bullshit.

He came to a stop when he saw the absurdly good looking guy at the counter who was staring at him in ways no one had ever stared at Eddie.  The way that said he had no idea who Eddie was and it was always great to have a fresh start like that.

Then Eddie fucked up by not reading his badge and realizing exactly who was there.

And like Dustin had once predicted, the second he met Steve’s eyes, he was a gonner.  There was no resisting him.

He was smitten and the hole was too deep for him to claw his way out of.

He went home and looked up a bunch of videos that seemed suspect as fuck, so in the end he called Dustin who showed up at Eddie’s trailer with an arsenal of websites.

“Can’t you just get me, like, a book or something?”  Eddie had asked, feeling intimated and overwhelmed and already kind of tired.

Dustin had given him the bitchiest bitch face that ever bitched.  “You can’t learn ASL from a book, numbnuts.”  Then his hands twisted into the complicated shapes—all fast the way Dustin kept bragging about—and Eddie assumed he was repeating most of what he’d just said.

Eddie damn-well knew that if he actually wanted Steve to say yes to him, he was absolutely going to have to learn because while the kids said Steve could speak, he hated doing it.  And Eddie was the kind of guy who had been rebelling against forced conformity his entire life.

So yeah, he’d rather die than put that choice to Steve.

He learned enough to feel confident going back to the mall.  And Robin was once again playing the long game with Vickie who would literally drag Robin into the cleaning closet and rock her world if Robin only asked—but he knew she wouldn’t.  But it left the perfect opening for Eddie who walked up to the counter, panicked, and immediately forgot everything he’d learned about ASL in the time he’d been away from Steve’s ice cream counter.

In the end, he remembered a little, then tried to backtrack and tell Steve he’d ask him out when he was a little more fluent.

Which made Steve laugh, and Eddie wouldn’t find out until much later that it took at least seven years of immersion to become fluent so…

Yeah it was kind of hilarious.

For Steve.

Mortifying for Eddie.

The blow was softened when Steve touched him—like actually touched him without reservation or hesitation.  And then he told Eddie he didn’t want him to wait.  Eddie was fine as he was—that patience with his language could be a thing and Jesus H Christ Eddie was pretty sure he could die right then.

Except if he died he wouldn’t get the chance to touch Steve back, and kiss him, and make him laugh, and make him make other noises and Jesus H Christ he wanted that so bad he could taste it.  Because he’d been avoiding Steve for what felt like half his new adult life but he was head over heels smitten in two visits to the ice cream shop.

And he didn’t even like ice cream.

He was lactose intolerant for fuck’s sake.

Anyway, he got Steve’s number and he didn’t wait to text.

But the date did.

They planned for the movies and then…

Wayne got hurt at the plant.  He ended up being fine, but it scared the absolute fuck out of Eddie who staying at the hospital until his back hurt from the small chair, and his phone was dead, and he felt like passing out.

The nurses had to kick him out, and Eddie walked out of the room in a fog, and stumbled into the downstairs lobby where he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a familiar, gorgeous head of hair.  Steve was facing away from him with big headphones on, bobbing his head to…music?

Eddie totally didn’t get it, but he couldn’t help himself from walking over and laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  He felt like shit when Steve jumped half a foot off the chair, but then his face broke out into a soft, sympathetic smile.

‘Hi.’  It was a simple enough sign that Eddie didn’t have to try for that one.  ‘You OK?’  He signed slow, mouthing the words.

Eddie swallowed heavily, then shrugged.  His fingers felt a little stiff and he wasn’t sure he had the emotional capacity to take embarrassing himself by getting signs wrong no matter how frantically he’d been practicing since the day at the mall.

Steve’s face fell a little more, and Eddie was pretty sure he’d never seen anyone look so…so soft at him before.  He walked around the benches toward Eddie, then yanked him into a hug.  It was so unexpected that Eddie just…melted.  His head pressed against Steve’s headphones which were blaring with music, and Eddie had about a thousand questions but instead he just lost himself in the way that Steve hugged.

It was…a lot.  

Of course, it was mostly that Eddie just never, ever got hugged and all the touching he did was imitated by himself and almost never returned, but that was a different trauma for a different day.

For now he just let himself have this.  Have Steve.  Have the body pressed to his and voiceless permission to kind of shake apart after holding it together for hours, and hours, and hours.

When he pulled back, Steve gave him a cautious smile and Eddie reached up, tapping Steve’s headphones.

‘Hurt?’ Eddie asked. ‘Loud?’

Steve frowned, then rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone, turning off his music before pulling them back and draping them around his neck.  He shook his head and shrugged.  ‘Can’t…hear?’  Eddie was pretty sure that was the sign for hear.  Not hearing, which was a little finger twirl under the bottom lip.  ‘Not hurt  Feel it.’

Eddie nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets before remembering—oh shit, I need those to like, talk to Steve, and pulled them out again.

Steve laughed—but he was maybe one of the only people in the world who didn’t seem like he was laughing at Eddie, and wow what a goddamn novelty that was.

Steve tapped his arm and Eddie looked up at him as Steve curled his hand into a C-shape and dragged it down his throat.  ‘Hungry-you?’

He was starved.  He mimicked the sign and remembered the lesson he learned online where he had to exaggerate the sign if he wanted to emphasize what he was saying.  So he ran his C-hand over his throat a few times, then added, ‘Eat, before, work.’  He met his left wrist with his right wrist once with heavy force. He knew that wasn’t right but maybe it was close enough?

Except Steve was suddenly all red in the face and making a choking sound.  Eddie took a step back, but Steve reached out and snagged his arm before he could get too far, shaking his head.

Eddie was pretty sure he was supposed to be mortified but right then he was mostly curious and uh…yeah.  Steve was touching him again so that was good.

Steve touched the underside of Eddie’s chin and he made an embarrassing noise which Steve must have felt because his grin twitched a little wider.  Then he shook his head.

‘H U N G R Y,’ he spelled very slowly.  He repeated his sign, then added, ‘S T A R V I N G?’  He made a little question mark motion with his finger.  It was weirdly cute, and Eddie didn’t describe things as cute very often.

He nodded. Yeah.  He’d been trying to say starving.

Steve made a noisy sort of huffing sound with some rumble behind it, then squared his shoulders and nodded before raising his right hand.  His left signed, ‘Watch.’

Eddie nodded.

Steve made an exaggerated face and dragged his C-hand down his throat with more force.  ‘Ok?’

Eddie nodded.  Okay, yeah.  He could do that.

Steve wasn’t done.  ‘W O R K?’

Eddie smiled and nodded his fist.  ‘Yes.’

Steve tapped the inside of his right wrist against the back of his left wrist.  ‘Work,’ he signed.

Eddie repeated the sign, and Steve nodded, giving him an enthusiastic thumb’s up.

‘Now- go-you-me.’ Steve signed—Eddie was...pretty sure? God he needed to practice more.

But he answered Steve with a happy, ‘OK,’ and didn’t mind at all when Steve took his hand.

Until suddenly he did mind because…

He dragged Steve to a halt and cleared his throat, pulling out his phone with his free hand and typing as fast as he could, ‘What did I say? Before?  What did I fuck up?’

Steve’s eyes got wide and he waved him off, but Eddie tugged on him until Steve let out a small groan, snatched the phone, and began to type.  Eddie had not one single qualm about reading over his shoulder, and in about five seconds, he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“I signed what?” he demanded aloud, forgetting himself entirely.

Steve looked over his shoulder, his face kind of…different.  Confused?  Full of pity at how fucking pathetic Eddie was?  Embarrassed to know him?

Was he…

Eddie’s thoughts came to a sudden, screeching halt when Steve cradled his face between his hands.  He leaned forward until his lips were practically brushing Eddie’s ear and he whispered aloud, “I’d be happy to fix that problem too.”

Eddie was already pretty sure spontaneous combustion was a thing, and now he was about to be living proof because oh my GOD.  Oh my... god oh my god oh my…

Steve dragged a thumb over Eddie’s lower lip, then raised his brows like he was asking, ‘Is this okay?’

Eddie nodded frantically and Steve began walking him backward until his back suddenly hit…oh.  It was a tree.  The bark was sharp against his bare elbow, but all of that ceased to matter the second Steve’s lips touched his.  It wasn’t a wild, desperate kiss of star-crossed lovers in the books Eddie secretly read.

No, it was soft.  It was gentle.

It was warm and it was fucking needy as hell but it was also the first kiss in a line of what Eddie was determined to have as many, many, many as he could.  As many as Steve would allow.

For the rest of their lives, God help them both.

Steve gently licked into Eddie’s mouth before finally pulling away, and the stress of Wayne being hurt and then him thoroughly embarrassing himself, he wasn’t hard or anything, but there was definitely a sort of humming desire under his skin which were as warm as his hands were because they...

Oh.

He looked down and realized that he’d rucked up Steve’s shirt and was digging his fingers into Steve’s bare hips.  ‘Sorry,’ he signed, dislodging one hand.

Steve laughed—a quiet huff mostly through his nose, and he shook his head before stealing a last kiss.  Eddie wanted to chase it, but he forced himself to keep his back to the tree as Steve dug into his pocket for his phone again.

‘For now,” he wiggled his phone.  ‘Until we can spend more time together and I can teach you more,’ Steve typed out.

Eddie swallowed heavily, then nodded.  ‘Why are you here?’

Steve frowned like he was confused why Eddie would even ask that. ‘Dustin said your uncle was hurt.  I didn’t want you to be alone when they kicked you out.’

Those words, that simple fucking act of kindness, was almost too much.  The emotions overwhelmed him and he wanted to laugh, and cry, and scream, and fucking sing until his throat seized up and he lost his voice.

He stared at the phone screen until Steve dragged a tender touch across the top of his hand, and he looked up.

‘Come home with me tonight.  Sleep,’ Steve typed before shoving his phone back into his pocket without waiting for Eddie’s answer.  He knew he should probably say no because they hadn’t even had their date yet, but then again, Eddie had never been conventional.

Never would be conventional.

He rubbed a flat palm over his chest.  ‘Please.’

Steve’s eyes darkened, just for a second.  Eddie panicked before he realized that no, he’d gotten the sign just right.  Steve was just maybe thinking of other ways Eddie might use that sign and…yeah.

Shit yeah.

Maybe not now.  Not tonight.  Not even very soon.

But soon enough.

Steve linked their fingers together and tugged…

And Eddie followed.

*** 

(Eddie’s ASL fuck-up.  Common mistake in ASL- Hungry=Horny.  Work=Fuck.  Steve is kind of okay with that idea too lol)

[futfemfantasies]

The one \\ alanna kennedy x reader

Nothing but pure Alanna fluff with the mention of an injury (no details)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picking up an ankle injury in your last game was a blessing and a curse. A blessing as the physios, doctors and Jonas allowed you to stay in Manchester for your recovery period with the occasional drop in to the training facility. It also meant you get to spend 5 weeks with your fellow Australian teammate and love of your life, Alanna. As soon as you said the Arsenal team allowed you to stay in Manchester, the blonde was out the door and driving 3 hours to pick you up.

Hobbling around your room to put clothes in a duffle bag took longer than expected. You feel strong arms circle around your waist and soft kisses on peppering your neck. After recovering from you mini heart attack, you turn and hug Alanna tightly. 6 weeks apart is too long. You look up at Alanna's lips and waste no time smashing your lips on her as her hands grip your waist.

"As much as I love doing that my love, let's get you packed so we can go home"

Home.

With your contract is expiring at the end of the season, you've had several teams from various leagues reach out. One club stood out over all the Barcelona's and Gotham FC's. Manchester City. It's a no brainer and since mentioning it to Alanna, she;s been calling Manchester home and London a holiday. A decision has to be made by the end of the month and as you look into Alanna's eyes, you know your decision.

"Go sit your cute butt on the bed while I pack the rest of your bag"

You hobble over to the bed and rest against the headboard as Alanna put pillow under your moon boot. Seeing Alanna dance around your room sparks something in you.

"Lani?"

"Hmm?" Alanna turns to see you pat the small space on the bed next to you. She sits down and you hold her hands.

"I've made up my mind. I'm moving to Manchester baby"

"You're kidding? Baby that's amazing news" Alanna hugs you tightly and kisses all over your face, making you giggle with happiness.

"Let's get you packed so we can go to our home together"

After a few more outfits get packed, Alanna helps you down the stairs and into her car. Zooming down the street, Alanna's hand holds yours and you sigh in content of how perfect this is going to be. Alanna pulls up to the apartment complex carpark and she quickly gets your bags out, before helping you out of the car. She holds your hand through the short elevator ride and then you both arrive at the familiar apartment door.

"Home sweet home baby girl"

3 weeks in to your recovery and you have just finished your stretches and mobility exercises so you decide to watch a romance movie to pass the time until Alanna comes home. Halfway through, Alanna comes home and flops on top of you (mindful of the ankle). She leans up and pucks her lips, silently asking for a kiss. You bend slightly and give her multiple before Alanna cups your cheeks with her big hands and stares at you ever so softly and lovingly.

"You're the one. You're the one I want everything with, good, bad and everything in between"

Your eyes are brimming with tears as you take in what Alanna had just said.

"You're it for me Lani. You're stuck with me for good"

"There's no one else I'd rather be stuck with my girl"

[wileys-russo]

little blurb about supportive arsenal gf finding out lessi is starting 🥹

two posts in one day, spoiling y'all

debut II a.russo

"lessi did you grab my training top by accident with yours?" you called out as you rummaged through your closet with a frown. "babe?" you called out again a little louder when your girlfriend didn't answer.

"no! are you sure you didn't already pack it?" the blonde called back from down the hall where she was sat in the spare room on the bed, laptop balancing on her knees as she worked on an assignment. your own shared bed was covered with your clothes as you of course had left it to the last minute to pack, your girlfriends own case already down by the front door ready for lotte to pick you both up tomorrow.

"oh. yeah i did, thank you!" you smiled in relief as you searched through your suitcase seeing your training kit folded neatly in the bottom, the taller girl in the other room rolling her eyes with a small smile.

the two of you headed to sweden tomorrow for your first match of the season and the qualifier of the champions league, you were over the moon to finally be playing alongside alessia than against her.

and it finally meant no more hours of travelling on the tube or cross city roadtrips just to spend a day or two together and then weeks apart until the cycle repeated. the distance wasn't easy but with time and communication you made it work, and you had never pressured one another about switching clubs.

but seeing how poorly alessia was treated by her former club, a team she'd supported since her childhood, was hard to bare when you loved her dearly. but you were there by her side through it all, the same way she was when you tore your hamstring early last year.

"i'm packed." you announced with a relieved sigh finally joining the striker on the spare bed, collapsing beside her on your back and resting your head against her hip, scrolling through your phone.

"thank god i was worried we might miss the flight." the taller girl teased, not looking away from her laptop as her fingers flew against the keyboard and you playfully pinched her leg for the comment.

the two you sat together in a comfortable silence, you swapping your social media deep dive for a book as your girlfriend tangled a hand in your hair, nails scratching at your scalp as she read through her study material.

"i'm gonna go start dinner baby." you finished your chapter, marking your page and sitting up. "hey!" you laughed as your girlfriend poked at the slit of skin which appeared as your arms up with a stretch. "what's for dinner?" the blonde asked with a curious smile.

"whatever i can make with as many items as possible, the last thing i'd like to come home to is a fridge full of expired, soggy or mouldy food." you winced in disgust, scrunching your nose at the thought. "do you want a hand?" the striker offered, moving her laptop off her knees and tugging you to lay on top of her.

"hi. "hello beautiful."

you blushed at her words as the blonde kissed your nose with a soft smile.

"no it's okay you said you need to study so you can focus when we're in sweden, i'll come get you once it's done baby." you answered her previous question with a smile, kissing her softly in thanks.

"now hit the books!" you ordered playfully, rolling off of her and standing to your feet as the blonde gave you a salute and picked her laptop back off the bed.

~

"smells almost as divine as you." you smiled as hoodie clad arms wrapped round you, the taller girl pressing her front into your back as her chin rested on your shoulder, kissing your cheek affectionately.

"charmer." you grinned, a slight blush coating your cheeks as you relaxed into her hold. "so, i have news." alessia broke the silence, unwrapping herself from you and taking a step back as you turned round and raised a curious eyebrow.

"jonas called." your girlfriend started, fiddling nervously with the sleeves of her hoodie as you tilted your head, unsure where this was going. "i'm starting on wednesday." she finally revealed, watching as your mouth dropped open, her own curling into a shit eating grin.

"baby! you're getting your debut!" you squealed happily, launching yourself at her as the blonde stumbled backwards but caught you, your legs wrapping around her waist.

"i am so proud of you less. i told you he was impressed at training!" you beamed, kissing happily all over her face as the tall blonde let out a giggle making your heart soar.

"i did smoke you at the wind sprints." "hey your legs are like half the size of my whole body you have an unfair advantage."

"but i can't believe we'll finally be on the pitch together for the same team and in the right red." you teased lightly as alessia spun you around before taking a few steps forward and placing you down to sit on the counter top.

"so long as i'm with you i couldn't care what color i'm wearing."

[pxnsneverland]

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 12)

(gif source: redbelles)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 3862

warnings/notes: violence, blood, torture, abuse

Chapter 12: The Traitor’s Deal

Austin sprinted back to the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest as he raced through the dense forest, each step kicking up a whirlwind of fallen leaves behind him. Bursting through the cabin door with a thunderous crash, the wooden frame quivered in protest against his urgency. Bonnie and Bear, deep in conversation, snapped their heads towards him, their expressions a mix of surprise and concern. Ignoring their startled gazes, Austin brushed past Bonnie, his movements swift and purposeful as he knelt before the crackling fireplace.

With deft hands, he pried up a loose floorboard, revealing a hidden compartment beneath the creaking wooden planks. From its depths, he retrieved a cache of weapons – gleaming guns glinting in the firelight alongside neatly stacked ammunition. The metallic scent of gun oil hung heavy in the air as Austin's eyes flickered with determination, his jaw set in grim resolve.

Bonnie's voice trembled as she questioned Austin, "Austin, what’s going on?"

His gaze averted, he disclosed, "There was someone in the woods—a wolf. Someone trailed Bear here; they're onto us. We need to get you out of here." The tension in Austin's voice hung heavy in the air, weighing down the already fraught atmosphere.

Startled, Bonnie's eyes widened, her chest tightening with each frantic beat of her heart, struggling to grasp the severity of their predicament. Rising solemnly from his seat, Bear interjected with resolve, "I'll handle this, Austin," moving purposefully towards the arsenal for inspection.

"No," Austin's voice cut through the tense air, his firm denial punctuated by the metallic clicks of loading a gun. His piercing gaze met Jerry's, conveying a steely resolve as he continued, "You need to stay with Bonnie. It’s not safe anymore—not for any of us." Each bullet slid into place with practiced precision, his hands betraying none of the inner turmoil that roiled beneath his tough exterior.

Bonnie's delicate steps carried her closer to Austin, her fingers tentatively brushing against his forearm. Without words, her touch conveyed a silent entreaty for comfort. "Austin, please," she breathed softly, her voice a mere breath in the charged air between them.

Regret etched his features as he dared to meet her gaze. The anguish reflected in his eyes pierced her soul, a silent apology that spoke volumes. Without hesitation, he lowered the weapon from his grip, his hand trembling slightly as it reached out to tenderly brush against her cheek. "I’m sorry," his voice cracked with emotion, filled with a raw sincerity that echoed through the tense air between them. "I should have protected you better."

Bonnie's delicate frame trembled, her soft wavy hair framing her face as she shook her head, tears shimmering in her expressive eyes. "You've done everything you can," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

His voice rumbled with a primal edge, a low growl escaping his lips. Flames of fury licked at Austin's insides, the mantle of alpha now tainted, dragged through the mud by Jerry’s informant. But in that searing moment, it wasn't the loss of his status that consumed him; it was the fear clawing at his heart for Bonnie's safety. The mere thought of anyone laying a hand on her, inflicting harm upon her delicate frame sent a surge of protectiveness coursing through him like a raging inferno.

Austin carefully repositioned the floorboard, ensuring it blended seamlessly with the rest of the floor. He then strode over to a concealed closet, pulling out a sturdy bag already packed with essentials and garments. "There's a safe house north of here." he stated firmly, his gaze unwavering. "We’ll go there. Figure out what to do next."

Reluctance gripped Bonnie, her knees trembling as they readied to depart from the cabin's sheltering embrace. This haven had briefly cocooned her in a fragile bubble of peace amid the tumult of her existence. Her entire being rebelled against the impending departure, her senses assaulted by the whirlwind of shifting realities. The scent of pine clung stubbornly to her garments, a poignant echo of the serene forest's embrace that now seemed like a distant dream slipping away from her grasp.

As Austin meticulously gathered supplies, Bonnie's heart plummeted further into a pit of despair. The tense energy crackling in the air, the steely resolve etched on Bear's face, all painted a stark picture of the dire circumstances they found themselves in. Clutching herself tightly, she shrank inward, a sense of raw vulnerability enveloping her like a suffocating shroud.

As they stepped outside, the deafening roar of motorcycle engines shattered the fragile silence of the night. Headlights flooded the dirt driveway in piercing beams of white light, casting long, ominous shadows that stretched towards the cabin. Bonnie flinched at the intensity, her eyes darting nervously toward Austin, searching for some semblance of reassurance.

Austin straightened his posture, his expression hardening into a mask of defiance as Jerry and some of the pack pulled up in a cloud of dust and exhaust. The bikes growled like predatory beasts, their rumbling echoing through the trees, sending a shiver down Bonnie’s spine.

Jerry dismounted first, his large frame imposing under the leather cuts emblazoned with the gang's insignia. His eyes were cold and calculating as he approached Austin, each step deliberate and full of menace. “Well, well. I didn’t want to believe it was true, but I can’t deny my own eyes.” His gaze shifted to Bonnie. “Bonnie Barlow, back from the dead.”

Austin positioned himself protectively in front of Bonnie, his broad frame shielding her from Jerry's menacing gaze. "Leave her out of this, Jerry," he commanded, his voice a low growl that hinted at the underlying threat in his words.

Jerry's sneer grew, his voice dripping with barely contained derision. "You think you can just hide her away after all this time and not expect consequences?" He looked around, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of the surrounding area before settling back on Austin. "The codes we live by, the oaths we took—do they mean nothing to you now?"

Austin clenched his jaw, his hands involuntarily forming fists at his sides. "I protect my own," he spat out, the words harsh and laden with a steely resolve. "This has nothing to do with the pack. This is personal."

A murmur of dissent rippled through the assembled bikers, their restlessness palpable in the tension-filled air. Bear stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Austin's shoulder—a silent reminder of the need for calm and focus in the face of brewing conflict.

Jerry smirked, clearly enjoying the turmoil he was creating. "Personal or not, you've broken the trust of your brothers." He paused, letting his words sink in among the gathered crowd before adding menacingly, "And there's always a price to pay for betrayal." He motioned to the wolves backing him up. “Take her.” They moved in towards Bonnie.

Austin's reaction was swift and ferocious. Like a flash, he lunged forward, his eyes blazing with primal fury. The air seemed to crackle with tension as Austin's fist connected squarely with Jerry's jaw, sending the larger man staggering back a few steps. The sound of bones cracking was stark against the night's quiet, and Jerry’s face twisted in pain and surprise. The crowd gasped, some members inching forward, ready to jump into the fray. Bonnie screamed Austin’s name, her voice shrill in the cold air, begging him to stop. But Austin was beyond hearing, driven by a protective rage that seemed to consume him from the inside out. Jerry regained his balance and roared in anger, his own eyes now reflecting a savage determination. He lunged at Austin, throwing a punch that was meant to end the fight quickly. But Austin dodged with an agility that belied his muscular frame, and he countered with another punishing blow that sent Jerry sprawling onto the ground. The dirt kicked up around them as Jerry tried to regain his footing, spitting out a mouthful of blood and dirt. His face contorted in rage as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

The pack members descended on Austin at once, holding him back as the remaining members grabbed Bonnie, pulling her away from the turmoil. Bonnie struggled against their firm grips, her eyes wild with fear as she reached out towards Austin. “Austin!” She screams through her struggle not strong enough out of her wolf form yet to fight off the hands pulling her away.

Austin, bloody and still fighting, pushes against the mob with every peace of strength he has. “Let her go! Jerry, take me! Do whatever you want, punish me! Leave her alone. She’s my mate, you can’t hurt her!”

Jerry's laugh was cold and merciless as he wiped the blood from his face, standing over Austin with a sinister grin. "You think you can dictate terms now?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You've grown soft, Austin. Too soft for leadership."

His gaze then shifted to Bonnie, who was now being forcibly held by two burly pack members, her struggles futile against their iron grips. Jerry approached her slowly, his steps calculated and heavy with menace. Bonnie's eyes darted between Austin and Jerry, her fear palpable as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

Bear tried to intervene, his large frame pushing through the crowd in an attempt to reach Austin. "Enough, Jerry! This isn’t the way—we solve our disputes within the circle!" Bear shouted, trying to remind him of their laws.

But Jerry was beyond reason. He turned his fiery glare back to Austin. "The circle has no place for traitors or their lovers," he growled before signaling his men.

With a swift motion that seemed rehearsed yet brutal, Jerry reached into his jacket and pulled out a small device. Before anyone could react, he pressed it against Austin’s neck and triggered it. A high-voltage shock coursed through Austin’s body, causing him to convulse violently before collapsing onto the cold ground, unconscious but still breathing shallowly.

Bonnie cried out, her voice breaking as she watched Austin fall. "No! Please, don't do this!" Her plea went unanswered as Jerry turned to face her, his expression hardening.

Jerry's shadow loomed over Bonnie, his eyes cold and unyielding. Despite her petite frame, she was a whirlwind of raw emotion, her cries echoing through the chilly air. Jerry’s hulking form towered as he advanced, the gang members parting slightly to give him space, their faces a mix of awe and fear.

"Quiet now," Jerry murmured darkly as he drew closer to Bonnie. She trembled, fear freezing her veins as she felt the intensity of his gaze. His hand reached out, not with the gentleness of a lover, but with the calculated precision of a hunter cornering his prey. Bonnie's heart raced, her breaths coming in short bursts. With nowhere to run and no strength to fight, desperation clawed at her insides.

Jerry grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look up at him. "You think you can just leave this life behind?" he hissed, his grip tightening. "You belong to the pack. And whatever Austin might think or feel won’t change your fate."

Bear’s voice roared from behind, "Jerry! That’s enough!" But it was too late. Jerry’s other hand shot out like a viper striking its victim, clenching a fistful of Bonnie's hair and pulling her head back sharply.

Bonnie gasped in pain, her senses sharp with terror. "Please... don't..." she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Traitors and their sympathies have no place here," Jerry spat, his words slicing through the tension like a knife. His grip on her hair tightened further, and with his free hand, he pulled out a small, black baton from his belt. The night seemed to hold its breath as he flicked it open with a menacing snap—its length gleaming faintly under the weak light.

Bonnie’s eyes widened, the stark terror evident as she tried to recoil from the cold metal now inches from her face. Her struggles renewed against the ironclad grip of the gang members, futile yet frantic. Jerry watched her for a moment longer, a twisted satisfaction flickering across his features at her distress.

Suddenly, he swung the baton with precision, striking Bonnie hard on the side of her head. The impact was sharp and swift, silencing her cries instantly as her body went limp in the arms of her captors.

********

The scent of pine needles and damp earth filled Austin's nostrils as he slowly regained consciousness. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat sending waves of pain through his body. His vision swam as he tried to focus on his surroundings. Chains rattled gently, and he realized he was tied up – bound to a rough wooden post in the heart of the werewolf biker gang's hideout deep within the woods. Austin craned his neck, squinting at the figures moving around him. Fear gnawed at Austin's insides; this wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be safe here, together. But now...

As he struggled against his restraints, cold metal clinked against stone beneath him – they were chained at the ankles too. He tried to stand, but pain radiated up from his legs and down his spine; it felt like they'd been snapped like twigs. He heard voices nearby; angry murmurs that spoke of betrayal and punishment.

His gaze drifted towards the source of light flickering across the clearing – a small bonfire crackling brightly nearby. Jerry stood with his back turned towards them.

“Where’s Bonnie?” Austin demanded from Jerry forcing him to turn around.

Jerry sneered. “Ah, you’re awake.”

"Right here, Butler," a pack member named Gwen purred, stepping out of the shadows with a wicked grin on her face. She held up a lit torch, casting an eerie glow over Bonnie who was slumped unconscious on the ground a few feet away from Austin. Her hair was matted with blood, her clothes torn and dirty. Austin's heart stopped as he watched Jerry walk up to her. He kicked Bonnie hard in the stomach, sending her writhing in pain. Bonnie's muffled screams echoed through the forest as Jerry continued to beat her mercilessly - no sound escaping the secluded clearing but amplifying every blow instead.

“Stop!” Austin cried fighting against his restraints. It felt like his heart was melting, like her pain was his. He couldn’t take it. He needed to make it stop. He needed to save her. “Please…” He choked on a sob as he spoke.

Jerry straightened up, turning to face him. "You’re in no position to beg, Butler."

Austin’s whole body was shaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Bonnie. She looked so broken, so bloody. She looked like she was about to die. “I’ll do anything…just let her go, Jerry.”

Jerry paused, his eyes scrutinizing Austin with a glint of cruel satisfaction. "Anything?" he echoed mockingly, stepping closer to the firelight that danced across his hardened features. "Your loyalty to your pack was compromised the moment you put her above us. What makes you think I'd trust your word now?"

Austin strained against the chains, his muscles bulging in desperation. "She has nothing to do with this," he ground out through clenched teeth, pain and rage warring within him. "Punish me, but let her go."

Jerry considered this for a long moment, his gaze flickering between Bonnie's frail form and Austin's defiant stare. Finally, he smirked cruelly. "Alright, Butler. Here’s the deal—you renounce your claim as leader of this pack right now and swear loyalty to me. Do that...and maybe I'll consider sparing her more pain."

The words struck Austin like a physical blow. His position as leader wasn't just a title—it was his identity, his responsibility to protect those loyal to him. Yet here he was, bound and broken, unable to protect the one person who mattered most.

"I... accept," Austin finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with defeat.

Jerry laughed harshly as he turned to address the gathered members of the gang who watched the scene unfold with mixed expressions of shock and anticipation. "Hear that? Your great leader has fallen. From this moment on, you answer to me." He glanced sideways at Austin, an evil grin lining his face. Jerry's proclamation echoed ominously through the clearing, sending a wave of uneasy murmurs through the ranks. The biker gang members shifted uncomfortably on their bikes, their gazes darting between Austin, lying defeated and chained, and Jerry, who now stood triumphant with an air of menacing authority. Gwen's sharp eyes flickered with an unreadable expression, her thoughts concealed behind a veil of calculated composure.

Austin's heart sank further as he watched the scene unfold before him. Even in his broken state, he could sense the shift in dynamics—the uneasy acceptance of Jerry's sudden rise to power. He knew that his only chance to save Bonnie now hinged on a dangerous gamble; he had to trust that there was still loyalty left in those who had ridden alongside him for years.

As Jerry turned back to Bonnie, his boots crunching on the leaf-strewn ground, a cold smile crept across his face. "Well then," he said, looking down at her battered form, "Let's see how far your sacrifice will take her, shall we?" Kneeling beside her, he grasped her hair roughly, lifting her head to meet Austin’s desperate eyes. He pulled out a pocket knife placing it at her throat. Bonnie’s eyes widened in sheer terror, reflecting the flickering flames that played across Jerry's ruthless face. Austin’s heart hammered in his chest, feeling each second stretch into eternity as he watched helplessly, the chains biting into his skin as he struggled futilely against them. Meanwhile, the gang members held their breaths, their loyalty to Austin clashing with their fear of crossing Jerry.

Just as Jerry's knife pressed slightly into Bonnie’s delicate skin, a gunshot shattered the night’s oppressive silence. The impact was immediate – Jerry's hand jerked back violently, the knife clattering to the ground as he screamed in pain. Blood spurted from his wounded hand, painting the fallen leaves a dark crimson. Confusion and chaos erupted among the gang members as they scrambled to find the source of the gunshot.

From the shadows emerged Bear, his usually gentle eyes now ablaze with fury and determination. He held a smoking gun steady in his hands, his stance unyielding. "Enough!" he bellowed, his voice resonating through the clearing with commanding authority.

Bear's sudden intervention halted the escalating violence, forcing everyone present to reassess their allegiances. His towering presence commanded immediate attention, and as he advanced into the clearing, the moonlight glinted off his broad shoulders, emphasizing the sheer physical force he represented. The gang members instinctively parted, creating a path for him as they murmured among themselves, the air thick with tension and uncertainty.

Stepping closer to where Austin lay chained and Jerry nursed his bleeding hand, Bear's voice rose above the whispers of the night wind through the trees. "We are wolves, not monsters!" His gaze swept over the assembled bikers, each member caught under his stern scrutiny. "We fight with strength and honor. We protect our pack—not destroy it from within!" His words echoed powerfully, resonating with a deep-seated truth that seemed to momentarily clear the fog of fear and manipulation that had settled over them.

He then turned his attention directly to Jerry, whose expression had turned from pain to wariness. "Jerry, you've been a loyal brother to us all," Bear continued, his tone now tinged with disappointment rather than anger. "But this—" he gestured at the scene around them, “this is not the way.”

There was a pause as Bear let his words sink in before he addressed the entire gang again. "Austin has led us through storms fiercer than tonight’s shadows. He's kept us united when lesser packs have crumbled!" Bear’s voice grew stronger as he spoke. “Who among you has he defended? Who among you has he not risked his life for?" Everyone in the crowd seemed to pulse with the weight of Bear’s words, their faces reflecting back the truth of their shared past.

But then Bear's voice lowered, taking on a tone of solemnity. "However, if there are those among us who doubt his leadership, who feel the path under his command has veered too far from what we stand for—then let that challenge be made openly. Not with knives in the dark, nor poison in whispers, but face to face, as true warriors of the pack."

The silence that followed was thick, almost palpable. Finally, Bear turned to Austin. "Brother," he said, addressing the bound leader with a respectful nod, "do you accept a challenge if it is brought before you?"

Austin’s eyes, fierce and unyielding despite his predicament, met Bear’s. “Yes,” he rasped past the pain and betrayal.

The crowd immediately splintered into two factions. Whispers turned into shouts as gang members declared their allegiances. Some rallied behind Jerry's imposing figure, convinced by his strength and the forceful grab for power he’d shown. Yet others, swayed by Bear’s heartfelt plea and reminded of Austin’s past sacrifices, moved to Austin’s side, determined to stand with the leader who had steered them through countless dangers.

Bear nodded solemnly at the show of support for Austin, appreciating the depth of loyalty that still existed within the gang. He then approached Austin, kneeling down to unlock the chains that bound him. Austin immediately runs to Bonnie falling on his knees beside her and cradling her in his arms.

“Austin…” she whispered through a busted lip. Her body was covered in blood and bruises. She could barely move even with her werewolf nature healing her faster than normal.

“I’m right here, baby.” He brushed strands of blood matted hair out of her face. “I’m right here…I’m so sorry.”

“Austin, I…” she clutched at his shirt her breathing coming in ragged gasps.

“Shh, don’t talk. Save your strength.” He picked her up causing her to whimper in pain but he made sure to hold her as gently as possible. He carried her into the clubhouse garage and laid her down on the couch. “I’m going to kill him…” he growled but Bonnie stopped him with a weak hand on his cheek. He kisses her forehead.

“Just come back to me,” she whimpered.

Austin's eyes hardened with resolve, the gentle touch of Bonnie's fingers against his cheek grounding him amid the swirling chaos of his emotions. He leaned in, pressing his lips softly against her palm before standing and facing the turmoil outside.

Jerry was rallying those loyal to him, his voice booming over the crowd's unrest like thunder on a clear day. The gang was fracturing, tension thick enough to choke on.

"Stay with Bonnie," Austin instructed Bear, his voice low but fierce. Bear nodded, positioning himself beside the couch, his broad frame a solid shield against any who would dare approach.

Austin stepped out of the garage, the cold night air hitting his face, whipping his blonde hair around his piercing eyes. He could feel the beast within stirring, hungry for retribution.

Stay tuned for part 13!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @droopycoquette @buckysteveloki-me

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 19

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, dual POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, character development, jealousy and possessive behavior, dominant Din, submissive reader, spanking (once), oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, accidental exhibitionism, overheard sex

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Note: Following along with the canon timeline, this chapter takes place at the start of Chapter 15: The Believer. You will notice some dialogue has been borrowed directly from the show.

---

As you had expected, Cara Dune had taken little convincing to agree to assist in your expedition. The moment she learned that Grogu’s life was at stake, she had put in for a temporary leave of absence with Karga, packed a small duffle bag, and boarded Boba Fett’s Firespray without a second thought. Using her leverage as a newly-minted New Republic marshal, she had managed to locate an ex-Imperial officer that Din seemed to believe would have the knowledge and access codes needed in order to locate Moff Gideon’s cruiser. Thankfully, you wouldn’t have to travel far to find him; he was serving time on the penal moon Karthon, which was only about 10 standard hours in hyperspace from Nevarro.

Regardless of the brevity of the trip, however, having Cara on board was a welcome addition to the Firespray. Throughout the week’s journey from Tython to Nevarro, the interpersonal dynamics of the ship’s passengers had been…odd.

Boba, you had found, preferred to spend the majority of his time in the cockpit behind the helm of his ship, and although he was always cordial and pleasant with you when you encountered each other in the makeshift mess or on the landing outside the ‘fresher, he was a man of few words, and something about him intimidated the kriff out of you. You weren’t certain if it was the age gap, the sharp, knowing glint of his dark eyes, or the competent, powerful way he carried himself, but everything about him screamed dangerous, and you couldn’t decide if that frightened you or if you were fascinated by it.

Fennec continued to be an enjoyable companion with which to pass the time. However, when she wasn’t actively kicking your ass during your daily hand-to-hand combat lessons, she spent a great deal of time in her bunk cleaning and maintaining her impressive arsenal of long-range blaster rifles, and you could only bring yourself to intrude on her solitude so often.

Din, of course, remained as elusive as ever. Although he had stopped outright avoiding you, you still got the sense that he would prefer to be anywhere other than in your presence, and any conversations you had managed to have with him since your emotional confrontation had been short and painfully shallow. He also still refused to share your bed, choosing instead to stand vigil in the navigation room while the rest of the ship slept, staring into the depths of space and catnapping for brief stretches during the day. You knew he had to be exhausted by now, running on fumes, but in spite of your concerns, you refused to say anything to him about it. If he was going to continue to hold you at arm’s length, you weren’t going to go out of your way to be his caregiver.

The warm, brusque, take-no-shit attitude Cara brought to the group was a comforting reprieve. She and Fennec got on like a house on fire, and once the latter had brought her up to speed on your training regimen, she was quick to shuck her armor and join the day’s sparring session. With a ready smile, she put you through your paces with a ferocity that had you pouring sweat in record time. If Fennec was a sleek, nimble vulptex in combat, Cara was a reek, and when you faced off against her, you found yourself so concentrated on keeping air in your lungs and your feet under your body that you didn’t have a single thought to spare for Grogu’s whereabouts or Din’s mental state. It was shockingly liberating.

By the time you arrived in orbit around Karthon, your body felt pleasantly wrung out, your heart felt lighter, and you had settled Cara into the bunk directly below yours. With Fennec across the way and Cara just below, the lower decks of the Firespray were starting to feel like a cross between the shipyard barracks and the sleepovers you had had with your friends as a child. Both recollections made something in your chest feel soft and tender.

You hovered at the top of the ramp as the others went down to the surface, choosing to watch from the sidelines as Cara, back in full armor, escorted the prisoner in question out of the chop fields and into the ship. A human male in a worn, yellow inmate’s jumpsuit, you could hear his bright, sharp voice carry across the distance, distinct and clearly aggravated.

“I mean, it’s-it’s common courtesy,” he was saying as he and Cara came into view. “A common courtesy to tell somebody where it is that you’re takin’ ‘em. I don’t think that’s so hard to ask, do you?”

He looked as though he was about to say more, like once he got going, he wasn’t going to stop any time soon, but then he caught sight of Boba and Fennec descending the ramp, and his words died on his tongue.

“Oh. You know, for a second, I thought you were this other guy,” he stammered after a moment’s silence, a look of relief coloring his pale, freckled features as he took in Boba’s freshly-painted sage green armor.

Then Din breezed past you to join the others, and that relief disappeared.

“Mayfeld,” the bounty hunter greeted him coolly. A ripple of tension traveled through the group, one that could be felt even from where you stood, propped casually against the doorframe, and for the first time, you wondered about the history of these two men – what had happened between them that had left such animosity behind?

“Hey. Mando. Long time.” The man called Mayfeld glanced down at his boots, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else. “So, what? You came here to kill me?”

Din said nothing, simply continued to size him up as Cara replied, “All you need to know is I bent a lot of rules to bring you along.”

Mayfeld scoffed. “Why am I so lucky?”

“Because you’re Imperial.” The venom in the ex-shock trooper’s tone could not be mistaken, the sound sending a chill up your spine even though her words weren’t directed at you.

The inmate didn’t seem to appreciate the reminder. “Hey, that was a long time ago, all right?”

“But you still know your Imperial clearances and protocols, don’t you?” Din asked pointedly, as though he already knew the answer. Something in the other man’s eyes shone like resignation at that, and you couldn’t fight the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth.

Gotcha.

---

Back in the navigation room, you lingered against the holoprojector console as Boba excused himself to begin the Firespray’s take-off sequence while the others each settled in a chair. Their eyes never left the suspicious face of the dust-covered New Republic inmate, the tension of the atmosphere steadily ratcheting up as they studied him wordlessly. He appeared to do the same, wary and hesitant, and you watched as his gaze snagged on you, seemingly noticing your presence for the first time. His sharp, blue eyes felt like a brand on your skin, trailing from the top of your head to the toes of your boots, and you found yourself crossing your arms over your chest in an instinctual, protective gesture.

Just as you thought he might speak to you, Din spoke first.

“We need coordinates for Moff Gideon’s cruiser.”

Mayfeld’s brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead as a shocked laugh burst from his throat. You got the sense that whatever reason he had imagined for being turned over to Marshal Dune, it hadn’t been that. “Moff Gideon? Yeah, forget it. Just take me back to the scrap yard, I’m not doing that.”

For some reason, his immediate, flippant dismissal struck a chord with you. You had never met this man before today, he did not even know your name, and yet it felt almost like a betrayal. He was supposed to help. You had come all this way for him…

“They have his kid,” you said sharply, the words on your lips before you could question them.

The antagonistic expression on the inmate’s face softened somewhat at that. “What, the little green guy?”

“Yeah. The little green guy.”

“So…” His eyes darted around the room, flicking from Cara to Din to Fennec to you. “I help you guys get him back, you guys let me go?”

Cara shook her head, a sneer on her lips. “That’s not how this works.”

“Well, then, what’s in it for me?”

“You get a better view,” she snapped, and you felt your eyebrows raise. You hadn’t seen this side of her before, the barely-restrained contempt and vitriol giving you your first glimpse of Cara the shock trooper, Cara the Alderaan survivor, Cara the Rebel. You would be lying if you said you weren’t impressed and more than a little intimidated.

Mayfeld, it seemed, had nothing to say in response to that. Sighing to himself, he said, “All right, but here’s the thing: I can’t get those coordinates unless I have access to an internal Imperial terminal. I believe there’s one on Morak.”

“Morak?” Din echoed dubiously. “There’s nothing on Morak.”

The other man waved the concern away. “It’s a secret Imperial mining hub, okay? If you can get me there, I can get you the coordinates.”

The Mandalorian scanned the room then, silently checking in with Cara, then Fennec, then you. Only after he had a wordless nod from each of you did he reach over to the console behind you and activate the internal comm system.

“Fett. Punch in the coordinates to Morak.”

There was a brief pause, and then the low, gravely voice of the older man replied, “Copy that.”

As the telltale streaks and spirals of hyperspace engulfed the Firespray, casting the navigation room in a wash of blue and white light, most of its inhabitants dispersed to their various corners of the ship. Now that he had agreed to assist, it seemed that the others had determined that Mayfeld was safe to be left to his own devices. There was only so much mischief he could get up to confined to the ship, you supposed. And, if he decided to do anything foolish, there were four warriors aboard who would all be perfectly happy to hand him his ass for his troubles.

For his part, however, the inmate appeared to be perfectly content with passing the time lounging in his chair in the navigation room, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the swirl of passing star systems through the massive forward viewport. Some of the tightness, the wariness that pinched the corners of his eyes had relaxed since you had departed Karthon, and to you, he had the look of a man who had been on edge for so long that the concept of being allowed to relax for a moment was almost foreign to him. He looked like he had forgotten how, like he was trying to remind himself.

Approaching him cautiously, arms still folded over your chest, you offered him a wary half-smile and said, “So. You’re ex-Imperial?”

Mayfeld sighed heavily. “In another life, yeah. But like I told your shock trooper friend, it’s been a long time since I put on the old plastoid get-up.” Tearing his eyes away from the hyperspace horizon, he gave you another one of those head-to-toe looks that made you feel as though you were being examined under a microscope. You weren’t certain what he saw there, but when he was done, his impatience with the question softened, and he returned your smile. “But what about you? You look like you might be the only person on this ship who doesn’t wanna kill me.”

“Well, I don’t know you yet,” you quipped, leaning back against one of the nearby support beams. “Maybe I’ll change my mind.”

The man let out a surprised burst of laughter, his smile morphing into a sly, flirtatious grin. “Oh, she’s got jokes. All right, I see how it is.” Extending a broad hand in fingerless leather gloves, he said, “Name’s Migs Mayfeld.”

You accepted the handshake and introduced yourself in turn.

“Tell me somethin’, sweetheart. What the hell’s someone like you doin’ mixed up with this motley crew? Two Mandos, a Rebel dropper, and an assassin?” He scratched his short, ginger stubble, dragging his thumb across his bottom lip in a gesture that appeared both nonchalant and intentional. “One of these things is not like the others.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at the obvious line and instead simply shrugged. “Same thing they’re doing. Just trying to get the kid back.”

“Oh, you know him?”

“I’m his nanny,” you replied. His eyebrows rose dramatically at that. “Well, technically, I’m Mando’s engineer. But I did an…awful lot of child-minding on the side.”

“No shit.” Mayfeld studied you for a moment, fist tucked under his chin, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, I see. Huh. Wouldn’t have pegged Mando for the type to go after the babysitter, but…” His gaze flicked from your eyes to your breasts to your hips, and you willed yourself not to squirm under his blatant perusal. “…I get it. Don’t think I could say no to you, either.”

A flare of self-righteousness licked its way up your spine, spilling over before you could school it into passivity. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The inmate’s smirk widened, victory flashing in his eyes as he finally managed to get a rise out of you. “Means you are way out of his league, sweetheart,” he crooned, and you lost the battle with your better judgment and rolled your eyes at him.

“Don’t you think I ought to be the judge of that?”

“Sure, sure.” Snickering, Mayfeld brought up both of his hands in a placating gesture, palms out in surrender. “So what’s your part in all this? What’s an engineer gonna do for Operation Baby Frog Rescue?”

“Actually…” You trailed off, weighing the risks of what you were about to ask him. The thought had occurred to you the moment you learned that the individual you would be retrieving from Karthon was a former Imperial soldier, and you had been preoccupied with it since. It was a big ask, what you were considering, and so far, Mayfeld was proving that he might be a…challenging person to work with.

Ultimately, the question you really needed to consider was whether the benefits would outweigh the potentially unpleasant experience.

Steeling yourself, you continued, “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me with that.”

A look of pleasant surprise passed over the inmate’s face. “Is that so? Well, I’m all ears, baby. What can I do for you?”

“I want to learn everything there is to know about Moff Gideon’s ship. Layout, weapons and defense capabilities, power grid design, internal systems accesses, the works.”

“Ha. How much time you got?” Mayfeld scoffed, dismissive.

With a glance over to the flight path readout on the navigation console, you replied, “About…five standard rotations, give or take a stop for fuel. I’m taking hand-to-hand combat lessons from Fennec, but otherwise, it’s not like there’s much else going on.”

“…oh. You’re serious.” You watched as the cocky smile on his face began to melt away, his expression slowly becoming more hesitant and uncertain. “Look, you gotta understand, I was a sharpshooter. Not a whole lot technical about what I was doing on those ships. I was just stationed on one. If you wanna talk systems and schematics and shit, I’m probably not the best guy for the job.”

Now it was your turn to smirk at him. “Maybe not, but you’re the guy we have.”

“Oof.” In a dramatic gesture, the inmate slammed the side of one of his fists into his chest with a dull thud, as though he had been wounded. “Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart.”

“Look, I’ve been building and repairing starships since I was 18 years old. I’ve got enough technical knowledge for the both of us,” you insisted. “What I need is someone who has seen the inside of an Imperial cruiser first-hand. If I can get a good enough understanding of their systems, if I can figure out their vulnerabilities, their weak points, I can actually help when it comes time to face them.”

Mayfeld appeared to consider the request, though his hesitance did not seem to ease even after a beat or two of tense silence. So instead of waiting any longer for him to come to a conclusion on his own, you decided to press your advantage.

Drawing your brows up in the middle, you hit him with your softest, widest eyes and added, “Please, Migs.”

You could see the moment the sharpshooter folded, and you could see the moment he recognized what you had just done to him, what levers you had been willing to press to get what you wanted. With a grin that seemed almost to congratulate you, he said, “Fine. But only ‘cause you asked so pretty.”

A surge of satisfaction swept through you, and you offered him your first real, genuine smile. Patting him once on the shoulder, you quipped, “Meet me in the mess in an hour. We’ll get started right away.”

“Yes, ma’am!” The mocking salute he gave you in return nearly had you chuckling on your way down the ladder.

Migs Mayfeld was definitely a skughole, but you had a feeling you might actually grow to like that about him.

---

Din Djarin had been given one task. One single, simple task. And he had failed.

Find a Jedi. Return the child in his charge to his people. And, until that time, care for and protect that child like his own.

He had done everything he could to complete this task. He had searched the galaxy for clues on where he might find a member of this mysterious tribe of sorcerers, following every lead, completing every tangential quest placed in his path with nothing to show for it but mere scraps of information. He had run the Razor Crest into the ground (quite literally on one occasion), spent every last credit to his name more times than he could count, and when he finally found a Jedi, she had wanted no part in the caring and training of the boy.

But even then, even when he was certain that he had found the last Jedi in existence only to be turned away, he did not relent. He took the child to the ancient temple. He placed him on the seeing stone. He fought until his body was battered and bruised to keep the boy safe while he broadcast his message through the Force into the vastness of space.

He did. Everything. Right.

Except it hadn’t mattered.

Except now the child was gone. And not into the care of a benevolent protector, one who could mold and shape his ever-growing powers, one who could help him achieve his greatest potential. No. He was gone into the hands of the Empire, of Moff Gideon. Din Djarin had failed the naur’alor, and he had failed Grogu.

It was one thing to disappoint the expectations of the leader of his covert, his spiritual guide, the keeper of his culture. It was quite another to fail to protect a foundling. It flew in the face of everything he believed, every value he had ever held sacred. The care and the protection of children was the very foundation of the Mandalorian way of life. To harm a child was the ultimate crime, the cardinal sin. To be granted the privilege of being a caregiver to a foundling only to be found wanting? It was the deepest shame.

Watching the squad of Dark Troopers retreat through the atmosphere with Grogu in tow, Din had felt a helplessness the likes of which he had never known. It had been a fear that had rivaled the day the Separatists attacked Aq Vetina, the day his parents were slaughtered trying to save him from the invading battle droids. But then he had turned to see you, limp and exhausted and covered head-to-toe in dirt and ash, and somehow, the anguish had only grown stronger. Your skin glowed bright red and raw everywhere he could see, marring your smooth forehead, your sweet nose, your graceful neck, your capable hands. Blood spilled down the side of your face from a cut on your brow, and you were clutching your ribcage, curled over on yourself like it hurt to stand up all the way.

Gods. He had sent you to the Razor Crest, he suddenly recalled, horror washing over him in a cold wave that nearly had his knees buckling. You could have been killed. You could have been killed, and he wouldn’t have realized. His mind had been on keeping the Storm Troopers at bay, then on the loss of his ship, then on Grogu, where it had stayed, consumed. If you had made it to the Crest, if you had been on board during its destruction…

How long would it have taken him to notice you were gone?

The sickening thought kept him up at night, kept him standing vigil by the navigation room viewport and far from your bed. It had him fighting nausea every time you looked at him with your wide, bright eyes full of grief, every time you offered him your kindness. It had him recoiling from your touch, shunning your boundless empathy. He left you alone and cold in your bunk every night because the idea of allowing you to comfort him – him – made him want to collapse inside of himself and dissolve into nothingness.

You did not need him – Din Djarin, the failed buir. Din Djarin, the thoughtless, heartless riduur. You did not need him, and he certainly did not deserve you.

And yet…

Just as he was certain that you were too good for him, he perhaps was even more certain that you were too good for that slimy, ex-Imperial frag-head Migs kriffing Mayfeld.

From the moment he had come aboard, the two of you had been nearly inseparable. They were three days into their journey to Morak, and if you weren’t sparring in the middle of the navigation room with either Fennec Shand or Marshal Dune, you were holed up somewhere with Mayfeld, the two of you huddled together over a pile of datapads or clustered around a console, talking animatedly and taking notes. He had no idea what you could have to talk to him about or what the two of you might be working on together that demanded so much of your time. All Din knew for certain was that the sight had him silently seething behind the impassivity of his helmet every time he came across it.

Though he tried to take comfort in the fact that these conversations often devolved into arguments, the two of you snipping back and forth at each other at increasing volumes as you debated something or other, that surge of satisfaction could just as easily be overtaken by raw, roiling rage every time he heard you laugh. Mayfeld made you laugh. Often. It had him wanting to break the sharpshooter’s jaw before throwing him out the airlock. And, stars, the way he looked at you, something covetous in his eyes, something hungry. It was more than he could bear.

Didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he tell? You were his. Mayfeld may have thought he had seen what Din was capable of on that prison transport, but he hadn’t seen anything yet. If that Hutt spawn ever touched you…

Not that he thought you would allow it, not really. Even in the throes of his guilt and shame and grief, the Mandalorian knew that you loved him, knew that you were loyal to him. But did Mayfeld know that? Or perhaps he just didn’t care? Either way, the thought filled his chest with slick, black fury, nearly choking him every time he was in the same room as the ex-Imperial inmate.

Din Djarin felt at the end of his tether, his own self-loathing and his longing for you and his resentment of Mayfeld building up in his body like a pressurized tibanna cartridge in an overheating blaster rifle. It was only a matter of time before he exploded. He only hoped he could keep it together long enough to find Grogu. He knew himself well enough to know that if didn’t find somewhere constructive to put all of this emotion, there was going to be collateral damage, and he wasn’t certain he would be able to do anything to stop it.

---

“So.”

You glanced up from your datapad to find Migs studying you with interest, a sharp, antagonistic gleam in his bright blue eyes, and you swallowed a sigh before it could make itself heard. Three days into your hyperspace journey to Morak, and the same number of days into your unexpected partnership with the Firespray’s newest passenger, and you were getting rather good at picking up on his tells. This one – the significant shift in his tone of voice, the sparkle in his gaze, the needling look he sent you from his seat on the deck at the foot of your bunk – told you that any work you had been accomplishing moments before was going to need to take a pause. The man was bored, and his favorite pastime seemed to be taking the piss out of you.

“Hm?” you hummed, quirking a weary eyebrow in his direction.

The sharpshooter smirked. “How’s Mando feel about how much time you been spendin’ with me?”

Shrugging, you shifted atop your bunk mattress, bunching your pillow beneath your chest as you rolled onto your front and continued reading through your notes. “If he’s bothered by it, he hasn’t said anything,” you replied truthfully.

You thought you might have caught the Mandalorian in question watching the two of you on a few occasions, hovering on the outskirts of whatever room you had decided to camp out in for the day or passing through on his way to somewhere else on the ship. You could feel the tension radiating off of him in those moments, could tell that whatever he saw when he looked at you, he didn’t like it, but with the way he had been stonewalling you lately, you couldn’t bring yourself to be too concerned about it.

If Din had an issue with Mayfeld, he could grow up and talk to you about it like an adult.

Migs scoffed at that, setting his own datapad aside with a clatter. “That guy hates my guts, sweetheart. Trust me, he’s bothered.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing he doesn’t get a say in who I spend my time with.”

“Ooo, feisty,” he groaned, eyelids lowering and a wide, lascivious smile spreading across his face. “I like that.”

You shot him a reluctant half grin at that, amused in spite of yourself. The man was relentless, had been flirting with you mercilessly since the moment he stepped on board the ship. You weren’t sure when it had stopped being gross and started being funny, but somewhere along the way, during the many hours the two of you had spent in each other’s company since then, you had started to find his utterly shameless, boorish behavior entertaining rather than disgusting.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Nice try. But I’m not interested,” you said, just as you had every other time he had come onto you.

“No? You sure?” From his seat on the floor, he shifted and rolled up onto his knees, bringing his face level with yours. He leaned his elbow into your mattress, the thin padding dipping under the weight of him. Cupping his stubbly chin in his palm, he encroached on your space without an ounce of regret in his eyes. “You know, I been watchin’ you two, and I gotta tell you. He sure doesn’t seem to give you a whole lot of attention. Nowhere near as much as you deserve.”

You pushed down the immediate pang of hurt at his words, too accurate for your liking, and reminded yourself that Migs didn’t really know you, he definitely didn’t know Din, and he most assuredly didn’t know your relationship. Choosing to ignore his presence weighing down the edge of your bed, you flicked your gaze back to your datapad. “His kid just got kidnapped,” you replied with a shrug. “He’s got a lot on his mind.”

“Maybe.” You felt more than you saw him lean in just a bit closer, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Or maybe those pesky Mandalorian morals are destined to get in the way of bein’ able to treat you right.”

“Mando treats me just fine, Migs.” A flash of genuine irritation made its way into your voice, and you could have kicked yourself for the way just that tiny show of weakness had the inmate grinning like  a madman. He could see that he was getting to you, and it only made him push harder.

“Girl like you deserves more than ‘fine,’ sweetheart. Besides, how do you know he’s not repulsive under all that armor? And who knows what he’s got hiding under that helmet?”

You chose not to dignify that with a response. This topic had come up more than once over the last few days – Din’s helmet, his armor, his Mandalorian culture and practices. Something about them seemed to grate at Mayfeld in a way that felt deeper and more real than anything else that came out of the man’s mouth, particularly the helmet. You didn’t understand it yourself, but you knew that it made him distrustful of Din, that it put him on edge.

Of course, you would never reveal that you at least had some idea of what was under that helmet. The floppy curls you had run your fingers through, the scratchy stubble that had burned your cheeks and inner thighs. The soft, downturned mouth you had kissed so thoroughly, the strong, hooked nose you had felt dragging along your neck and collarbones. Under his helmet, he was just a human man.

Your man, and one you were convinced was devastatingly handsome, but still, nothing especially remarkable. Whatever image Migs had concocted in his head, you were sure it was far more extreme than the reality.

As you recalled those precious hours you had spent wrapped up together and felt your heart squeeze in response, something must have flickered across your face, some tell that you hadn’t been able to push down. Migs seemed to go still next to you, suddenly serious.

“Unless…you do know what’s under it,” he murmured, something like awe, like jealousy in his voice. “You seen his face, sweetheart?”

Too far.

You shot up onto your knees, finally putting some distance between the two of you and meeting his gaze with a cold, sharp look. “No, I haven’t. No one has. And no one will,” you snapped. Waving your all-but-forgotten datapad in his face, you added, “Now, can we please get back to the internal surveillance systems?”

The sharpshooter narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, seemingly studying you, before leaning back off of the mattress. A light, easy smile slipped back over his face once again, and you found yourself sighing audibly in relief.

“Yeah, sure. For now,” he purred, that insatiable, flirtatious tone back in a way that felt almost comforting after such a close brush with something real, something personal. “But I’d be stupid if I didn’t try my damnedest to turn your head while I got the chance, baby.”

A soft, breathy chuckle burst from your chest, and the sharpshooter sent you a wink, over the top, shameless.

“Mayfeld.”

You startled at the gravely, modulated sound of Din’s voice, suddenly so close, and your eyes flew to the entrance to your bunk. Tall, broad, and impossibly intimidating, the Mandalorian took up the entire narrow doorway, one of his gloved fists wrapped snugly around the bars of the open cell door.

You hadn’t heard him climb down the ladder, hadn’t sensed him on the slender platform outside your cell. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

And why did those questions have your heart speeding up in your chest?

For his part, Mayfeld appeared entirely unbothered. If anything, the shit-eating grin that split his face grew even wider as he turned to take in the unexpected visitor. “Speak of the devil,” he said, and that kriffing tone was back, bright and joyfully irritating.

“Take a break. There’s caf in the mess,” Din said, taking a slow, measured step into your bunk. His frame loomed over the both of you in a way that made you feel a bit like running. A bit like prey.

The inmate frowned a bit at that, clearly not appreciating the idea of being ordered around by the Mandalorian. “Hey, we’re in the middle of a – ”

“I said. Take. A break.”

His low, rumbling words left no room for argument. Mayfeld glanced back and forth between you and Din, as though confirming that it was safe for him to leave, and you nodded once. He seemed to understand, and a smooth, practiced smile slipped back over his face as he got to his feet. “All right, all right. Three’s a crowd, I gotcha.” Tossing you a short wave over his shoulder, he added, “Catch up with you later, sweetheart.” Then he was swinging himself up onto the central ladder and climbing for the upper decks.

The moment you were certain Mayfeld was out of earshot, you were scrambling to your feet, tossing your datapad onto your pillow with a soft thump. “Din!” you hissed, wrestling a shout into something softer but no less venomous. “What the kriff is your problem?”

The bounty hunter seemed entirely unaffected by your indignation; if anything, it seemed to make him dig his heels in. Drawing himself up to full height and crossing his arms over his armored chest, he growled, “Mayfeld is bad news. You should keep your distance from him.”

Anger rose in your chest at the audacity of such a statement, as though the man before you hadn’t been skirting his way out of your presence for more than a week now, as though he had any right…

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you insisted we bring him on board.” You took a handful of quick, pointed strides, coming to stand directly in front of him, your chin jutting outward defiantly as you glared up into his visor. “Besides, you don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. That’s not how this works.”

“Friends?” Din’s voice vibrated low and dangerous through his vocoder, and you suppressed a shiver at the sound. Goosebumps broke out along the back of your neck and down your arms as he tilted his helmet down another inch, bringing himself even further into your space. “You think you and him are friends?”

You swallowed thickly. “So far, yeah. He’s agreeing to help you track down Gideon’s cruiser, he’s been helping me brush up on my Imperial starship design. He’s been nothing but nice to me – ”

“Migs Mayfeld is not nice, not unless he wants something from you. And trust me, cyare, what he wants from you is anything but nice.”

And there it was. You knew it, had felt it in his burning gaze, seen it in his menacing body language. You had even heard it in his voice – that barely restrained fury, that primal possession.

Din was jealous. Acutely, poisonously jealous.

“Oh, yeah?” you taunted, biting back a grin. “And what does he want from me, exactly?”

A rasping, animalistic sound rumbled somewhere deep in his chest. “I think you know.”

You felt a smirk tug at one corner of your mouth, the heat of your anger suddenly morphing, transforming, racing along your nerve endings, pooling in your belly. Maker help you, but this was working for you. You could feel the apex of your thighs starting to throb, to dampen. How long had it been since he had touched you? You couldn’t remember anymore. Too long.

Your next words were barely a whisper against the cool beskar of his helmet, close enough now for your warm breath to fog up the reflective surface but still not touching. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

At first, only silence met your taunting, needling question, and it was almost enough to drag you out of the moment, to have self-consciousness and shame rearing their ugly heads behind your ribs. But then you heard his breathing pick up, suddenly audible through his vocoder. A flush bloomed on your cheeks at the sound, spilling down your neck, darkening your chest. He seemed to follow the path of it with his eyes, his visor angling down to watch your breasts heave, to witness the way his proximity affected you, the way you had begun to ache for him.

Just as you opened your mouth – to curse him, to beg him, to whine for him – the Mandalorian tilted his helmet back up to meet your eyes, and you were certain you could hear it even though no words left his lips.

Can I?

You nodded weakly in answer to his unspoken question, and then he was on you, driving you inexorably back toward the wall of your bunk with the breadth of his body and the grip of his large, leather-clad hand on your jaw.

All of the air rushed out of your lungs as your body collided with the durasteel bulkhead, the chill of the metal and the force of the impact arching your back instinctually, and Din was right there when you did – pressing his chest into yours, driving an armored thigh between your legs, pressing the central ridge of that armor firmly, inescapably into your core. The hand on your jaw wrenched your head back, forcing your gaze up, up, forcing you to look him in the eye, to take in the image of your own reflection in the shining blackness of his T-shaped visor. His other hand came up to slam against the wall near your head, and just like that, in the span of a single breath, you were trapped. Pinned. Utterly at his mercy.

The realization had your stomach dropping, your knees going watery beneath you. A rush of heat washed over you, thick and sweet and addictive, and you watched your own pupils blow wide and dark in your reflection.

“Enlighten you? You’re too smart to be that naïve, gotabor’ika,” the bounty hunter growled, grinding cold, unforgiving beskar into the tender softness of your cunt. “He wants this.”

You let out a gasp, mouth dropping open, and fuck, you already looked wrecked.

Din must have thought so, too, because the next thing you knew, that hand on your jaw had shifted so that he could slip his thumb between your lips, pressing the pad into your tongue and groaning as you automatically began to suck.

“He wants this pretty mouth, too, cyar’ika. I see the way he watches you, how he stares when you speak. I see the way he follows you from room to room like a fucking shadow.”

He sounds enraged, his voice dark and his words heavy in a way you have never heard, but he keeps his emotions on a tight leash. You can feel it in the tension of his limbs, hear it in his panting breaths. He’s holding back, and the thought that this is somehow restraint has you trembling.

In his thick, leather gloves, his thumb felt huge in your mouth, and you felt saliva swell under your tongue at the sensation. Combined with the musk and the tang of the leather, it reminded you so viscerally of his cock in your mouth that it had you soaking your panties and grinding yourself harder against the press of his thigh.

If Din noticed your increasing desperation, the way you were melting beneath his hands, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he simply thrust his thumb deeper, forcing you to suck in a breath through your nose as you fought back a gag.

“But he doesn’t get to have this mouth, does he?” Something hard and taunting crept its way into his voice, and you found yourself shaking your head around his intrusion, a whine trapped high in your throat. “No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t get to have this sweet little pussy, either, does he? Hm?” He pulled his thumb away, dragging a slick string of drool with him as he did. The orange leather tip of his glove had been stained a dark umber. “Answer me, cyar’ika.”

“No, Din, never,” you whimpered, breathless. Your body writhed of its own accord, dragging your clothed cunt against his thigh armor once, twice, three times, the ridge of it catching on your swollen clit with every thrust in a way that had you absolutely fucking shaking.

“Why not? Why can’t he have you?”

The words were out of your mouth before you had even formed them, spilling into the tight, humid space between you in little gasps and sighs. “Because I’m yours.”

Immediately, his hand was in your hair, weaving through the strands at the base of your skull, loosening your braid as he yanked your head back once more. “Yeah? You’re mine?” he ground out, his words rough and clipped like he was speaking through a clenched jaw.

“Yes. Just yours. Always, Din, always.” You tried to nod but instead pulled your own hair against the harshness of his grip, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head at the feeling.

A pleased rumble vibrated through his chest, like the purr of an overgrown nexu, and he released your hair, instead placing both hands on your shoulders and bearing you down onto your knees. “Then prove it, mesh’la.”

You put up no resistance, your legs folding easily beneath you as you collapsed onto the deck at his feet. Back still pressed to the bulkhead, your fingers went to his belt immediately, releasing the center buckle and catching the heavy weight in your palms as it loosened and then slipped from around his narrow hips. Swiftly discarding it onto the nearby bunk, you tackled his flight suit pants next, tucking your hands up under the bottom of the padded bib he wore under his cuirass to release the button and drag down the zipper.

The Mandalorian groaned at the relieved pressure, and you bit back a whine at the sight of his thick cock pressing insistently against the fabric of his underwear. Even in the narrow space created by his open fly, you could see how he tented the black cotton, how the impressive length of him nearly had his flushed, weeping tip poking out of the waistband. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling your walls clench around nothing as he watched him twitch. He was throbbing for you, and you for him.

You drew him out without preamble, too impatient now to tease, too desperate to draw it out any more, and then your mouth was on him, and you loosed a groan that would have embarrassed you had you been in you right mind. Dank farrik, he felt good – his skin hot and smooth, his musk slick on your tongue, making you drool, making your cunt drip. Din dropped a series of curses intermingled with warm, lilting Mando’a, and you snapped your eyes up to him, watching him watch you take him. His fingers returned to your hair then, cradling the bowl of your skull in his palm, pressing, pulling, drawing your forward.

“Shab, that’s it, cyar’ika,” he panted, thrusting shallowly. “Just let me use my mouth. Let me fuck it a little, hm?”

You moaned a muffled, affirmative noise, wrapping your hands around his hips to steady yourself as you relaxed your throat. Taking deep, steady breaths through your nose, you felt your eyelids start to flutter as he began to thrust into you. Dragging the underside of his cock along your tongue, probing past your gag reflex, the plush tip of him sliding along your soft pallet, bumping into the back of your throat. Tears welled at your lash line, a single one bursting the dam and tracking down your cheek, and you could tell that salvia was staring to pool in the corners of your mouth. Gods, he was so thick – hot and slick and smelling like salt, like man. It was making your mind fuzzy, your thoughts loose and sluggish. He was fucking them out of you, forcing them from your body with every hitch of his hips, and you felt all of the fear and the anxiety and the grief inside you soften as he did.

Distantly, you wondered whether he was experiencing that same relief, that same unburdening with the soft heat of your mouth, but before the thought could fully coalesce, it was gone, dissolved with all the others.

You felt him start to twitch on your tongue then, his balls drawing up and tightening against your chin, and then he was using his grip on your head to pull you off him. You whined in protest, feeling bereft, but he shushed you before you could put words to your disappointment.

“Shh, shh, mesh’la. On your feet now.”

You obeyed as quickly as you could, your legs feeling a bit numb after being folded up beneath you on the cold durasteel floor, but the moment you had your feet under you, his hands were back on your body. He yanked the zipper of your jumpsuit down with an urgency that nearly had the mechanism catching on the fabric, then he was working the sleeves down over your shoulders, shoving the fabric down your torso until it caught on the plush flare your hips. Tucking his thumbs into your panties, he dug his fingers into the undergarment and the jumpsuit and tugged them both all the way down to your knees, leaving you abruptly bare but for your thin, black breastband.

“Turn around. Hands on the bed,” the Mandalorian rumbled, and you stumbled to do what he asked.

Blood rushed to your face in mortification at the thought of how you must look right now, clumsy with your clothes around your knees, boots still on your feet, braid half undone, shining slick dripping from your pussy and coating the insides of your thighs. But your debauched helplessness only seemed to turn Din on more. The moment your palms hit the flimsy mattress, he landed a quick, sharp swat to the meat of your ass, and you gasped at the sting. The feel of his leather gloves on your skin in such an intimate place had you squirming, and you thought you heard him chuckle breathily as he watched you writhe.

“Oh, sweet girl.” With the tip of his boot, he kicked your feet wider apart, forcing you to spread your legs for him while you bent over the bed. Dragging two fingers through the mess between your legs, he groaned indulgently. “You get this wet just from my cock in your mouth?”

You sobbed out a sound that you hoped sounded like a yes, but Din wasn’t having it. Wrapping what was left of your braid around his fist, he pulled, making you cry out.

“Use your words now. Is your pretty pussy dripping like this because of me?”

“Yes!” you whimpered weakly. “It’s all for you, Din.”

Two leather-clad fingertips appeared at your entrance, stroking your fluttering hole with a gentleness that felt almost out of place in this high-intensity moment, but it had your thighs trembling nonetheless. “Not for him, though. Right, cyar’ika?”

You were shaking your head before he had even finished his question. “No, no, just you! I swear!”

“That’s right. You know why?” Those two fingers thrust forward then, filling, stretching, and you felt your mouth drop open on a moan. “Because no one else can make you feel like this, can they? No one else can give this pussy what she needs. You’re mine, mesh’la. Only mine.”

The bounty hunter continued to mumble lewd, greedy nonsense as he fucked you with his fingers, but you couldn’t make yourself focus on his words. That far-off, foggy feeling was coming back; with every thrust, every curl, every scissoring stretch, you felt yourself releasing rhythmic, involuntary moans, your slickness gathering at the base of his fingers and slipping down his palm. He was going to make you come like this, just with his fingers. It had been building since the moment you realized he was acting out of jealousy, since the moment he started bossing Mayfeld around in that wicked, possessive voice, and there was no stopping it now.

Not when you had been deprived of him for so long, not when he played your body and your mind like a finely tuned instrument.

“You going to come for me, sweet girl? S’okay, you can come.” Running a warm, soothing palm across your spine, Din drove you further forward, urging you to drop your upper body onto the mattress. “Come on my fingers, and then I’ll give you my cock and fuck this pussy the way you deserve.”

Shit. You would never get used to that – the way he talked to you, the way his low, rasping voice curled intimately around every word. The distortion of his helmet modulator somehow only made it hotter. It made it feel illicit, added a forbidden element that had you sweating under his touch.

With the promise of his thick, swollen cock lingering at the back of your mind, you fell apart on his fingers, your legs shaking so violently that Din had to tuck an arm under your stomach and hold you upright.

As you caught your breath, head resting on your folded forearms, you felt his fingers slip from your body, replaced instead with the wide, blunt press of his cock. Groaning low in your chest, you shifted your feet apart even wider and arched your back, presenting yourself to him in wordless submission.

“There we go,” the Mandalorian sighed. He wrapped both of his hands around your hips then, pulling you slowly, steadily back into him, splitting you open one perfect inch at a time. “Who’s pussy is this, mesh’la? Who’s the only one who gets to fuck you like this?”

“Just you, Din.” Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears – low and breathy and whimpering. You sounded completely fucked out, completely pathetic, and somehow it made you even wetter, made your cunt clench around him.

“Shaaaab, that’s right.” One hand slid from your hip to your spine, settling firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning your top half to the bunk. “Now all you have to do is take it. Just take what I give you.”

Then Din fucked you like he wanted to ruin you, and you thought he might have succeeded.

Deep, rough, and relentless, he pounded into you with utter abandon, no longer the focused bounty hunter, the unflappable warrior in complete control of his faculties. This man was just as strung out as you, and it lent a flavor of desperation to his thrusts that had you rocketing toward your peak with a speed that left you feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Burying your face in the mattress, you moaned and whimpered and cried out each time his hips connected with your ass, each time the tip of his cock kissed your cervix, each time he dragged himself across that soft, spongy spot that had you seeing stars.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, cyare,” he grunted, the sound coming out staticky and warped as he gritted his teeth inside his helmet. “Such a perfect little cunt. Love how she drips for me. So soft. And sweet. And fucking messy.”

“Stars, Din, please – ”

“That’s it.” Draping himself over your body, the Mandalorian wrapped one of his hands around your throat and tugged you up, bowing your body into a dramatic curve that had your head coming back to rest on his shoulder, your hips still pressed to his as he continued his merciless, reckless thrusts. “You want to come? Can feel her squeezing me.”

You nodded furiously. The constant, gentle pressure at the base of your throat as he held you in place was making you crazy. He wasn’t choking you, not really, just holding you, but even that was enough to have your vision blurring.

“I want you to ask me,” he said, just as breathless as you. His other hand wrapped around the front of your body then, the pads of his gloved fingers immediately massaging your throbbing clit, and you moaned at the sensation. “Ask me to come on this cock.”

“Can I come? Gods, please, Din, can I come on your cock?”

The cool press of beskar knocked against your forehead, and you got the distinct impression that if he had been helmetless, Din would have dropped a kiss onto your sweaty hairline as he replied, anguished, “Yes, mesh’la. Come for me.”

It was as though his words made it so. With an involuntary cry that might have been his name or might have just been a string of curses, your walls seized around him as a fresh wave of wetness soaked you both, every pulse sending you thrusting back against him, trying to take him deeper, harder, rougher. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your vision fading around the edges, and your hands flew up to dig your nails into the arm that held you upright. They skittered and scraped over his vambrace as you rode out your high, and just as you started to come back down, you felt the hot, wet bloom of his release deep inside you, making you start twitching and trembling all over again.

You slowly regained awareness when Din slipped his softening cock from your body, and you immediately swayed on your feet, feeling like a dugar dugar fawn, weak and wet and spindly-legged, unable to support your own weight. The Mandalorian was there in an instant, murmuring soft, gentle Mando’a as he guided you onto the bunk mattress. You sat heavily, boneless and bleary-eyed, and watched as he tore off a tattered corner of his black cape and used it to clean himself and then you, the worn fabric surprisingly gentle against your swollen, puffy cunt.

“Thank you,” you murmured hoarsely, and the softness with which he looked at you told you that he was probably smiling behind his helmet.

“Don’t need to thank me,” he replied just as softly, tucking himself back into his pants, adjusting his slick-stained underwear, zipping up his fly. “S’the least I can do after…all that.”

You offered him a small, tired smile. “Don’t feel guilty. I liked it. A lot.” Before you could second-guess the impulse, you reached out and ran your palm across his still-heaving chest, the beskar body-warm under your touch from where he had pressed against you. “And it felt like…maybe you needed it.”

Releasing a bone-deep, weary sigh, the bounty hunter covered your hand with his own, threading his fingers through yours. “I did. Maybe I should be the one thanking you.”

You squeezed his hand with a smirk. “How about you help me get dressed, and we call it even?”

Din was silent as he gently, tenderly helped put you back together again – bringing you to your feet, kneeling before you, tugging up your crumpled panties and your boilersuit, holding out the sleeves to help you slide them on. He pulled up the zipper slowly, careful not to snag on the soft curve of your breasts, and then he started unweaving your struggling braid, running his fingers from the roots to the ends as he detangled it as best as he could.

You reveled in the feeling of his care, savoring every gentle touch and caress after so many days without an ounce of softness from him. For the first time since leaving Tython, your mind felt blissfully clean and quiet, like you had been shut down and rebooted and you were back to running at peak efficiency. You thought he might be experiencing the same refresh.

Still, however, he surprised you when he took your face in his hands, cradling your cheeks in his palms, and said, “I’ve been unkind to you, cyare.”

You blinked up at him with wide eyes, murmuring, “Yes. You have.”

Sweeping his thumbs across your cheekbones, Din dropped his forehead to yours. “I…don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Be…vulnerable. Let people in. Let them see me when I’m in pain. Let them help.” His voice dropped then, barely a whisper, as he added, “And I don’t know that I deserve it.”

You swore a fist reached through your ribcage and squeezed your heart at his words, and emotion welled in your throat. “Din. What happened wasn’t your fault. You did everything you possibly could.”

His reply was quick, as though he had been anticipating it. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“You don’t deserve to punish yourself because you were outnumbered and outgunned. You’re a powerful warrior, but you’re still only one person.” Bringing your hands up to cup around his, you stared into his visor with all the fierceness you could muster, silently pleading with him to hear you, to take your words to heart. “But we have help now. We have our friends. And together we are going to find him, and we are going to bring him home.”

“Cyare, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head under his grip. “Don’t apologize. Just…I just need you to try. I know it’s hard, that it’s not something you’re used to. But you can’t shut me out like that again, Din. I hate knowing that you’re suffering, and you won’t let me help you.” That well of emotion threatened to choke you then, and you felt a couple of tears work their way down your cheeks, quickly swept away by his thumbs. “And I know Grogu was yours, but…but he was mine, too, you know? So was the Crest. I’ve been grieving, too, and I needed you.”

A shudder passed through the bounty hunter’s body, and the next thing you knew, he was gathering you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and cradling the back of your head in one of his hands. “Dank farrik,” he swore, voice broken and rasping. “I know, baby. I know. You’re right.”

For a moment, you simply stood there in each other’s arms, holding one another, drawing strength from one another, and you felt something tight and tender inside you release at the contact. This was what you had needed, what you had wanted from the beginning – just to love on him and be loved in return. As his own muscles loosened and relaxed under your touch, you thought he might understand now.

“I swear to you,” he murmured, pressing his helmet into the warm crook of your neck. “I will do better. I will be better. And I will bring him back to us.”

You nodded and smiled into his shoulder. “I know you will.”

---

After you had both collected yourselves a bit, the two of you decided to make your way up to the makeshift mess deck. You both were desperately hungry after your unexpected tryst, and you found yourselves in need of a change of scenery, otherwise running the risk of falling back into the bunk, getting tangled up again, and not reemerging until tomorrow.

For his part, Din expected to simply grab a ration pack at random, heat it up, and then retreat back to the lower decks so he could eat his meal in peace. What he didn’t expect was that he would be greeted at the top of the ladder by all four of the ship’s other passengers, all of whom seemingly had similar ideas and were milling about preparing their own meals and chatting amiably. However, the moment the group spotted the two of you dismounting the ladder, all activity in the room ceased, falling into a weighty, significant silence.

“Oh,” you breathed, eyes wide, taking in the pointed stares of your crewmates as a flush bloomed high on your cheeks. “H-Hey, guys. Dinner time?”

From her seat at the table, Cara Dune snorted into her cup of caf, amusement rolling off of her in waves. Fennec simply looked you both over from head to toe, shook her head, and went back to preparing her portion bread with a smirk. Even Boba, stoic and serious as he was, seemed to be smothering a grin as he took a pull from his canteen, his dark eyes twinkling with good humor.

“What?” you asked as you looked from one face to the next. Your blush darkened instinctually, and Din resisted the urge to turn right back around and crawl back down the ladder.

Gods. You didn’t know.

If the crew had been here the whole time… If you had been as loud as he thought you had been…

Sound carried on a vessel this small, and this one had a central shaft that traversed the entire length of it. The bunk door had been open the entire time. And your friends had been right at the top when you had –

��Heeey, there he is!” Mayfeld crowed, a shit-eating grin splitting his pale, smarmy face in a way that had Din’s blood pressure rising instantly. “Damn, Mando! Didn’t know you had it in you! I’ll back off, okay, buddy? Don’t know that I can compete with whatever you’re packing under that armor, you know?”

Manda fucking take him.

Everyone’s restraint seemed to expire in the same moment, and the room erupted in raucous laughter – Cara nearly snorting her caf through her nose, Fennec’s shoulders shaking, Boba’s head dropping back on his neck as his deep chuckles rumbled through the mess. Din glanced over at you to see your jaw dropping open, your hands flying to your cheeks in mortification.

“Fucking hell,” you swore, palms sliding up to cover your eyes. “Oh my god, Din.”

The bounty hunter didn’t even flinch at the use of his real name in this context. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, drawing you close to him, pressing his helmet into the top of your bowed head.

“S’nothing to be ashamed of, cyar’ika,” he soothed softly. His stomach dropped as he felt your body begin to shake against his, and he was quick to draw your hands away from your face, searching for any sign of distress, for the tracks of humiliated tears down your face.

But to his great surprise – and joy – instead he found your cheeks stretched in a wide grin, your shoulders shaking with laughter. Every bit of your skin he could see glowed with embarrassment, but still, you smiled, and happiness swelled in his chest at the sight. It was the brightest, purest smile he had seen from you in days, and Din couldn’t seem to stop himself from laughing right along with you.

---

Notes: There's some Mando'a that shows up in this chapter that hasn't been used in a while as well as one new term, so I have put a refresher here for your reference!

Mando'a Translations:

naur'alor - smith, craftsman, specifically a metalsmith that works with beskar. It's a title that's called out in the Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, a manifesto of the Death Watch and is later recognized in the book The Bounty Hunter's Code by Boba Fett. Given the Children of the Watch's connection to Death Watch, this felt like an appropriate formal title for the Armorer. buir - parent, a gender neutral term that can be used in place of "mother" or "father" riduur - spouse, a gender neutral term that can be used in place of "wife" or "husband" gotabor’ika - little engineer cyar’ika - darling, sweetheart shab - fuck manda - a collective state of being Mandalorian that is best described as an "oversoul." To become a part of the manda after death, a Mandalorian must understand their culture and act in a way that embodies Mandalorian identity. mesh’la - beautiful

[mrchiipchrome]

77 and 57 Pleaseeeeee

Hmmm Lia walti? Or you can choose

prompt 57. -It feels like you don’t care.

prompt 77. -We may never, ever meet again.

You can request for whoever, prompt list is linked in my masterlist:) (please people, it's drier than the sahara in my inbox)

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

“LIA! Will you just stop and listen to me for once!?” It had been long overdue, you snapping, but this time it had just gone way too far for you not to react.

You had signed for Arsenal when you were 22, and found your love at 23. Now 2 years later, you've gotten an offer from the world’s biggest club, Barcelona. 

Frankly it would be stupid to turn the offer down, but you were more hesitant than you’d ever been. I mean, you had your love and all your friends in North London, but on the other hand the board had been toying with you and your contract extension for months now.

You would think that your girlfriend of 2 years would be happy for the incredible opportunity you got, but when you told her of the record offer from the massive club she just shut down. Ever since then she’d been ignoring you for most of the time.

As for you, you’d tried everything in the playbook to get her to talk to you but it always led to arguments, like now.

“It feels like you don’t care, not about me and not about our relationship” You sigh out, just tired of the constant arguments. “I mean, when was the last time you looked me in the eyes? The last time you told me you love me, huh? Weeks.” 

Lia looks at you, stunned. She hadn’t even thought about how her behavior affected you, only how much it hurt her that you were thinking of leaving.

Now that you’re standing before her, in your shared apartment, packing your clothes into a suitcase to take with you to the Spanish city it all just becomes so real to the girl. She was really about to lose you because of her own stupidity and inability to be happy for you when it meant that she had to be sad.

“You know if you do this, we may never ever meet again?” Lia’s shaky voice finally comes out of her mouth, the words having been stuck there. She hears how you pause in zipping up the suitcase, but then you start back up again.

Cupping the older woman’s face, you press your lips to hers in what could be your last ever kiss, tender and loving. The kiss telling the woman that you’d always love her, even if it was from afar. Leaning your forehead against hers, you sigh before moving away slightly.

“I guess this is it for now. You will always be my dearest, I hope you know that. No matter what happens, I’ll always love you, from the moon and back.” Lia stands still in the place where you left her, eyes still closed. The tears only start to fall when she hears the echoing click from the door closing. 

Lia’s body drops to the ground, heartbreaking sobs wracking her body. As you stand outside of the front door that once lead to the place you called home, you can’t help but let out your own sob in despair. 

All you wanted to do was run back into the apartment and apologize, telling your love that you didn’t mean it and that you were staying, but then you’d be lying. You were moving after all, to Barcelona and away from your love, away from all your friends. 

Oh how were you going to make it without your greatest love by your side, through all the good and bad, all the hard and easy, through the ups and downs.

That was something you’d have to figure out during the 2 hour flight to your new home, for the foreseeable future…

[astroboots]

Hello! Why not a lil drabble where the husband thinks the worst every time the love of his life is a bit sick? I think it'd be funny to imagine Steven Grant worrying all the time and Marc Spector + the reader trying to reassure him 😅

Sick as a dog

Summary: You have a cold and Marc nurses you back to health.

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

The insides of your throat feels like it's on fire. Your shoulders and back are stiff and your limbs ache.

The quilts lying by your feet is drawn up to your shoulders, and soft fingers come to the your cheeks, gently cupping your face.

"Love, are you sure you're okay? Maybe it's best I take you to the GP?"

Steven is biting his bottom lip with worry. He's been hovering and fretting over you since this morning when you woke up. Insisting on calling in sick to take care of you. (Something that is definitely going to get him in trouble judging from the screeching voice of his boss Donna that you overheard from the phone when he made the call from the other end of the flat).

You shake your head. "It's just a cold. no point. If I go there, they're just going to send me packing back home."

"Can I at least get you something to eat?"

Your stomach roils at the idea. Everything hurts. Your lungs feel like someone doused it in gasoline and lit a match and then left it in a barn filled with hay and in this imagery your body would be the barn. You don't think you can keep anything in your stomach.

You shake your head, burying your face further into the soothing coolness of your pillow as you close your eyes to it. "It's just a cold, just need some sleep," you murmur, and it only takes a handful of seconds before you feel the lightheadness of sleep try to claim you.

There's voices in the room. You think Steven is talking to you. He sounds so worried, and your chest aches when you hear him. But he keeps talking even as you're unable to answer him and you realise he must be talking to Marc. You don't know what he's saying and you're too exhausted to drag yourself from sleep to let him know that it's ok. It's just a cold. He doesn't need to worry, even if it feels like your body is going to burn away into ashes.

You wake to darkness. You don't know how long you must've been out with sleep. Is it already evening? Twisting your sore neck, you peer out over the room. The drapes have been carefully drawn shut, and for the wide window with no drapes, someone's done an impromptu fix, covering it with large bedsheets to block out the afternoon sun.

"How you feeling?"

You blink up at the voice. Brown eyes are staring down at you. Not Steven's big and wide eyes, instead they're narrowed and intense, but no less worried than Steven had been. Marc you realise.

A large hand comes up to your forehead and settles there. He grinds down on his jaw and you can see the tense muscle there flex as Marc's tight expression turn into frown. "Shit, baby you're burning up."

"It's just a cold and a fever," you offer weakly. Too tired to fight him.

His hand comes to your face, thumb smoothing over your cheeks, and it feels so good. It's soothing. Then he pulls away, and you find yourself chasing the doting touch, tilting your face up for him and nearly whine at the loss.

His hand pushes you back down by your shoulders, flat on the bed. "Stay down," he orders.

There's the din of clutter in some far away remote place of the flat, but you're too exhausted to turn your head to look again. Struggling to stay awake when the mattress dips next to you and Marc is there with a cup of water and an arsenal of things lying next to you.

There's two pills in the open palm of his hand, as he pushes the glass into your hand. "Drink," he orders, just as curtly as before. Mother hen to the core, but with none of the soft bedside manners of Steven.

You try to raise yourself in bed, and Marc's hand are quickly there, holding your arm and waist to steady you as you take a gulp. It hurts to swallow.

When you're done, he takes the glass from you, setting it down by the shelf for now, and then his hand comes to the hem of your shirt and starts to pull it upwards.

His fingers skirt over your ribs and it feels so pleasant, your whole back tingles with it until your face is awash with the gentle touch as you stare up at him in confusion.

"You're soaked in sweat," Marc explains, as he tugs it the rest of the way, leaving you naked waist up in front of him. Then he shakes his head, with a small amused smile tugging at his lips. "Get your mind out of the gutter, baby."

You can't help but laugh. How can you not, when Marc is smiling at you like that, eyes crinkling softly.

"Sit up," he instructs, a hand steady the small of your back, and then he brings a wet cloth to the expanse of the bare and sweat drenched skin there and wipes you down.

It feels like heaven. Soothing as the lukewarm wet towel wipes away at the cold sweat there, and you make a small and pleased humming noise.

"Yeah?" Marc asks. "That feel good?"

You don't even have words for him, you just nod, as his touch comes up to your sore neck, with a gentle thoroughness that makes a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter in your chest.

He comes down to your stomach, and the front of your chest, wringing out the water in a basin until he comes back to massage at the tenseness of your aching thighs. The pain and soreness eases, the achiness melting away at his gentle touch until you unspool at the seam and can't do anything but lie against the mattress in a half-lucid puddle.

The quilt comes up to your shoulders and he tucks it beneath your chin, until you're like a folded burrito. "Get some sleep. I'll make you some soup you can eat when you wake, okay?"

He rises to leave, and your hand flings out to grab at his wrist and he stops abruptly. "Stay," you whine. It's selfish. You're probably going to get him sick. But you feel vulnerable and weak, and all you want is for him to stay here next to you. To feel his reassuring weight pressed next to yours. "Please?"

Marc looks down on you, and even though you must look something horrific. Nose stuffed with snot, eyes crusted and hair a matted and sweaty mess against your forehead, a zone of infectious disease, there's no hesitation as he drops back down on the bed and settles next to you. His arm wraps all around you, hand cupping the back of your head as he tucks your face into the nape of his neck.

"Thank you."

He turns, just enough for his mouth to brush against your clammy and disgustingly sweaty forehead and then he presses a kiss there.

"Get better," he whispers, and as his arms tighten around you, and you can feel his comforting warmth wrapped all around, you want to tell him that with him here, it already is.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications for when I post something new!

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Helllooo!

I hope you're doing well! I'd like to know if you have any recommendations for NSFW fics with Horror x reader?

Thank you for your work and have a good day! :)

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Crave by petalrxse (Explicit, Incomplete)

You're a human. He wasn't suppose to get this hooked on you. Love at first sight wasn't supposed to be a thing. ... Like it or not, he was going to make you his.

Abomination ~Horrortale Sans x Reader~ by lostflamefox__comic (Explicit, Complete)

Ah, life. Just when you think luck's finally gone your way. You'd managed to make it into your first-choice college, and was halfway through the third semester; you were going to be a nurse, just like how you'd wanted to be. Your mother was proud, and your step-father was, as always, cracking jokes - except now he had a new arsenal of doctor jokes he could use. Night walks had always been a passion of yours. As a preteen and onwards, your neighbors always invited you along to walk around the city you lived in at night. When they'd moved, you'd never stopped. By the time you were packing for college you knew almost every footprint of your city. A mountain looms over the college campus, mysterious down to the last inch. Mt. Ebott, you recall someone saying. In your dorm, your window faces the mountain, and at night it looks beautiful when the moon crests over the peak. You decide it wouldn't hurt to hike up there during the weekend, and come back down before classes start again on Monday. It would be like you never left. Yeah, except for when you came across a cave and the vines tangled onto your ankles and dragged you into a pit.

Anthropophagus by petalrxse (Explicit, Complete)

an·thro·poph·a·gus noun: a cannibal, especially in legends or fables. ___ Sans was broken, and all he wanted to do was keep his brother alive. You were supposed to be food, something to keep his family fed for a few weeks. But now he’s just determined to keep you alive in this living nightmare, as well. ___ Updates every Saturday/Sunday

No Locked Doors (Being Rewritten :) ) by BumbleMumbles (Explicit, Incomplete)

No summary just enjoy the ride.

Fool's Luck and The Devil's Humor by orphan_account (Explicit, Incomplete)

*Devil's Brand of Humor Re-Write In a horror story, it's imperative to remember you only exist to entertain. If you remember that much, then you might manage to survive the ghastly horrors that want you dead. Especially the one that your soul was bonded to, an apathetic, lazy, and very bored skeleton who would rather eat you than keep you.

[insomniakisses]

alphas beth and viv with pup reader when she joins arsenal hcs pls?

-🩷

Moon, Mama and Pa

Warnings/Notes: Changed it from HCs to a little Hc / Drabble about living with them for Moon & Sunshine day. Omegaverse au, Alpha Beth x pup!reader, omega viv x pup!reader, Found family, pup!reader / child!reader

Moving in with Beth and Viv, had seamed daunting. Terrifying even. At least until you actually got there. The house was homely and welcoming just like its occupants. They showed you to the spare room the second they’d brought you back from that hell hole you called an apartment.

Beth had started dinner when you all got in, stating judging by the state of your fridge you needed proper food. Viv took you on a mini tour, stating that the spare room was yours now for as long as you wanted it and that you could all look for some decorations to make it more homely.

You were overwhelmed, truthfully, you never expected to be shown such kindness from strangers. Sure, they were your teammates but that didn’t mean that they were necessarily required to help.

Sure enough, by the end of the week you had gone shopping and picked out a few things with Viv. She was someone you found yourself gravitating to. She felt the same about you. It was strange, Beth was usually the friendlier on, always making friends and drawing people in. And you did like Beth. It was hard not to, but with Viv it was different. The immediate sense of family you had with her was unmatched.

You had found a home with them, with the whole team really but Beth and Viv took on the  most motherly roles with you.

Waking you up before training with food and forehead kisses, driving you to the training grounds, always carrying your favourite snacks and always so aware of how you were feeling.

It started as a little inside joke with you and the 3 that Viv was like a dad, she really did act like one even down to the dad jokes and mannerisms. But then the longer you stayed with them the more she felt like an actual parent.

The teasing “Alright dad” followed by a playful eye roll was soon replaced with a soft “okay, Pa” and a kiss to her cheek as you scurried of to do who knows what with Kyra.

The term was the Dutch word for “dad” and it had her routed to the spot mouth open slightly, Beth cooed beside her girlfriend giving her a soft shoulder squeeze when Viv’s eyes watered. Her soft murmurs of “pup….my pup… My pup..” making Beth melt.

The next time Viv saw you was at home, you having gotten a lift from Steph, and the second you entered the lounge you were pulled into a bone crushing hug from your Pa.

You couldn’t help but giggle, trying to wiggle free to no avail and you might have escaped if you hadn’t let a yell of “Mama help me!” escape followed by reaching for Beth.

Because now you had another set of strong arms encasing you as you were pulled to the couch. Forced to sit between a Mama and Pa sandwich getting face kisses and your head nuzzled.

A parental scenting ritual that relaxed you immediately soft pup purrs escaping as you grew tired, barely registering Beth tell you to sleep and that Mama and Pa would be there when you awoke.

After that the nicknames became common place, you were home with your parents, and you’d never felt happier and safer. And OFC they bragged that they got nicknames first.

[voidtouched-blue]

Semi-plotted starter for @alexissero

The continent had been dangerously balanced on the brink of war. Only five years since the calamity that befell Carteneau, and the Garleans had once again began to pressure the city-states under their Imperial boot. It had taken some convincing to bring the healer into their ranks, but the Scions certainly had their own way of proving their need for her talents. Normally, she wouldn't have hesitated to assist, but there was a fear that commanded her choice in the matter. One she had been ashamed to admit to the organization. So it was with great confusion, and contrasting emotions that the Keeper accepted the request from Y'shtola.

"We have not the manpower to spare, nor a true White Mage on hand to ensure his safety. You've proven yourself more than a capable battle-ready mage, so it is of no question that your talents are more suited for this task", she had been clear with her intentions from the start. Though her talents in conjury had been nothing to sniff at, Y'shtola had a far more diverse arsenal of magic at her disposal than Cyra. When she asked why the Sun Seeker hadn't elected to accompany Alexis, the Miqo'te's eyes narrowed with her grin.

"I should warn you," the Keeper remembered how the woman crossed her arms and tapped her nails in irritation on her sleeve. "His careless tendencies to throw himself into the fray with little regard for his health may frustrate you. You would do well to keep that in mind. Your talents far exceed mine own, and offer a higher margin of success. Please, go with care."

Cyra couldn't argue with that.

To a woman of her talents, the Moon Keeper had great respect for Y'shtola's magick capabilities. For her to suggest that she was more well suited for the task came as a surprise. It's true that she was able to complete her studies in Conjury and even excel in her practice as a White Mage, but offensive magic had not yet become part of her arsenal. Surely, being able to provide a more destructive force to the battlefield was a higher priority than bringing along a healer? Yet, when she tried to question the Scion again, her words had been met with a sharp stare of emerald silence. It was almost as if the Conjuror had known that keeping firm and making her request into a demand would be what ceased Cyra's prying and send her on her way.

Though their conversation was brief and to the point, Y'shtola left her with plenty of questions to plague her mind about her new charge. The anticipation of such a strong warrior needing a more learned mage to provide protection and support felt quite comical. Though, if what the Seeker said was true, then perhaps the man was as reckless as she assumed. Such brash and thoughtless behavior would not be tolerated by any means in her presence. Regardless of that curious warning, Cyra would need to treat this with the same importance as any job. Despite her unease with the nature of their mission, she would need to keep herself together.

Night quickly passed into morning, and with the rising sun of the new day, the miqo'te had arrived with her pack secured over each shoulder.

"Ser Sero?" She called out. Unsure of how to greet a man she hadn't formally met, the Keeper thumbed over the wood of her staff to calm her nerves. It wasn't every day that one met a rather renowned hero of the realm, much less being given the opportunity to aid them. "Y'shtola had requested for me to aid you on your mission, if you're ready we should depart quickly lest we waste daylight."

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished: M&M Teamwork

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Word count: 2028 Cw: blood, gore]

—————

While Blitzø is recovering from finding out about Barb. M & M are not yet dating.

Moxxie idly tapped his claws on the meeting room table. It was half an hour after I.M.P. was supposed to open for business, but there was no sign of the boss yet. He had double and triple checked the calendar; all the full moons were highlighted. Blitzø didn’t enjoy the restriction that came from being late for an ‘appointment’ with Stolas. So despite him being notoriously bad at making schedules, he had all the full moons marked. But the last one had been over a week ago, Blitzø’s absence probably wasn’t related to the royal demon.

“Maybe he partied too hard? Or maybe he got locked up again?” Moxxie checked the calendar a fourth time as Millie waved a dismissive hand.

“Calm down Mox, I’m sure he’s fiiiiiiine,” she drawled. “He’ll get here when he gets here.”

“Yeah, but there’s no sign of Loona either.” He and the Hellhound clashed but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

He didn’t have to speculate much longer. Loona burst into the office nearly ripping the door off its hinges. She’d flung it open hard enough that it lodged into the drywall; when she yanked it closed, there was a perfect imprint of the handle in the wall. The Hound was panting heavily and she looked like she hadn’t slept the night before,

“Fuck. I thought…the new…apartment… was closer,” she managed through gasps. She grabbed the water cooler’s reservoir, yanked it off, and chugged it like a beer keg before jamming it back onto the base. She’d gulped down two thirds of it, the remaining water sloshing widely from her treatment. She went to her desk, flopping over it from the visitor side.

The imps exchanged a glance and Millie walked up to their receptionist. “Uhhhh, Loona? Sugar? Everthin’ okay?” The Hellhound gave a thumbs up. “Well that’s good. Where’s Blitzø?”

Loona raised her head. “He’s taking a personal day.”

“Is that code for ‘drunk off his ass?’” Moxxie asked dryly.

“Drunk off his ass for personal reasons. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it later.” Loona knew his tendencies to overshare and excessively pry into others' business. But she didn’t feel like explaining his shit. “Good news, we’ve got a client all lined up. I can send you to Earth, business as usual.”

“Wait, just Moxxie and me? We haven’t done a job without the boss before…” Millie was sure she could take on whatever the job was, but she wasn’t quite so sure about her coworker. Moxxie had been capable enough, but she didn’t know how he’d do without Blitzø around.

Loona heaved herself into her office chair and shrugged. “Either that or we default on the job. Besides, this one’s easy. Even Fatty there could do it solo. Probably.”

Moxxie weakly called out “I’m not fat!” as Loona continued. “You get to kill a whole group, which I know you like Millie.” She pulled out the relevant file. “Buncha humans died from salmonella poisoning and they want the people that packed the lettuce dead too.”

The imp took the file and flipped through it. It really did look like an easy job, despite the requested body count. “Awright, guess we gotta. Get your stuff Moxxie, we got work to do and jackasses to kill!”

Millie always had her favorite knife with her. She grabbed her new battleaxe, along with a sword and pistol. She preferred a more personal approach to murder, but she wasn’t a bad shot. And it was better to have the weapon than wish she’d brought it.

Moxxie had his arsenal of firearms and melee weapons as usual. Shotgun, sniper rifle, handguns in multiple colors and calibers, crossbow, hunting bow, blow darts, grenades, throwing knives, and a kukri were today’s rotation.

Loona made sure they each had a work cell to contact her when they finished. She smoothly opened the portal to Earth on their office wall and closed it quickly once the imps hopped through. “Ugh, finally. I can fix my makeup and get a goddamn coffee.”

The imp duo found themselves in a bucolic farmland, a sizable building in front of them. Moxxie squinted at the sign above the double doors. “McDrumpf’s Vegetable and Raw Meat Packing Emporium? Looks like we’re in the right place.”

“Remember Mox, we gotta get everyone in the building. Two dozen workers, three managers and the owner.” With that Millie broke into a bounding run to the side of the structure. Her sword made an excellent temporary climbing spike to reach a tiny window. Moxxie followed her up, retrieving the sword with his tail.

In the metal rafters, the imps had a vantage point over the entire operation. A variety of humans were at work, some blankly overseeing machinery, watching vegetables launch past. Others were chopping poultry without pause. Yet more made sure the produce was arranged correctly for packaging, then doing the same for a conveyor belt of chicken parts. The food emerged wrapped in plastic and got slapped with a sticker saying “McDrumpfs: Packed with ‘care.’”

Close to the front door was a room with frosted windows. The imps could vaguely see a wide figure walking around the room before it settled down to one corner. Presumably that was McDrumpf. The three managers were set apart by wearing dress shirts and ties; the rest had aprons and hairnets. Gloves seemed to be optional.

Moxxie scampered along the rafters to lock the front doors, while Millie made her way to block the emergency exits. One of the exits was blocked by a pallet of cling wrap rolls before she even got there. They regrouped on a small platform over the owner's office.

“Got a plan Millie? I figured I take out a few from here before we hop down. Maybe shoot the straps holding the pallets together near the front to block the doors?”

“Good for starters. I doubt this lot’ll put up much of a fight anyways.” In particular she noted one by the lettuce sorter who was nodding off while standing. Another putting stickers on was snoring as she did so. Millie readied her axe.

Sniper rifle steadied, Moxxie fired four shots in rapid succession. The first took out a manager, the second hit a butcher in the eye, the third went through the temple of a worker at a wrapping station, and the fourth grazed the rope tying the pallets. That was enough to break the fibers; the already unstable stack teetered and crashed into a pile of jagged planks and rusty nails.

The humans closest to his first three kills started screaming. Moxxie calmly reloaded and Millie leapt to the concrete floor. She grinned ferally at the nearest human and swung her axe to neatly decapitate him. She followed the battleaxe’s momentum to spin into another human, slicing him through the torso.

The other humans started panicking. “The fuck is that?! Jimbob is dead! Helga too! Crap the doors are blocked! Huuuuh, is it lunch yet-?” The last was cut off by Moxxie’s bullet. Millie was happily working her way up between two conveyor belts. A neatly sliced thigh appeared wrapped up on a styrofoam tray and a flung sticker landed on top.

Moxxie grabbed his shotgun and took out a group trying to open the only unblocked exit. The pile of three bodies made a nice bloody barricade. The machines continued to work even as the employees were falling. Moxxie saw a line of three beautifully cut salads garnished with eyes, ears, and fingers emerge from the belt of lettuce heads. Half a dozen human heads with hairnets still on followed, each packaged and ready to load into boxes.

Millie reached the butchers. Four of them armed themselves with cleavers and tried to corner her. Her eyes flicked between them. The gap in her teeth showed as she flung her axe at the farthest, slicing her vertically and lodging the weapon into a wall.

The other butchers were sprayed in blood, one half of the newly dead butcher landed on the shoulder of another. “Auuuugh! Oh god Sherry’s on me!” A third butcher shoved him. “Now’s our chance, get the devil!” He swung a cleaver down at Millie. The imp dodged, climbed up his arm, and wrapped her legs around his head. Her momentum dragged him to the ground where she got enough purchase to brace herself and snap his neck.

Barely pausing, the imp lunged at the next human, stabbing her knife between his ribs. Millie grabbed his meat cleaver as it dropped from the limp hand. With a smooth motion she threw it at the fourth butcher’s head as he tried to run. It neatly stuck into the skull, looking like a cheesy Halloween accessory as it bisected his head.

“Whew!” Millie went to retrieve her battleaxe and heard a gunshot followed by a gurgle behind her. Whirling with the axe, she saw another human body drop right next to her. Blood was spewing out of the mouth and she saw Moxxie lowering one of his pistols at the other end of the building. Two of the workers bodies laid next to him with neat holes in vital points, more of the male imp’s handiwork.

“What the fuck is going on out here?! I’ll dock everyone’s pay for-holy shit!” A man who was dressed way to nicely for the locale barged out of the office next to Moxxie, saw the carnage and hastily went back inside. Or tried to at least. Millie’s own pistol rang out. The bullet hit between the man’s eyes. Blood splattered on the frosted glass door as the man fell backwards.

Moxxie was in awe of the expertly sliced bodies Millie had left in her wake. Her shot that took out McDrumpf was better than anything he’d seen from his father’s goons. Could she be any more perfect? Well, yes, she could not be his coworker so he’d have a chance to ask her out.

“Nice shootin’ Mox.” Millie walked back to the other imp, counting the bodies as she went. “Oh! Ah, thanks! You’re not too bad a shot yourself Millie.” He also started counting; the job was for twenty-eight humans. If they ever wanted to be trusted on a mission without their boss again, they needed to kill all the targets.

But they both only counted twenty-seven. Moxxie handed Millie her knife back; he’d pulled it out of a chest as they did their deadcount. “Y’think someone stayed home? Pretty sure we got everyone in the building.”

“Oh crumbs, if one did, we’re going to have to find out which one! Then we’ll need to track them down and-” Moxxie’s stressed out rant stopped as they heard a door click open. Not any of the doors leading outside. It had been hidden behind a pile of flat packed cardboard boxes.

The imps ducked behind the stack and peeked over. A lanky male human, his death metal music audible through his earbuds, exited the men’s restroom. His head bobbed as he mouthed along. Coming around the pile, he saw the blood and viscera spread across the room. His jaw dropped and Moxxie hopped onto his head, slicing through the human’s neck with his kukri.

Moxxie jumped off the body. “Twenty-eight. All targets accounted for,” he stated with a satisfied air. Millie’s heart thumped at his quick dispatching of the last target. His pose and grin were so adorably gallant, she felt bats fluttering in her stomach. Never felt that with the shark toothed fuck face. Or any of the others, really. She really wished they weren’t coworkers and she could just ask the other imp out.

No point in wasting time on what couldn’t happen. “I think we’ve done some damn good work today. And we’ll get the rest of the day off, since the boss isn’t in.” Millie sent Loona a message while Moxxie made sure all their weapons were accounted for.

A freshly made up Loona opened the way home. The imps chatted about the kills as they went back to Hell. Neither noticed their tails swishing, barely touching each other’s and forming hearts as they walked home.

—————

A/N: Sorry for the delay, life has interfered. I hope everyone likes this little bit, poor M&M haven’t gotten much attention in the main story. We’ll be back to part 29 shortly!

Tip me through Ko-fi!

Writing Masterlist

[jules-7-blog1]

There will be Blood on the Dance Floor

The feeling of MaD was triggered by what Mr. Loyal Gossip said last night: "I broke up with him." At the moment, during the homecoming dance, I didn't care much because I looked (and still look) better than he does. That was all that mattered then. But now, sitting in my sleeping clothes, those words haunt me relentlessly. I can't shake this feeling. Should I change the narrative and create my own story, or should I accept his version?

The night had began with a late teenager on his way to his official first break-up coronation or his official first breakup execution, that night was war and I planned the perfect victory or so I thought. On the way to the hoco venue Mr.Loyal Gossip my ears on the ground was calling with a religious fervor “when are you getting here” “are you still at home” “Do you know what time these events begin”. I smirked to myself in the driver's seat doing a 70 in a 40. I always know when these events begin, I simply like to take my time ya know read a few pages of Vanity Fare or play with my cat. Simply for this reaction and because he was calling I knew my first war tactic was already in play. But eventually my smirk disappeared like Hitler after his defeat when I heard the words “he told me he broke up with you last night”. My queen was taken my most powerful asset of creating the narrative was take from me and it showed. I need to reconnaissance from my ears on the ground “How does he look?” “Better than he usually does” “Better than me?” ‘I don't know what you look like, so hurry up and get here”. I quick regrouped with information given to me. and my 70 in a 40 turned into a 100 in a 40.

I make it to the event looking like I had just robbed the mall of every piece of jewelry and finery I could get my hands on. A necklace that looked like the crescent moon was at the apex on my neck with a matching bracelet that acted as though they were stars on there way to super nova. A black shirts paired with black pants accenting my shoulder and complementing my waist, I knew gave me a shape more consuming than anything he could ever image. That night I was the darkness I was the sun the moon the entire fucking galaxy I was our dead star born a-new a supermassive black hole. My packed Black Louise Purse had little to any space for anything more than a gun, which in this moment I wouldn’t be reluctant to use. Alas this was a game of the socialites played by accent societies and courts since the dawn of time, this was the art of war and I was gonna paint it red.

I’d asked Mr.Loyal Gossip to escort me inside, I understood my power but I knew that my emotional state would wavier like a baby bird learning to fly. Immediately, my initial trepidation melted from my explosion as I walked in and was showered in the blood of my enemy when I saw what he was wearing. A tatter stained ridden blue shirts with a matching blue blazer like something he had pulled from his closet in a last stitch attempt to make a pathetic statement that was a mere whisper to calculated roar. It was like a dead star quit to every one else but those who listen closely and based of his following actions he heard me load and clear. I came to the table seating already set out for me by my team taking my place in front of his not existent arsenal he quietly relocated and surrender in defeat but in an idiotic action zealous I sent out a patronizing attack “Hey Jonah”. I mean’t to say as though we I was not effected but it came out all wrong hoarse, small, uncultivated, Heart broken. My team saw this and quickly jumped into action force-ably taking me outside in an attempt to reinforce my emotional state reassuring me of there loyalty to me and only me. But even with that I tried to put there worries to rest with “I promise you, I am okay, please don't be mean or treat him any differently on my behave”. But my forces were unyielding in there loyalty and that was all that I needed to here to sooth my victorious aching heart.

-To be continued with “Allies and Traitors of the Heart”

[elykyle07]

GOD ODYSSEUS GODLY WEAPONS

Hello again! I return with more content on the God Ody au! (Check the #God Odysseus au! Hashtag For more info on that!)

Last time I introduced the man/god himself and his design and today we are gonna talk about his arsenal aka his godly weapon! You know how gods have those, Zeus’ thunderbolt Poseidon’s trident so i figured lets give Ody one!

Now obviously Odysseus is an excellent archer with that being his most iconic weapon but bow and arrows do somewhat overlap with Artemis so i figured focus more on the arrows and quiver being the godly aspects than the bow itself so here it is!

Here is the text on the images in case you can’t read it

Wolf arrows

Godly arrows made of olive wood and the essence of wolves (fur, blood etc.)

When fired the arrows transform into wolves hunting down their target following the directive implanted in them by their archer, but will always default to the command of Odysseus.

Odysseus can bathe the arrows in the blood of fallen heroes (mainly parents) and they can be reborn as one of his arrow wolves.

The bow of Odysseus

The palintonos bow Odysseus carried as king he continues to wield in his divinity with new adjustments he has made over the years such as a carving of a wolves head howling at the moon and a sharp metal spike at the bottom for close combat.

Over the years he has carved many more of these bows to bestow upon those he favours including a bow for each of his children when the prove themselves strong enough to wield it. until they prove themselves strong enough to wield the palintonos bow they train with the standard training bows within Odysseus’ armoury of bows, filled with bows he has collected over the years from travels and offerings, as well as the many bows he has carved himself.

The quiver of Argos

Once just a normal quiver Odysseus wielded in battle but when he faced a tough foe seemingly unbeatable the spirit of argos his loyal hound escaped from hades having bested Cerbarus to aid Odysseus in battle, now Argos’ soul is bound to Odysseus! Quiver even taking on a shape similar to argos, with this physical object tethering argos’ soul to the physical realm argos now assists Odysseus fetching his fired arrows, even after death he is still playing fetch with his master, truly mans best friend.

Argos rested in hades for many years after passing on, eventually joining penelope when her time came as well and when argos learned of Odysseus’ new found godhood he was delighted in knowing his master would be able to help so many people now but when he saw his master in trouble against a strong foe in a battle that waged weeks he knew he had to do something, so argos went to cerbarus the guard dog of hades to ask for entry to the living world, when Cerbarus refused reiterating the orders given to him by his own master they fought with argos leaving defeated, coming back time and time again to no avail, but when argos came across hermes and explained his situation to the messenger god, hermes feeling bad for argos(and wishing to cause mischief for his uncle) blessed argos with holy moly, now empowered argos fought Cerbarus a final time coming out victorious! Argos then bolted across the mortal plane and helped odysseus slay his foe!

Argos is the pack leader of the arrow wolves (the wolves that form after being shot as arrows) if Odysseus or the archer isn’t around its argos’ orders the wolves will follow as argos leads them back to Odysseus.

So yeah that God Ody’s godly weapon(s)

[sidecharactersdomatter]

Which Studio Ghibli film is your favorite?

Oh it’s been a really long time since I’ve watched any Studio Ghibli movie since COVID, I did love My Neighbor Totoro since childhood, then Kiki’s Delivery Service, later Nausicaa: The Valley of the Wind. From Up on Poppy Hill was pretty good since it had a realistic story.

My first favorite is the Cat Returns since I tend to be a Cat Person it had great backgrounds and cat designs. Later during Act 2 there was also good comedy thanks to the Icon Muta/Reynaldo Moon. My favorite character was Yuki since her design really called back to Duchess and Marie from The Aristocats(still on watchlist.) Baron Humbert was a well written and consistent main character. Haru was also a well written female lead, she didn’t need a sword or fighting throughout the movie, instead she had her words, wit, and courage. Those three traits are highly important in writing a compelling female protagonist.

My second favorite is Castle of Cagliostro, the whole scenery reminds me of Italy and Switzerland, both are places I’d like to visit again. The film is packed with a lot of action scenes from start to finish. The main antagonist got what’s coming to him. Characters like Arsene inspired some of my OCs in writing and for future comics. The main cast was interesting and badass. I liked that aside from a heist story, there was also a theme of mystery going on.

In conclusion, my two favorite Ghibli films are Castle of Cagliostro and The Cat Returns. Both movies are listed on my Ghibli Watchlist.