#Small Arms and Light Weapons Market

[vipinmishra]

Small Arms and Light Weapons Market 2029 is Anticipated to Register Robust Growth

Military modernization initiatives worldwide drive demand for advanced and modular SALW, emphasizing technological innovation are the factors driving market in the forecast period 2025-2029.

According to TechSci Research report, “Small Arms and Light Weapons Market – Global Industry Size, Share, Trends, Competition Forecast & Opportunities, 2029”, The Global Small Arms and Light Weapons Market stood at USD 13.75 Billion in 2023 and is anticipated to grow with a CAGR of 6.59% in the forecast period, 2025-2029. The Global Small Arms and Light Weapons (SALW) market is characterized by its multifaceted nature, catering to the diverse needs of military, law enforcement, and civilian end-users. SALW encompass a wide range of firearms, including handguns, rifles, shotguns, and light machine guns, as well as associated accessories and ammunition. This market is influenced by various factors, including geopolitical tensions, military modernization efforts, and evolving regulations.

Military Modernization and Innovation: One of the primary drivers of the SALW market is the continuous modernization efforts undertaken by armed forces globally. Nations invest in advanced SALW to equip their military with cutting-edge technologies, modular designs, and lightweight materials, enhancing operational capabilities. The emphasis on precision, accuracy, and adaptability in modern warfare propels the development and adoption of state-of-the-art small arms.

Law Enforcement Needs: Law enforcement agencies worldwide contribute significantly to the SALW market, requiring firearms tailored to urban policing, tactical operations, and special units. The market responds with compact, maneuverable firearms equipped with electronic sights, non-lethal options, and advanced ergonomics. The demand for SALW in law enforcement underscores the importance of addressing public safety and maintaining order in dynamic and challenging environments.

Civilian Market Dynamics: The civilian market is a key component of the SALW landscape, with variations in regulations and preferences influencing the market's diversity. In regions where civilian firearm ownership is legal, the market caters to individuals seeking personal defense, sport shooting, and recreational purposes. Handguns, shotguns, and sporting rifles are among the popular choices, and manufacturers often introduce innovations, such as personalized user recognition systems and modular designs, to meet the evolving demands of civilian firearm enthusiasts.

Geopolitical Tensions and Security Concerns: Global geopolitical tensions and security concerns contribute to the sustained demand for SALW. Countries facing security threats and conflicts seek to bolster their defense capabilities, driving procurement of advanced small arms. The market's dynamics are influenced by the changing nature of warfare, counter-terrorism efforts, and the need for reliable and efficient SALW to address evolving security challenges.

The SALW market faces challenges related to the illicit arms trade, posing risks of diversion to non-state actors and contributing to armed violence. Efforts to curb illegal trafficking involve international cooperation, regulatory measures, and initiatives to secure stockpiles. The challenges associated with controlling the flow of SALW in conflict zones and regions experiencing political instability underscore the importance of addressing the humanitarian impact of these weapons.

Technological Advancements: Technological innovations play a pivotal role in shaping the SALW market. The integration of smart technologies, such as electronic optics, biometric locks, and connectivity features, reflects a trend toward enhancing weapon effectiveness, improving safety, and providing users with advanced capabilities. This continual advancement aligns with the broader trajectory of the defense industry toward modernization and efficiency.

Browse over market data Figures spread through XX Pages and an in-depth TOC on " Global Small Arms and Light Weapons Market.” https://www.techsciresearch.com/report/small-arms-and-light-weapons-market/22461.html

North America, particularly the United States, plays a central role in shaping the global small arms and light weapons (SALW) market. The U.S. exhibits a robust civilian firearms culture, driving substantial demand for handguns, sporting rifles, and shotguns. The country's technologically advanced military and law enforcement sectors contribute significantly to the market's dynamics, with a focus on innovation and modular designs. Stringent regulatory frameworks, including background checks and licensing, influence the market's structure, balancing individual rights with public safety considerations.

Europe is characterized by a diverse SALW market influenced by varying national regulations and the region's history. Countries such as Germany and France have well-established defense industries contributing to military and law enforcement needs. The civilian market is present but often subject to strict regulations, emphasizing safety and preventing misuse. European nations actively participate in international efforts to control the illicit arms trade, and the region's SALW market trends reflect a blend of technological advancements, sustainability initiatives, and adherence to stringent regulatory standards.

The Asia-Pacific region is witnessing dynamic growth in the SALW market, driven by military modernization efforts, geopolitical tensions, and evolving civilian demands. Countries like China, India, and Australia have substantial military and law enforcement sectors, contributing to diverse SALW requirements. The civilian market is expanding in response to a growing interest in sport shooting and personal defense. Geopolitical factors, including territorial disputes and security challenges, influence the market's trajectory, fostering the adoption of advanced SALW technologies.

The Middle East and Africa exhibit unique dynamics in the SALW market, shaped by regional conflicts, security concerns, and diverse regulatory landscapes. Nations in the Middle East, such as Israel and Saudi Arabia, invest significantly in advanced SALW for military and defense purposes. The region experiences a complex geopolitical situation, leading to a substantial demand for SALW with cutting-edge technologies. Africa faces challenges related to illegal arms trade, armed violence, and the need for regulatory frameworks to manage SALW effectively.

Major companies operating in Global Small Arms and Light Weapons Market are:

Smith & Wesson Brands, Inc

Sturm, Ruger & Company, Inc

General Dynamics Corporation

SIG Sauer, Inc

Heckler & Koch GmbH

FN Herstal S.A.

Colt's Manufacturing Company LLC

Raytheon Technologies Corporation

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“In the realm of small arms and light weapons, emphasize the critical need for a balanced approach, considering both individual rights and societal safety. They stress the importance of robust international cooperation to address the challenges posed by the illicit arms trade and the humanitarian impact of armed violence. Furthermore, experts advocate for continuous advancements in smart technologies, emphasizing responsible innovation to enhance the effectiveness and safety of small arms while navigating the evolving landscape of global security,” said Mr. Karan Chechi, Research Director with TechSci Research, a research-based management consulting firm.

“Small Arms and Light Weapons Market – Global Industry Size, Share, Trends Opportunity, and Forecast, Segmented By Type (Small Arms And Light Weapons), By End-User Sector (Law Enforcement, Military & Defense, Civil & Commercial), By Caliber (14.5 Mm, 9 Mm, 12.7 Mm, 5.56 Mm, 14.9 Mm, 7.62 Mm), By Region, Competition, 2019-2029”, has evaluated the future growth potential of Global Small Arms and Light Weapons Market and provides statistics & information on market size, structure, and future market growth. The report intends to provide cutting-edge market intelligence and help decision makers take sound investment decisions. Besides, the report also identifies and analyzes the emerging trends along with essential drivers, challenges, and opportunities in Global Small Arms and Light Weapons Market.

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[aviationd]

The small arms and light weapons market report covers current market size and 10 year SALW market forecast It is segmented by region, type and end user

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Familiar & Unfamiliar

din djarin x female!reader

warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long

word count: 4,174

Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”

After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.

You learned that the solemn, silent, and dangerous facade Mando wore was more or less an interpretation of what people saw. Yes, he was dangerous. You had seen him wrestle quarries three time his size and come out unscathed, but you had also seen him humming a song under his breath while giving the child a bath. You had seen Mando go out of his way to purchase you a new pair of boots in the market simply because he noticed your discomfort with your current pair. The brief times you felt his touch, a brush against your arm or a hand on your back, it was soft and comforting. His eyes were impossible to see behind his helmet, but you could feel the care in his gaze. Having Mando’s attention on you felt like safety.

Mando called out your name and you blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah! We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I shouldn’t be gone long. Days at most.” He reassured before you could even ask. You stood up and Mando drifted closer⏤ his gloved hand reached out brush the child’s head. Mando chuckled when his son cooed and giggled in response. You heard a long time ago that the best judge of a person’s character was how they treated animals and children. Mando passed that test with flying colors. “You remember the rules?”

“Hmm, no running with scissors?” You joked. Mando tilted his head and you chuckled. “Don’t open the Razor Crest’s ramp for anyone but you, and if I do have to leave for some emergency, get to a crowded spot with plenty of witnesses and talk to no one. Not until you come for us.”

Mando nodded in approval. He gave the child’s head one last pet along the ears and as his hand pulled away you felt his leather covered fingers drag down the length of your bare arm. Heat crept up the back of your neck and you prayed to any deity that was listening that Mando hadn’t heard the hitch in your breath. You were not attracted to your metal armored Mandalorian employer and friend. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

Without another word, Mando made his way to the back of the cargo hold. He opened the ramp before heading down and you called out for him to be careful. Mando glanced over his shoulder, at you and the child, and you waved. You stood at the cargo hold’s edge as Mando pressed a button on his gauntlet and the ramp began to rise. As the metal door rose, you stared at the mandalorian’s back until the ramp cut him off from sight.

Din was more distracted than usual and he told himself it wasn’t because of the newest addition to the Razor Crest. It obviously wasn’t because of you. No, he was just busy with all the bounties he was juggling and the stress of trying to find the child’s people. Then the added dilemma of his current quarry. Already he had been on the flesh trader’s trail for three days. Three full days. That was nothing in comparison to past hunts that would take him weeks on end, but Din found his patience wearing very, very thin.

“Are you ready yet, mate?” A voice asked through the closed door. 

Din had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His only lead came from a mercenary who was hunting an Inner Rim politician that had come all the way out here to participate in the slave trade. It was the only access Din would have to get into the market to find his quarry and it came at a cost. Din glanced down at the helmet held in his hands. It was an oddly shaped red thing from Kaleesh culture. His new mercenary partner made it very clear that if he walked in as a Mandalorian everything would be lost. On any normal bounty Din would’ve risked it anyways. There was very little in the galaxy that could coax him out of his armor, leave him bare to the world, but a child in danger did it. 

A mother had come to him after he searched for a lead in the local cantina on his first night. She had fallen to her knees in front of him and begged for his help⏤ she offered everything she owned and more in return. Her only child, an eleven year old little girl, had been stolen away from her. Dragged to the flesh market to be sold. Din swore to her that he’d bring her back. On his word as a Mandalorian, she would be reunited with her daughter. He just wasn’t allowed to do it looking like a Mandalorian.

“Seriously, mate, we’re going to be late!” Trigg, the mercenary, barked once more.

Din settled the helmet over his head and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t fit quite like his real one did, but it was tight enough that he wasn’t worried about it falling off in the heat of battle. For a second, he just stared at himself in the mirror. Red armor of cloth and leather covered every inch of his skin, black gloves pulled on tight, and his oddly shaped helmet covered his face entirely. Din hated it more than anything. But, the sooner he saved the girl and caught his quarry, the sooner he could return to his ship. Return to the child and you.

“I’ll be right out.” Din called back. He settled all his beskar armor pieces into the tarp bag he had borrowed from the child’s mother. It was her home they were using as a base of sorts. Din hid the bag in the closet of the room behind a stack of boxes. It made him anxious to leave his armor behind, but he forced himself to step away and open the door.

Trigg stood in the hall wearing his own personal gear. The blond man had scars from a raking claw on the side of his head leaving those patches with sparse hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at Din in a mix of annoyance and impatience. “Finally. Did you have to do your hair?”

“It’s you we’re waiting on now.” Din replied dryly as he marched past the man to the door.

The sooner, the better.

Night had fallen for the third night of Mando being gone. It was too soon for you to be worried about him, but a ball of anxiety still sat in your gut. He had been away for longer periods of time before. The longest thus far being three weeks. You were mumbling a soft song under your breath as you rocked the child to sleep. When his eyes drifted close, you carefully set him in the hammock above Mando’s bunk and tucked a blanket around him. 

When you were certain that the kid was settled, you drifted toward the fresher to get ready for bed yourself. You wondered what it would take to convince Mando to pick up a bounty on a planet with an ocean soon. Going from the lava plains of Nevarro to the deserts of Tatooine and now this dusty Outer Rim world was bleak. You missed water. You had grown up near a river on your homeworld and spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t until you saw dry planet after dry planet that you truly began to appreciate natural bodies of water.

You shrugged out of your clothes, tossing them aside, and slid into a pair of shorts and one of Mando’s shirts. It had been borrowed early on in your travels and now it belonged more to you than it did him. The dark shirt was large enough to cover most of your shorts. You had been in the middle of washing your face when you heard the tell tale sound of the ramp. Quickly, you grabbed a towel and dried your face while rushing out of the fresher.

Mando was walking up the ramp just as you entered the cargo hold and you shot him a smile, “Hey, Mando.” He came to a sudden stop. You glanced around but saw no evidence of a quarry behind or near him. Had they gotten away? “What happened with the quarry?”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and a nervous energy settled over your skin. The way he stood just seemed…off. And, the silence that surrounded him wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet you had grown used to. Mando’s helmet tilted some, as if his eyes were raking over your form, and you tugged on the bottom of your shirt anxiously. This was an outfit you wore to sleep every night on the Razor Crest, but right now was the first time you felt uncomfortable having it on around Mando.

“Are you⏤Are you injured?” You asked.

Mando strolled closer to you. Another bit of him that wasn’t right⏤ his gait. As you tried to gather your thoughts, he came to a stop right in front of you. Nearly chest to chest. A lump had formed in your throat, mouth dry, and you tried to swallow it down. Being around Mando always made your stomach feel as if it were filled with butterflies, made your heart race out of your chest, made an addicting warmth pool in your core. 

That was not how you felt right now.

Your hand reached out, as quickly as you could manage it, and slammed against the lock button of Mando’s bunk. The metal door slid down. It clicked into place, and the Mandalorian in front of you grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back until you slammed into the Razor Crest’s wall. You clawed at the familiar, gloved hand tightening around your throat as a low, unfamiliar chuckle rumbled through the modulator.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A voice that did not belong to your Mandalorian asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You were a minute ago.”

“Wh⏤Who⏤” You tried to spit out but you could barely breathe let alone form words.

“I’m your Mandalorian, baby.” The cruel laugh coming out from behind the t-shape visor you found comfort in felt so very wrong. He yanked you off the wall and released your throat. You managed to gasp a single breath of air before he backhanded you across the face hard enough to see stars. You fell to your knees and elbows roughly, a cry of pain leaving your lips, but you struggled to find a weapon of any kind. “That’s right. Crawl away, baby. Run. I’m a Mandalorian who likes to hunt, and now you’re my prey. How’s that sound?”

Your hand found a screwdriver, lying off to the side where you had been working on something under the floorboard earlier, just as he kicked you in the side to flip you over. The imposter knelt on the ground over you and you tried to stab him where only the flight suit sat. Unfortunately, he turned fast enough that the screwdriver struck beskar and did absolutely nothing. He laughed once more as you gave up the attack to try and slip away, but he grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned you to the ground. The imposter sat on top of your thighs, kneeling over you, and you were forced to stare at your reflection in Mando’s armor.

It would be a bold faced lie for you to say you hadn’t daydreamed about having the beskar armor on top of you⏤ the weight of it pressing into you in every delicious way you could think of. But not like this. Not with a stranger inside of it. 

“Who knew the ship came with such a pretty little whore.” The imposter hummed. He shifted your arms so he could pin both your wrists with one hand. With his other, he grasped the bottom of the beskar helmet and pulled it off.  The man’s eyes were a piercing blue. Cold and cruel. Blond hair covered his scalp except on the side of his head where the scars of what looked like claw marks sat. He tossed the helmet aside and gave you a sickening grin. “Is that what you’re here for? You keep the Mandalorian’s bed warm? Let him fuck you when he’s done with a hunt?”

“Get the kriff off of me!” You struggled against his grip, against his touch, but nothing seemed to deter him from using his other hand to run over your body. You screamed until you were hoarse and when you cried out for Mando the man sitting on top of you just laughed. Faintly, you could hear frantic tapping behind Mando’s bunk door and fear struck you. Was the child awake? He wouldn’t be able to unlock the door from inside you didn’t think. 

It seemed the imposter was too immersed in you to hear the sound. 

“How about this,” The man leaned closer into your space, “I get a quick taste of you now, and then, once we’re up and in hyperspace, I’ll fuck you better than your Mando ever could, yeah?”

His lips crashed down on yours roughly. You tried to turn your face away, but the imposter bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Between the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue and the smell of his rancid breath you were going to be sick. You gasped in pain and he took advantage by shoving his tongue into your mouth. He pressed his hips down into you, grinding against your stomach now, and the feel of his erection pressing into you made a horrified sob slip form you. It seemed to only spurn him on further. He let go of one of your hands to grasp at the waistband of your pants.

The sound of sprinting footsteps made the imposter sit up and you were barely able to register what was happening when a body dressed in red leather slammed into the beskar covered imposter⏤ both men falling away. Taking advantage of your freedom, you scrambled back as quickly as you could. The stranger dressed in red, wearing an oddly shaped helmet that covered his face, had a hand wrapped around the imposter’s throat while his other fist pounded away at the man’s face. Grunts of anger filled the air with every blow thrown and the imposter fought back only for a moment before his body went slack.

You scrambled away further but your back hit a metal crate sitting in the cargo hold. It shifted slightly and the sound made the stranger sit up and spin around. You gasped⏤panicked. Heart still racing. The imposter laid motionless. His face bruised, broken, and bloody beyond all recognition. You were breathing hard, trying to suck in more air as the air you did get brought no relief. The stranger jumped up, motions smooth and agile, and rushed to you. A cry of fear left you as you tried to pathetically jump up, but his hands wrapped around you. Soft, but firm. A comforting weight.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe, mesh’la.” A familiar voice came out of the unfamiliar mask. The bright red and angry shapes still jarring to look at and you tried to struggle away. He pulled away to rip off his gloves. One hand came to rest on the side of your face, while the other lifted the red helmet just enough to reveal a jaw covered in dark scruff and lips. “Listen to me, mesh’la. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m here.”

You were still shaking, your entire body threatening to tremble into pieces, but your breaths were beginning to grow controlled. The warm hand on your face was grounding. It was familiar. You couldn't see the man’s eyes, but you could feel his soft gaze. Safe. You felt safe.

“M⏤Mando?” You gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m here, mesh’la. You’re safe now.”

You broke into an uncontrollable sob, unable to bite it back, and Mando didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. The coarse, red armor you buried your face into felt unfamiliar, but the strong arms that wrapped around you felt right.

For the first time, Din felt uncomfortable in his helmet. It smelled of the spice that Trigg disgustingly chewed on. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his armor on. It left him in a pair of plain sweats and shirt. After setting you in his bunk, the child curled into your side, he had stripped the mercenary out of his beskar and thrown the piece of shit into the carbonite freezer.

The job had gone so well then so bad. Din found the young Rodian child and killed his quarry. He’d only get half the bounty with the flesh trader dead, but something was better than nothing. The moment he returned the girl to her mother his heart had stopped when he realized his armor was missing. Din had sprinted to the Razor Crest, faster than he had ever run, and still he hadn’t come soon enough. 

Din stepped out of the fresher. The Razor Crest was in hyperspace and the cargo hold was dark. The only light spilling from the open door behind him. The sound of whimpering filled the otherwise silent space around him. Din hurried to the bunk to see you tossing and turning. He scooped the child up and set him in the hammock before crawling in to try and calm you.

He called out your name, bare hands on your shoulders, and when your eyes snapped open, thanks to his visor, he could see clearly the way panic and fear filled them. You screamed and began to swing at him. His helmet. It was his helmet. Without thinking, Din ripped his helmet off and threw it out of the bunk. Din pulled you into his arms again, pressing your face to his shoulder, and whispered reassurances.

“It’s me, Mesh’la. It’s me. I’m sorry. I was wearing the helmet. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Mando?” You breathed. He buried his hand in your hair and pulled you tighter into his chest. As if the two of you weren’t already tangled together in the small confines of his bunk. “I’m sorry I hit you⏤”

“It didn’t hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Din didn’t know which emotion waged in him the most⏤ guilt or anger. They were neck and neck. You took in a deep shaky breath and your hot breath on his neck made him sigh in relief. You were safe in his arms. Din rubbed your back and the question fell out before he could hold it back. “Did he… Mesh’la, did⏤”

“No.” You whispered. “You got here just in time.”

Din could feel tears soaking into his shirt. When the tears stopped, Din coaxed you out of the bunk and onto the cargo hold floor. He grabbed a first aid kit and rushed back so you weren’t left alone for too long. The only light still came from the open door of the fresher and he sat so his back was to it. The dim light illuminated your features and it was like a spotlight to the injuries you sported. He had told you that you could open your eyes. With the way you sat, it’d be too dim for you to see his face, but you said you didn’t want to risk it. 

He let his fingers trace the forming bruise surrounding your right eye. It trailed down to brush against the torn skin of your lower lip. Dank farrik. That kriffing fucker had bit you. He could see the outline of teeth. Din’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a bit of bacta and rubbed it gently into the forming bruise. He was going to do the same for your lower lip when you stopped him.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurted.

“No, no. Not that.” You mumbled. “Can I… Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything, mesh’la. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked. Din was certain he had misheard you. It was why he sat in silence. He was trying to puzzle out what it was you had actually said. You spoke again, nervous, “You don’t have to. I⏤I…”

“You want me to…kiss you?”

You nodded. Eyes still closed lightly. “I know it’s dumb. It⏤ I just don’t want to feel his lips anymore. I don’t want the taste of him on me.”

“That’s not dumb, mesh’la.” 

Din settled one of his hands on the side of your face. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Din began to lean in. He didn’t want to startle you. He wanted to give you every opportunity to pull away if you needed to. Din would be lying to himself, again, if he said he hadn’t imagined the way your lips would feel on him. But not like this. He hated that these were the circumstances, but there wasn’t a single thing Din wouldn’t do for you if you asked.

His nose brushed against yours. Din was close enough that he could feel your lips part. He waited one second more before pressing his lips softly against yours. One of your hands lifted to tangle in his hair and a simple gesture shouldn’t make him feel so hot under his skin. The kiss was slow and tender. Din was terrified to press too hard and bring you pain. The injury to your lower lip still so fresh. And after what you had just suffered through, he wanted you to have all the control. If you needed to use him to rid yourself of that nightmare, to erase the memory that bastard left on your lips, then he would. 

Your tongue brushed against his lower lip, tracing it, and he parted his lips for you giving you room to explore him. Maker, the taste of you was so sweet. It took every single ounce of Din’s self control to not deepen the moment even further. The kiss grew almost frantic. A hand in his hair and another at the back of his neck to pull him into you. You pulled back just enough to suck in a sharp breath before your lips was back on his and Din lost his battle for self control.

He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Din was caught off guard when you pushed down to press yourself against his already hard cock, but it was a welcome surprise. He grabbed your hips, hands tightening into the soft skin there, and grinded into you. You moaned into his mouth and Din pulled away briefly so he could press open mouth kisses along your jaw then down your neck until he reached your shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he bit down, wanting to leave evidence of himself on you, and you let out a sharp gasp while grinding into him again. Din ran his tongue against the bite soothingly. 

Din’s hands slipped under your shirt and he desperately let his lips find yours once more. His tongue slipped past your lips, but then he tasted it. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. Din pulled back quickly realizing his plan to let you run the show had gone to shit. Both of you were breathless. 

“Are you okay, mesh’la??” He pulled one hand away from your hip to touch your face. His thumb brushed against your lower lip and in the dim light he could see the tint of red. 

“Thank you.” You breathed. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss that missed and only landed on the corner of his lips. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and just took slow breaths. Din let his knuckles drag up and down your spine. He could feel your entire body going limp as you melted into his hold. You mumbled, “Thank you, Mando.”

“Din.” He replied, but he didn’t know if you had already fallen asleep or not. “Call me Din.”

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Arabesque

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Being a ballerina is everything you've ever wanted and more but after a major injury, you had to stay a step back. Now you're able to get back into it, so you ask the one person on the team who has taken ballet if she can help you.

Squares Filled: “you better have a good excuse for being late again.” (2021) for @blackwidowbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

The mansion is so big that you have to split up from your team in order to cover most of it. You hate being on your own on a mission but this calls for you to be alone. You’re not much for violence but the team needs a sharpshooter, which you are. You’re highly skilled on your feet, very flexible, and light as a feather. You can sneak into a room and not make a sound even if there are fifty people in it.

Someone with that skill is useful on a mission like this one. Someone stole black market weapons that they want to sell to the highest bidder, and you’re here to stop him before they leave. You’re not sure who is behind this but if those weapons get out, a lot of people are going to die.

Your earpiece connects you to Steve, Clint, and Natasha so even though you’re not in the same room as them, you still have them by your side. Your steps are very light as you enter one of the back rooms and there is a man in the back by a table of weapons. It’s the stolen merchandise. If you play your cards right, you can do this without alerting him.

The man takes apart the big guns to be packaged easier in the boxes by his feet. As he is turning to package the guns, you panic thinking he is going to see you and start shooting. You do the first thing you can think of and haul yourself onto a high cabinet soundlessly. The man turns and doesn't see you as he continues to pack the weapons.

You jump from high cabinet to high cabinet as you make your way across the room silently. The space is small and compact but you’re very flexible. You’ve been training all your life to be where you are, and it comes in handy for missions like these. When you get right above the guy, you jump onto his back and tighten your legs around his neck. The man doesn’t have any time to react and begins flailing about trying to get you off him.

You take your knife out of the arm holster and stab his hands that try to pry you off him, and he falls to the ground in a fit of choked gasps. As soon as he is passed out from the lack of oxygen, you step away from him and clean your blade on his jacket.

“I got the weapons. Back room, west wing.”

“On our way,” Natasha says. Your teammates meet you in the back room and see the man sprawled at your feet. “You took him down without alerting the alarms. Impressive.”

One word from her and you’re a blushing mess.

“Thank you,” you smile.

Steve grabs the man while you, Natasha, and Clinbt grab the weapons. SHIELD has been looking for these weapons that will keep them in their inventory while keeping the man hostage to gather more information from him. Everyone wants to celebrate the successful mission but parties were never your thing. Nothing against your friends but you’d rather spend time in the gym than be mingling with all of them.

Tony made a section of the gym to mirror a ballet studio for you to practice in. You’ve taken ballet ever since you could walk since your mother was one. You’re just following in her footsteps, trying to make her proud. The dream is to one day be on stage in front of an audience but you have a long way until you get there. You face the mirror and grab onto the bar so you can do your stretches. You squat down and bend your knees outward for ten seconds before standing up and doing it all over again.

For your next stretch, you turn away from the mirror and bend backward until your head is at the same length as the low bar. You grab onto the bar and lean forward while still holding onto the bar so that your body is in a backward ‘7’ shape. You’re holding this position for thirty seconds when you see Natasha walk into the gym through the mirror. You stand upright and give her a kind smile.

“Nice form. Looks like it feels good.”

“Yeah, especially after a long mission.”

“Little tip? Try using the wall for that stretch and walk your legs down the wall.”

“Have you ever taken ballet?”

“We did it as part of our training.” You open your mouth to ask her something but decide against it. “No, what were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to be my teacher. I could use some help with my form even though I’ve been doing this all my life. I took a long break due to an injury and I’m just now getting back into it. I’d like you to teach me only if you’re okay with it. I understand if it’s too painful for you to, though.”

She chuckles. “Had you asked me fifteen years ago, I would have said no but I can be your teacher now.”

“Great,” you grin.

You two meet four times a week, three times if you have a mission to go on. She is teaching you so much, stuff that you didn’t know about or have forgotten about. While this has been helpful for your ballet career, it’s bad for your thoughts and feelings. It’s no secret that you have a thing for Natasha. How can anyone not have a thing for her? She’s gorgeous, has an amazing personality, is sweet and funny, and puts everyone before herself. She might know based on the looks you’ve been giving her but you haven’t outright told her you like her.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me,” you say to her.

You’ve learned so much in the coming weeks that brought you closer to her, which is why you two are sitting on the roof overlooking the city below. Tony built the Avengers Tower right in the center of Manhattan so on nights like these, you can see the nightlife.

“So, have you always wanted to be a ballerina?” Natasha asks.

“For as long as I could remember. My mother was one. Maybe that’s why I got into ballet classes at such a young age. I was actually really good until I graduated high school. I got injured on stage which left me unable to perform for years. By the time I could do it again, I lost my way. I started to pick it up over the years but it wasn’t the same. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I can’t imagine going through Red Room training was fun, but did you like doing ballet? Can you see yourself doing it again?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“What did you want to do in life? You know, if you weren't an Avenger?”

“I never thought about it. I was taken at such a young age, that I didn’t think I could know anything outside of that training.”

That hurts your heart. She was taken and forced into a life she never asked for. She better off now but at what cost?

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs.

Moments like these are precious because they don’t last forever. The training sessions after this got better because you two found a way to work well together. She’d help you with your form and you’d try and perform a number for her. It’s working well for you two except your feelings for her are increasing. It’s the way she presses her body against yours to make sure you’re in the right position or her hand on your body guiding you to where you need to be.

It’s driving you insane.

She’s gonna kill me. Fuck.

If you’re late one more time, she is going to kick your ass. You rush down to the gym in hopes she isn’t there. You yank open the door and sigh in relief when you don’t see her in the corner. To make it seem like you’ve been here for at least thirty minutes, you quickly put your shoes on and do some quick stretches.

“You better have a good excuse for being late again.”

You look up and see Natasha by the entrance to the gym.

“Okay, listen, my alarm didn’t wake me up.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Your point?”

“If you’re late again, I’ll have you on the floor in seconds.”

Damn, why’d that turn you on? Those are delicious yet dangerous thoughts.

“Yes, ma’am,” you nod.

She walks over to you just as you stick your left leg into the air behind you. The only thing you’re balancing on is your right foot on your toes. You arch your back slightly and raise your arms to look like you’re flying. One of the things you’ve had trouble with since getting back into the art is balancing. Natasha puts her right hand underneath your leg to keep it up as soon as she sees you wobbling.

“Don’t think. Clear your mind.” 

She moves her hand from your calf up to your inner thigh, raising your leg as she moves. She grips your hip to get you to stay still, but the only reason why you’re going to crumble to the ground is because her hands are on your body. Her hands are so close to the place where you want her the most even if she doesn’t know it. She must know what she’s doing to you otherwise she wouldn’t do it. You look at her through the mirror and see the slight smirk on her face. That motherfucker. She knows exactly what she is doing.

“Like that?”

“Just like that. Good girl.”

Those two words are what cause you to fall back into her. She catches you in her arms and you put your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” she whispers back.

Your body acts before your brain can think. You press a kiss upon her lips but quickly pull back in shock that you actually did that.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

“Do it again,” she says.

This time, you kiss her confidently. Ballet practice just got a whole lot more interesting.

x

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[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Blessed Heir of the Abyss (Abyssal Prince Childe x Reader)

Synopsis: After centuries of conflict, Teyvat and the Abyss are attempting to make peace with one another. To solidify new alliances and let go of past grudges, the Abyssal Prince Tartaglia will choose a spouse from the people above to rule over the Abyss with him.

That spouse happens to be you, an ordinary, Visionless citizen of Liyue.

Prologue: His Royal Highness

Next

Warnings: Mentions of panicking, Zhongli being protective, Childe doesn’t care about you in the beginning, Hu Tao cries, an Abyss Herald calls you “it” at one point, SLOW BURN

~ * ~ Once upon a time, a shining kingdom was constructed under the earth. Lit by starlight and shrouded in darkness, it became known as the Abyss, and was ruled by whoever the monsters favored. In an effort to end the eternal conflict, the Heir shall travel to the land above to witness the sea, and join hands with the sun. Liyue is beautiful today. You’ve never seen such a blue sky, nor such a brilliant sun- it beckons you outside for errands and chores, things you normally loathe to do but now you step outside with a smile, squinting happily up at the light. It’s the weekend- shopping day- and you’re looking for sunsettias and spices at the market. In the distance you can see Zhongli, a friend and family, and he lifts a hand in greeting before falling in step beside you. An ageless soul, the funeral parlor consultant always has a new story to amaze you with, and today is no exception as he weaves the tale of Azhdaha the Geovishap Lord as you walk the streets. Hu Tao’s waiting at the market, her perpetual grin only widening as she darts over and snags your hand, swinging it back and forth with a bubbling laugh. It draws a chuckle from you as well, and Zhongli smiles fondly at your antics with the young director. She practically drags you down the street, leaving Zhongli in the dust as she talks a mile a minute- rumors and gossip, gossip and rumors, there’s seemingly nothing that she doesn’t know or hasn’t heard of. “Sooo? Are you coming tonight?” She looks at you with an impish twinkle in her eye and you simply shrug. “Aw, come on! It’s not everyday I get to have a poetry battle with Xingqiu! Yanfei is the judge!” Hu Tao giggles in mischievous delight and eventually you can’t keep your own smile from blooming across your face, the parlor director’s joy contagious. Zhongli’s caught up to you by now, tapping lightly on Hu Tao’s hand clasped around your wrist with a stern look. “Director Hu, you’re going to injure them, pulling like that.” With a pout she releases you from her bruising grip and skips on ahead, you and Zhongli following close at her heels, a tender look shining in his golden eyes- ah, he adores the parlor director like a daughter, despite how he chastises her, and with one glance you know the sentiment is extended to you as well. You incline your head with a small smile, but it quickly fades when the oppressing sound of silence hits your ears, the streets backed up by people yet making no noise, no small talk about the weather or trade commerce or anything else that might catch their interest. The only sounds are frightened whispers, and you crane your neck in an attempt to see what’s going on, glancing at Hu Tao in confusion. Heavy footsteps, metallic and foreboding, march down the street, and immediately you feel goosebumps rise on the back of your neck as inhumanly tall figures come into view. An Abyssal entourage parts the crowd like a sea, the people of Liyue edging away in fear. The Lady Ningguang stands to the side, looking small and dainty compared to the height of Abyss Heralds and Lectors, and stares resolutely ahead, not daring to spare a single glance towards anyone but the distant horizon as a tense hush settles over the city. Hu Tao encircles your arm in a vice grip, scarlet eyes blown wide and Vision aglow, ready for battle despite her lack of a weapon while Zhongli holds a comforting hand to your back, normally calm demeanor betrayed by his stiff shoulders, as even he cannot feel safe when creatures from the Abyss are near. No one in Teyvat feels safe in the presence of the Abyss, despite the best efforts of the nations to set aside their differences after centuries of war. Even the late Geo Archon had returned, you’ve heard, having faked his death at the last Rite of Descension, and yet still relations remained tense or worse. You’ve heard that people used to go missing wherever the Abyss would begin creeping into Teyvat, and would crawl back out tainted and warped. You shiver, and Zhongli’s palm pushes against your spine in reassurance. From the midst of the monstrous ambassadors a young man emerges, strikingly human in comparison to the Lectors and Heralds who step aside and bow to him, surveying the gathered citizens with boredom. He’s certainly handsome, with copper-colored hair and fine clothing, but his brilliant blue eyes are so lightless and dim that it feels like you’re outside in the dead of night, not a moon or star in the sky. For a split second, his eyes lock onto yours, and you dig your nails into your palm. It’s like you’re staring at a corpse. An elegant hand extends from his richly-made cloak and points, at random, into the crowd. “That one.” Your blood turns to ice and your body goes rigid as Hu Tao lets out a horrified shriek, because he’s pointing at you. “No!” Zhongli steps forward, rage alight in his eyes and glaring furiously at the strange man, shoving you and Hu Tao behind him. His gaze snaps to Ningguang, “Lady Tianquan, what is the meaning of this?” But she doesn’t speak, merely averting her gaze towards the ground, shame finally showing through the cracks in her facade. A Herald approaches, surveying your shell-shocked figure with distaste but nodding anyway. “It’ll do,” With a single, swift motion the Abyss Herald snatches your wrist and pulls you away from Hu Tao, nearly dislocating your shoulder in the process when you struggle desperately against his grip. He brings you to stand beside the ginger-haired man, sharp claws leaving tears in the sleeves of your shirt. With a dry throat you gulp down your fear, trying to steady your shaking voice, “What do you want?” The mysterious man looks at you, eyes flat and lifeless, “You’re my spouse.” The world goes silent around you. “...What?” “My spouse. It’s part of the agreement,” he says, turning away. “Agreement…?” You twist your head to Ningguang, and she closes her eyes, as if to confirm what he said. You blink, mouth open in shock, and stumble backwards a few steps. Your vision begins to blur and swim, tension tightening in your chest and turning everything into vague smears of color as the concept of safety begins to slip through your fingers like sand. “No. I won’t allow it,” Zhongli’s deep voice cuts through your daze like a knife and brings you back to reality. He’s nearly snarling at the strangers, looking more enraged than you’ve ever seen him with his polearm already in hand. Hu Tao’s slightly behind him, torn between seeming annoyed or confused and settling on a middle ground of both, hands on her hips. A low, snakelike hiss rises in one of the Lector’s throats, “Show more respect to Prince Tartaglia, lest you desire to break the contract between Liyue and the Abyss.” Zhongli grits his teeth hard enough to crack, and you swear the tips of his hair glow bright gold, then he exhales slowly and crosses his arms, fury simmering just beneath the surface, “And why was this not discussed with the Harbor beforehand?” The Lector simply levels Zhongli with a chilly stare. “It’s His Royal Highness’s right.” And with that you’re pushed into a walk, the Abyss surrounding you as you trip over your own feet, ripping you away from your peaceful life, away from your little house with its sunlit rooms and vases on the windowsill, away from the city you were born and raised in. Away from friends and family; the people you love. You cast a silent, pleading glance towards the man- the Prince Tartaglia, begging for him to let you go. But he simply stares back at you, azure blue eyes blank and unfeeling, and involuntarily you shiver. He feels nothing towards you- not happiness, curiosity, disgust, hatred- nothing, and somehow that’s more frightening than if he did despise you. The Prince feels nothing towards you, because you’re just a pawn in a celestial game. Zhongli and Hu Tao can only watch in despair, paying no mind to the people in the streets beginning to resume their daily activities, simply grateful that it wasn’t them who was chosen. Ningguang steps closer, regret laced in her voice. “My Lord, I’m sorry-” “Don’t,” Zhongli says sharply, eyes flaring with hardened grief. “An apology means nothing.” And he’s right, for only he has seen what the Abyss does to people, corroding their sense of being and mind until they give in and become one with the starlit waves. “Zhongli…” Hu Tao looks up, scarlet eyes swimming with tears. “They’ll… they’ll be okay, right? I mean,” she lets out a humorless laugh, “I might be a funeral parlor director, but…” she shakes her head to clear it and scrubs her cheeks. “Director, I do not lie. For your own sake, perhaps that question should remain unanswered,” Zhongli lets out a sigh, giving the young director’s hat a few pats as she mourns the loss of her best friend. His own unease settles, hanging in the air like a sickly haze, the answer to Hu Tao’s question ringing clear despite his refusal. I don’t know.

[twola]

if you're still open to requests, HH!Arthur forced to endure the classic "only one bed" trope with a petite, bookish F!reader? still an outlaw but much more suited for infiltration than shootouts and analyzing difficult paperwork. maybe spectacles even, go wild with the idea!! love your other works ❤️

Accounting and Other Arts

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You're not one for gunshots or drunken brawling, as Arthur learns one night in Saint Denis.

Saint Denis reeks. The whole damned city. It either smells of horse shit and rotting garbage or of obnoxiously over-perfumed rich men and women traipsing about thinking that they are above the common folk.

The mare beneath him grunts as the dirt road turns to cobblestone, a high whinny as her hooves clack on the road. Arthur clicks his tongue to calm her down. Upon reaching an alleyway to the west of the market, he slides down from the saddle, grabbing his horse’s reins and tying them to a wrought-iron hitching post. He pats her mane gently as he eyes the alleyway. Stepping toward it, he strides past men and women heading to market, finding a quiet, shadowed spot and leaning against the brick wall of the alley.

“You’re late.”

Arthur snorts, pulling a cigarette from his satchel, and strikes a match against the arched brickwork in the alley. Lighting it, he eyes you from under the rim of his black hat.

Your arms are crossed over your chest, and you glare from the golden rims of your spectacles at him. Clad in a dark velvet vest over a maroon blouse, your matching skirt swishes as you stalk angrily in his direction.

“My apologies, ma’am.”

You scowl as you approach, looking up the alley past where Arthur leans against the wall.

“Y’get what you need?” He rumbles as he takes the cigarette from his lips, letting a plume of smoke float into the air.

You nod, pulling off your spectacles and tucking them into the breast pocket of your vest. “Tomorrow morning - the money’s going to be moved from the poker room back to one of Bronte’s safehouses. Be there a half hour before a half hour before six. Only supposed to be two men there.”

Arthur takes the cigarette from his lips and blows smoke to the side. “How much is the take?”

“If my calculations are correct, twenty-three hundred dollars.” You reply, straightening your skirts as you lean back against the brick wall in the alleyway. 

Arthur drops the cigarette and grinds it under his boot.

A strand of hair escapes from your tightly pulled bun, and you huff as you tuck it behind your ear. You’ve been told the hairstyle makes you look severe, you’d take it. In this world of guns and robbery and stealing you live in, you feel the need to do anything to make yourself look serious. 

Guns weren’t your weapons. Numbers were. You ran scams and cheated men out of money. You assisted Strauss in his loansharking. 

“Where y’been stayin' here in town?” Arthur asks, his hands gravitating to his gun belt.

“Shitty little place off the docks. Not much, but at least we can rest there until you have to go out in the morning.”

He nods, holding out his arm down the alley, “Lead the way.”

-

A hot, heavy, night has fallen in South Lemoyne - stifling in its haziness and the heaviness in the air. You’ve stripped down to a chemise and your bloomers as you climb into the old bed, the darkness outside staved off by a solitary oil lamp on the bed. 

Arthur’s boots scuff the dingy floor of the room you’ve been renting, the sound of him dragging the rickety old chair next to the small fireplace grates in your ears as you try to get comfortable in the lumpy bed.

Instead, you reach for the book that you’ve been reading from the bedside table, cracking it open as Arthur mercifully quiets down, pulling his hat from his head and placing it on the mantle as he sits down.

“Whatchu' readin’?” Arthur asks from across the room, pulling his boots off and tossing them near the door.

You look up at him over the rims of your spectacles, “I’m sure nothing you’d be interested in.”

He snorts, pulling his hat off his head and placing it on the table next to the fireplace.

“The Wealth of Nations.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raise, “That certainly ain’t one of Mary Beth’s pillow books.”

You shut the book and frown. “No. It ain’t.”

Arthur stares into the unused fireplace, rolling his shoulders.

“Get into the bed, Arthur. You’re the one who's gotta get up in the morning.” You eye him over those gold rims again, scolding in your tone.

“Ain’t terribly proper,” Arthur mutters under his breath.

“We’re both adults. And it ain’t like I take up much room. Just shut up and lay down.” You pull the spectacles off of the bridge of your nose and fold them up, leaning over to place them on the bedside table.

You unwind the tight bun you have your hair pulled into - your tresses falling in curls down your back, and completely miss the dumbfounded look he gives. As you shake out your hair, you shake out the severe look about you, your spectacles gone for the night.

It’s then, under the dim oil lamps of the saloon’s room, that he discovers that you’re beautiful. 

The moment passes quickly as you begin to look up at him, and his eyes dart away as not to be caught staring.

“Get in bed.” You command, looking at him for a second longer before turning over in bed and reaching for the lamp. You don't wait for him to make up his mind, plunging the room into darkness when you turn off the light.

After what seems like an eternity, the mattress sinks down on the other side of the bed.

-

You awaken far before dawn, a shout from outside jolting you from your sleep. Thinking it’s a fluke, you close your eyes again only for them to snap open as shouting continues again.

A crash fully awakens you, and you begin to lean up on your elbow, looking toward the window a few steps away. A large hand finds purchase on your belly as your entire frame is pulled backward in the bed. 

“Shh,” Arthur whispers, curling himself over you as he listens to the shouting outside. Glass breaks. Threats made. The sounds of a fight echo through the street, but now all you can think about is the fact that you’re tucked into Arthur’s body as he listens to the fight, ready to jump up and grab his revolver at a moment's notice.

Glass crashes again against the brick wall of the building you’re in, not terribly far from your window, and you turn inward from the noise. You may be a criminal, a fraudster, but you certainly aren’t one for violence. You don’t shoot and you don’t kill.

“ ‘S okay. I’ve got you.” Arthur mumbles, leaning over you to listen more intently to the scuffle outside. You bury yourself into his embrace, your face tucked into his neck as his hand pats your hair gently, ready to whip around and grab his revolver from the table if needed.

The fight in the alleyway dies down, fortunately, and as the agitated voices fade into the night, Arthur gently unwinds his arm from across your shoulders, his hand finding its way to settle atop your hip. Your fingers clutch at the worn fabric of his union suit atop his broad chest.

“Jus’ a drunken fight.” He whispers, patting your hip in a calming manner.

The men outside are the farthest thing from your mind at the moment. No, Arthur’s hand upon your hip and yours against his chest - that's all you think about. The rapid beating of your heart is all you can hear. This isn’t rational. It isn’t logical. But deep in your core, you burn. You’re driven by something completely different, animalistic, emotional, needy.

“Y’oka-” Arthur murmurs before you shove your mouth against his. It's only half a heartbeat before he’s kissing you back.

You throw your leg over his hip, and he takes a large hand full of your rear, pulling your hips against his. You are unable to hold back the moan from your throat as you feel his cock thickening against your lower belly.

For several moments, your bodies tessellate against each other until he yanks the hem of your chemise up to your belly.

“Christ,” he groans, and it’s just another moment before he rolls you underneath him.

“Y’ever done this?” He pants as he peels your bloomers down your legs, tossing them somewhere on the floor before his hand trails up between your thighs.

“No… but I have an idea-ah-!” Your sentence is cut off when you uncontrollably moan, a thick finger having immediately parted your folds and pressed against you.

Well, this feeling wasn’t something you had read about. You mewl into Arthur’s shoulder as his pointer finger moves back and forth between the seam of your body, pausing to circle the hooded nub that makes your toes curl.

Arthur sucks gently at your earlobe, his panting growing louder as his finger travels along your body, pausing for a moment once he’s reached the rim of your cunt, weeping slick as you want to die from the stimulation.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and he growls in your ear as he quickly draws back and sits up on his knees, unbuttoning his union suit with the ferocity of a caged beast. You’re barely able to catch your breath before watching him tear his arms out of the sleeves, bunching the fabric at his waist, and pushing it down, baring himself completely.

Certainly, sketches in anatomy books had nothing on the real thing. Sketches weren’t hewn from decades of labor and violence. Sketches weren't tapered waists and the outline of solid muscles under pale, scarred skin that told stories of robberies past. And sketches assuredly were not so well endowed.

He’s back on you in an instant before you can even react - slotting himself between your legs as his mouth attacks your neck, sure to leave a mark that will show in the morning.

Arthur’s large hand moves to once more cup your core, and your breath hitches.

He presses himself against your thigh and you shudder as you feel how hard he is, how big is - Christ, how the hell was that supposed to fit inside you?

His finger pushes inside and your mind goes blank. You cry out wantonly as Arthur’s finger curls within your core, and he quickly begins to pump within you. Your back arches uncontrollably as he adds a second finger, and thrusts his hips against your body.

“Fuck, fuck. Y’sure you want this?” Arthur pants against your ear, unable to stop his hips from rutting against you. His cock settles in the crease of your thigh and god, he’s so close to where you need him.

Christ, maybe you should have taken Mary Beth up on one of her dirty romance novels.

“Y-yes, Arthur please-”

He presses inside you and there aren’t words for the feeling. No vocabulary to adequately describe the stretch, the filling, the connection one has when that last bridge is crossed. Though sex is simply an action, a physical coming together of body parts - the emotions that want to burst forth from your chest - you want to envelop him the same way he envelops you.

“Y’okay there? C’n I move?” He whispers into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple.

Are you okay, are you okay? All you can respond back with is a needy gasp as you turn your head to the side to find his mouth, desperately shoving your tongue inside as if to mimic the fact that he’s buried inside of you.

As your tongue delves into his mouth, you wish the thoughts flying through your head could possibly come out, but with him between your legs, his weight pressing you down into the mattress, his flesh parting you deep, all you can do is moan.

So much more than okay. How do people stand being apart? How can they not bury themselves in each other all day, every day? I want… oh god, Arthur, please, please move.

Somehow, he understands. His elbows brace himself on either side of your head as his hips retract, in a glorious swell of movement, he presses back in.

You whine needily into the column of his throat as he grunts, finding a rhythm as your legs wrap around his waist. Arthur grinds your hips into the bed, your small frame engulfed by his large one, and each thrust seems to take you further and further away. Gasping, tensing, shuddering. 

A desperate noise leaves your throat, and if you weren't so preoccupied with how the tip of his cock keeps hitting a spot inside you that makes you want to scream, you’d be mortified.

“Come for me.” He orders, voice sex-hoarse and demanding, and your body immediately complies. 

Every muscle, every tendon, and fiber of your body clenches at once, and your cry is loud and needy into his shoulder. Tears burst forth from your eyes. He groans into your hair in response, his rhythm faltering, and it’s only a moment more before he wrenches himself from you, his cock smacking against your belly as he jets his hot spend across your pale skin and hiked up chemise.

Arthur pants, nearly out of breath, for a moment, before leaning his forehead against yours and taking your lips in a slow, languorous kiss.

Your fingers card through his hair and one of his hands finds its way to your face, palm warm against your cheek before he finally pulls back.

Arthur immediately frowns when he sees the tracks of drying tears. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, smiling, “When can we do that again?”

He snorts in amusement, rolling off of you and onto his side, “Let me go get our money,” he kisses your forehead, “Then I’ll get us another day here.”

“Sounds amenable.”

“You and them fancy words.”

Your smartass retort is drowned out by his kiss.

[gxr25256]

Mercy in the Shadows - Sixshot x reader

🌵 If there are any mistakes, please forgive me.

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

The black market of Cybertron sprawled beneath the grimy spires of an abandoned industrial sector, where the remnants of war and conquest had been shoved aside to decay in shadows. Towering structures—relics of past battles and conquests—cast long, harsh shadows over crowded rows of stalls where vendors hawked anything with a price. Stolen weapons, forbidden tech, scraps of Cybertronian armor, and unfortunate captives from distant planets—all of it littered the scene in a chaotic mixture of neon and rust. But the boredom had brought him here, among his fellow Phase Sixers. Each item was a trophy, a whisper of violence from a hundred other worlds, and Sixshot drifted through it with a growing, gnawing sense of restlessness.

Megatron’s unexpected day off grated against his nature; idleness felt like rust forming on his circuits. A day without purpose felt like a day stripped of his essence. That's insulting. They were scattered across the market, each drifting toward different distractions like predators prowling in the dusk.

Overlord prowled through the stalls with his usual swagger, laughing off merchants' terrified glances with mock kindness that barely hid his violent intent. Sixshot had long ago come to understand Overlord’s twisted relish for bloodshed, a brutality that went beyond any sense of duty. There was something grotesque, almost obscene, about his joy in suffering, a sentiment that made Sixshot uneasy.

Black Shadow, on the other hand, drifted between stalls with a smooth confidence, a face that alternated between detached boredom and intrigue. Occasionally, he exchanged a few sly words with some of the merchants or put his arm around some of his deceptions colleagues and appear very friendly. But Sixshot knew better—he saw through the charade. Black Shadow wasn't here out of camaraderie. No, the only reason he is here: profit. Energizing his private stockpile was his real objective. Sixshot knew as soon as black shadow got a good enough price, he’d betray them without a second thought.

Putting thoughts about his colleague aside, sixshot adjusted his posture. He leaned back against a wall of rough, rusted steel, arms crossed, optics skimming the market with a disinterested glare. His gaze skimmed over the vendors and buyers, creatures of every shape and size, each chattering in grating voices over who or what might be worth a trade. The entire place was a crowded mess, littered with broken artifacts and miserable captives. Some were quiet, others despairing, a few shouting or growling in languages he didn’t bother to understand.

But then, his optics landed on "you."

It took him a second to recognize the figure—a tiny form crammed behind the energy bars of a cage, looking so out of place it was almost laughable. Among the clanking, bulkier species of aliens, among all the caged beasts and prisoners from dozens of battlefronts, you stood out: fragile, trembling, skin pale under the harsh Cybertronian lights.

A human.

The human's fear was almost palpable. Your breathing was quick, shallow, and you clung to the far side of the cage as if hoping it would dissolve into an escape. Your wide eyes darted around the market in search of something, anything, to save you from the towering titans that prowled the area. That look was one Sixshot knew well.

He couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. What do you feel when you know your existence is utterly insignificant in a universe ruled by giants? he mused. Something about their terror was... different from what he usually saw. Battle gave him excitement, yes, but this? This was a glimpse into the helplessness he so rarely encountered.

He pushed off the wall, striding slowly toward your cage, his optics studying every detail. Your small form clung to the bars, eyes darting wildly around the market, your breath coming in quick, shallow gulps. From the trembling in your limbs, to the way you pressed yourself against the back of the cage, every fiber of your being screamed of fear, like an animal that knew it was cornered and hopelessly outmatched.

There was no bravery in you, no defiance, no hidden strength waiting to be unveiled. And yet…your fear was different from what he normally saw in battle. There was a desperation in it, a rawness that he rarely encountered. The beings he faced on the battlefield had a hardened kind of fear, a last-stand defiance, as though they had already accepted their fate before they ever laid optics on him. They were soldiers, warriors resigned to the end. You were none of those things. You were terrified in a way he hadn’t seen since his earliest days of combat, when his first foes had still been innocent enough to believe that fighting back would save them.

He leaned closer, his optics boring down on you, watching with an intensity that made the cage rattle as his presence loomed. You flinched violently, clutching the bars of the cage as though willing yourself to vanish. Your eyes met his briefly, wide and pleading, then darted away, too afraid to hold his gaze. The look on your face—it stirred something deep within him, a flicker of recognition that was more instinct than memory.

This was prey. True prey. The kind that knew only terror, the kind that understood its helplessness in the face of absolute power.

He was aware of your every movement: the small tremors running through you, the quiver of your lip as you fought to stay silent, the shallow rise and fall of your chest as you struggled to control your breath. He could practically feel your pulse racing from where he stood, a tiny, frantic heartbeat in the face of a predator that could crush you with a single motion.

Something cold and calculating sparked in Sixshot’s optics as he observed you, an old, he hadn’t felt in cycles. It wasn’t the thrill of conquest, nor the satisfaction of a worthy opponent. It was simply a glimpse into something so small and insignificant that it gave him a reminder of what he truly was: a weapon, a machine of total annihilation, one that even other Decepticons viewed with unease. His power had made him a pariah, feared and isolated even among the monsters he called allies.

Yet, he respected the strong. He valued those who fought back, who met him on the battlefield with fire in their optics. This human was none of those things. But there was still something about them, something attractive.

An annoyed sigh came from him, like a roll of thunder. “Pathetic,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. But he didn’t move away. He stayed there, towering over the cage, optics fixed on you like a scientist inspecting a specimen.

The vendor, noticing Sixshot’s interest, sidled over eagerly, his voice a grating whine. “Quite a rare find, isn’t it? A rarity from that little backwater planet, Earth." The merchant gave a smug chuckle. “Not much of a fighter, but they cower in the most entertaining ways.”

The words barely registered to Sixshot. He continued to observe you, noting every subtle tremor, every desperate shift of your eyes. He saw the way your fingers gripped each other tightly, knuckles turning white under the strain, your breathing growing shallow as you tried to make yourself smaller, less visible.

“Interested?” the trader ventured, clearly hoping for a transaction.

Sixshot’s optics narrowed. “What would I do with something so fragile?” he replied, his tone dismissive, though his gaze hadn’t shifted.

The merchant chuckled, mistaking Sixshot's interest as mere curiosity . “A toy, perhaps. Or a pet to keep your quarters interesting. Some find it amusing, having one of these creatures cowering in the corner, watching you with those little eyes. It can be… satisfying.”

The idea of taking you as a “pet” was laughable to him. Amusing? No, that wasn’t it. He had no need for amusement. His life was not about leisure or indulgence—it was about the thrill of worthy combat, the satisfaction of watching an opponent meet their end with dignity or terror. You didn’t fit into that world; you were not a warrior, nor an enemy, nor anything remotely close to a combatant. And yet, your fear called to him.

It would be so easy to snuff out that fear. One flick of his finger could silence you, end your miserable terror in an instant. It would be a mercy—a quick death, a release from the agony of knowing you were powerless.

And yet, he didn’t.

“Do you understand what you are?” he asked quietly, his voice a deep, rumbling growl that filled the space around you. The question seemed almost rhetorical, but he was genuinely curious. What went on in a mind that knew it was nothing more than prey? A creature so weak it couldn’t even defend itself, forced to rely on hope or mercy—neither of which existed here.

Your head lifted, just barely, and you managed a timid nod, your eyes wide and glazed with tears. He could see the struggle in your face, the way you fought to keep some shred of composure in the face of absolute terror.

"Then you understand this is where you die," he continued, almost conversationally, as if discussing the weather. His tone held no malice, no cruelty; it was a simple statement of fact.

Your lips parted, a faint tremble to your voice. "Please…" The word slipped out, barely audible, a plea that you knew was pointless yet voiced out of desperation.

With a dismissive huff, he straightened, turning away from the cage, folding his arms and giving you a final, unreadable look. “I’ll take this one,” he said simply to the merchant, his voice devoid of any emotion but finality.

The merchant’s face brightened with greed. “A fine choice! You’ll enjoy having a creature so… malleable. They’re delightful to break.”

Sixshot didn’t respond. He didn’t take you because he wanted a pet. He didn’t take you becausehe found any joy in your terror. But perhaps, in his own way, he was giving you a purpose. A purpose in his world—a chance to exist, however briefly. Or it would simply be a way for him to kill time.

Whatever it is, then for you, it would be the beginning of a nightmare from which there was no escape.

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

[redheadspark]

Hi :)

May I please have Din Djarin with #18?

Thank you 🧡

A/N - MY FIRST MANDORLIAN REQUEST! I hope it's good, thanks for requesting anon!

Thankful

Summary - He wasn't a man of words, but that never stopped you

Warnings - Just some fluff

You heard a knock on the archway, and you grumbled a bit.

“I’m closed today.  Come back tomorrow at dawn,”

“I’m not here to buy.”

You knew that voice, sitting up from your workstation and turning in your stool to see a silhouette in the middle of the archway. The shape of the helmet and the cape flowing behind him, the satchel on his hip, and the small shine of his armor from the sun, you felt your pulse quicken slightly and your heart jumbled a bit while you placed your tools on the workstation surface.  

Din Djarin.  But others knew him as a Mandalorian. 

He gestured to the room, his glover finger tracing an invisible line in the room as he spoke through his helmet, “May I come in,”

“Of course,” You replied, seeing him duck slightly to come into the room.  He moved swiftly, without a hint of noise as you reached over to your tablet and touched a few buttons.  The door closed and locked behind him, finally giving the pair of you some privacy away from the outside world and the busy marketplace outside your shop.  Din then grabbed at the chin of his helmet, taking it off and showing his face.  Instantly, you saw the bags under his eyes and the scruff that was coming in along his cheeks and chin.  But his eyes, though dark in color, were warm as they always were.  Along with the light brown hair on his head that showed evidence of age with salt and pepper color.  

This was not a normal thing, for either you or Din.  Din was never meant to show his face, it was part of his life as a Mandalorian.  You just happened to see his face in a unique and dangerous circumstance.  Technically, you were the only one who could help him in the sticky situation when he was close to death.  It was really an accident, and once you saw his face, you thought he would rebuke you for it.  Hardly anyone saw his face, and for you to be one of the fair few seemed both sacred and dangerous. 

But he was not angry about it, in fact, he was kind.  You would think that he would run off and never be seen again, but in fact, he was grateful with you helping him and bringing him aid.  After he was brought back to health, and you fixed his helmet to the point of him being able to wear it, he gave you thanks and was on his way.  You were moved by how kind he was, not cold or cross like others like him were.  You were told of them being an elite group that was secretive and stern, not him.

Din defied that.  And when he was in the area, he would come and visit.  

He first came to both buy and trade for him, mostly for his ship or for his weaponry.  He preferred to have someone he would trust to help him with his ship or weapons, and you were surprised to be part of that small circle in his life.  Since you yourself didn’t have a huge circle of friends, it wasn’t too hard to keep it a secret.  Only with the local spies and some of the troublemakers, but they would scurry away at the sight of a Mandalorian coming through the market.  

“What brings you here?” You asked, seeing Din give you a stiff smile as he gestured to his satchel that was along his shoulder and his hip.

“I have some things I wish to trade in, maybe they’re of good use to you and your shop,” he explained, walking over with his helmet under his arm and standing by your table.  You pointed to his satchel with a raised brow.

“Where’s your little friend?” You asked him in curiosity, seeing a soft smile on his lips.

“Gorgu is sleeping on the ship.  I know better than to wake him during one of his naps,” He explained, you chuckled as he broke out into a bigger grin.  He then reached into the satchel and took out some of the parts, “I think you might need these in your shop,”

“Let me see then,” You hummed, watching as he placed each part down on the table.  Once the last part was evident in front of you, you got to work and started fiddling with what he gave you.  Some of the pieces were simple, others were complex and seemed new.  You had to give him a questioning look.

“Where did you get these?” He asked, seeing him hum to himself for a moment as you sighed, “You can’t tell me, can you?”

“I'd rather not,” He replied, seeing you crack a grin as he sat next to you at an open stool, “But I know they could be used for good,”

“You always think that way,” You countered, “I think you’ve grown soft since we met some time ago,”

“I don’t think of that as a bad thing,” He agreed, you then were laughing as you took out a few smaller pieces from a massive part.  You placed the smaller pieces to the side and then tinkered a bit more, your eyes going over every piece as Din was watching with some patience and intrigue.  He’s been this way since you two became acquaintances some time ago, then allies.  He was reluctant to let you in at first, almost stiff in his speech and his answers to your questions.  Sometimes you wondered if he was going to return when he walked out the door, thinking you said the wrong thing or made the wrong gesture. 

But he would always come back, and an unlikely friendship was made.

There was even one exchange between the pair of you when you accidentally vented to him about the recent robbery at your shop. You didn’t mean, but you were frustrated in how most of your expensive parts were robbed and and your front door was thrashed to the point of not being able to stay shut.  Of course, as soon as you were done talking, you felt terrible unleashing that all on him since he was merely a person, a Mandalorian mostly, and he didn’t need to hear it.

But he surprised you by fixing the front door, staying the night in the shop to make sure that no other thefts were had.

“How has the shop been for you?” Din asked you while you examined the parts that were laid out in front of you, “No other thefts I hope,”

“Not with the improvements you’ve done on the door, it’s downright near impossible to crack a dent now,” You commented while you grabbed the pieces you needed and placed them on one side of the table before working on another part, “In fact, I think words have gone through the market about the low thefts.  I’ve barely seen any robberies in the past month or so,”

“Hopefully that doesn’t raise any alarms,” Din replied tentatively, you shaking your head.

“Not at all.  In fact, it’s been quiet and calm now.  The other shops are hunkering down more too and improving their doors and security protocols.  Families are roaming the streets again, Din.  All thanks to you,”

Din said nothing, but you it was deeply affecting him in what you said.  Perhaps he was not used to receiving kind words or compliments for his tasks or duties, it might have been a normal thing in the Mandalorian way of life.  But you wanted to tell him since it was the truth.  It was a ripple effect of sorts, one small act of kindness makes waves in a small village, and you saw the change amongst your neighbors and fellow traders.  

“Thank you,” He said to you, sounding sincere in it as you looked over at him and simply smiled back in return. 

“You’re welcome, and thank you for always listening to me.  It means a lot,” You admitted to him.  It might have seemed strange that you were thinking of him for simply listening to your rants and thoughts, he never needed to in the first place since you two were merely friends.  Not even friends, since he probably saw you as someone to simply do business with.  But with you, you admired him.  Admired his kind heart, the small hint of shyness and being reserved from others, and the overall awareness of others and what they needed from him.  

All he could do was smile and give a shy nod.  You went back to work along the parts, not realizing that you made his heart warm with your words. 

The End

April Prompt Session

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 2

Part (2) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Thought about holding onto this another night, but I could use some dopamine after some work bs that happened today (which is also why I only barely started catching up on all the comments and tags today before going quiet again... sorry - I'll try to respond to everyone tomorrow ❤️). It's only lightly proofread, and I'm apparently favoring shorter chapters currently. Also, I finished this from my phone, so sorry if formatting got weird

Warnings: Brotherly fighting, talk of hunting, nightmares with reference to gore/torture, heavy tension, profanity

WC: 2,379

“I knew you’d done something!” Sinker shouted, hand lashing out to roughly push Boost’s shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him from the couch. Boost was laughing too hard to defend himself, with Comet and I not far behind at the retelling of the Sergent’s unfortunate encounter with a slew of too curious gorgs. The thought of the stern man being relentlessly assaulted by the small, brightly colored amphibians, utterly oblivious to the pungent pheromone his brother had slathered on his armor as he trudged through the swamps of Naboo was a gift in itself.

“It… it was just a drop!” Boost barely managed to respond.

“Where’d you even get it?” Comet asked, voice strained as he tried to compose himself.

“It was… it was all over the markets – easiest way to hunt them.”

The lights were still too bright and the seats too soft, but the familiarity of this, of carefree laughter and unapologetic teasing was the perfect balm to an ache I’d nearly grown accustomed to. I sat lounging against Comet on a love seat caddy corner to where Boost and Sinker were seconds away from a one-sided brawl despite how near they were to the table holding their long forgotten, disassembled blasters. Wolffe had vanished elsewhere in the ship after relinquished the pilot’s chair to Warthog, decidedly ignoring the man’s grumbles about the apparently lacking capabilities of the civi transport, and Sinker had volunteered the explanation that the General was too well known to join us lest his presence attract the wrong attention.

“Hey, hey!” I cried out when Sinker’s foot bumped the table, darting forward to grab the corner before it could fall. “If you knock this down, I’m not helping you find all the pieces!” The attempt at a feigned reprimand was lost beneath the richness of my lingering glee. Boost sent his brother a toothy grin that only worsened the man’s scowl as he reluctantly returned his attention to his weapon.

“He doesn’t listen to me when I try to get him to get him to calm down.” Comet’s grumbled murmur drew a final chuckle from me as I pressed fondly against him. “It’s late. We should probably turn in.” He sighed after a few seconds of stillness, and I tried not to note the way my heart dropped.

“Yeah.” I relented, fighting the way my jaw threatened to tense at the thought of forcing myself to close my eyes, of the noises awaiting me in the coming silence. With a deep breath, I leaned away from the gentle man at my back, ignoring the brief moment of hesitation, the way I could feel his gaze linger on me as I got to my feet.

The ship was designed to allow each passenger their own room, but that privacy had thoughtlessly been forgone in favor of using those rooms for additional storage. The minimal space allotted for each hastily installed, wall mounted cot was a thing I’d long since become accustomed to with these men and spared no hesitation before taking the bunk below Sinker’s, but rest refused to grant me escape.

It was strange not having Crosshair’s arms around me, not hearing Wrecker’s snores or seeing the faint glow of Tech’s datapad. This squad would always have my love and trust, but the familiar sense of home no longer resonated in their presence, and after everything that had happened in the past months, I found myself desperate for that comfort long after noting the unmistakable cadence of sleep lengthening their breaths, and forced my eyes closed if only to feign joining them.

It's not real.

Crimson coated my hands.

It’s not real.

Blackened skin marked exactly where my pistol fire tore between the joints.

“This is your fault.”

Wet coughs sent waves of blood spilling down his chin.

Please tell me this isn’t real.

It didn’t matter how hard I pressed against the gaping wound in his chest.

“You did this.”

How tightly I bound the tourniquet.

“Traitor.”

How certain I was that this isn’t how it happened as the echo of dislocating fingers reverberated sickeningly around me.

Stop, stop, stop, stop.

False memories of my fist slamming into my brother’s face orchestrated by endless apologies.

“I’m not your brother.”

The look of hatred in his eyes as my finger tightened around the trigger.

“Ple-”

My body jerked violently away from the hand settling lightly atop my arm, diaphragm seizing to drag air into lungs burning with suffocation as my head snapped around in search of the source of that touch. And I froze. There was such stillness in those mismatched eyes as he looked at me, a silent understanding that threatened to break what miserable grip I had on keeping the sobs at bay.

Without a word, he stood back, shoulders weighted beneath the same sorrow and regret I knew I’d never be free of, face carefully neutral as he started silently toward the cockpit. I glanced hesitantly over the familiar forms lying atop the cots across from me, relieved to find no signs that I’d woken them in my fit before forcing myself to take several deep breaths and pushing myself to my feet.

Wolffe didn’t look at me as I slipped into the copilot’s seat, knees automatically tucking to my chest. The controls were different, the colors of the panels and the shape of the viewport nothing like the GAR ship we once frequented, but that feeling, the unrushed quiet between us as our thoughts settled and we felt drawn to speak for the comfort of connection in the stead of some need to fill the silence with empty, frantic words… there was such gentleness in that feeling that I couldn’t help but let the tension begin to slip from my stiff form.

“What happened?” He didn’t turn from the dancing hues of blue illuminating the darkness of space as his voice hung softly in the filtered air.

“A lot.” I whispered, granting myself a moment longer to remember how to speak, how to condense the need to purge everything, every violent emotion and overwhelming memory into words and sentences. “My brother’s dead.” From the corner of my eyes, I saw the initial surge of grief hesitantly shift into confusion, brows pulling subtly together though he didn’t push me to explain.

“He enlisted… or was drafted, I don’t know how exactly, but…” I watched that grief return in an instant, jaw tensing as his eyes closed.

“Devaron.” I should have been surprised, should have found myself wondering over the simple fact that he was familiar enough with my past missions to reach that conclusion, but it was almost a relief to not have to explain further, replying only with a small nod.

“I’m sorry.” His voice quieted, lips just threatening to pull into a scowl as his mind worked over what he’d just learned.

“I tried to save him… but I didn’t realize who he was until it was too late. He…” My throat tightened, and I had to let out a slow breath before I could continue. “He blamed me… When he saw me in that armor…” I found myself shaking my head as I shifted to rest my chin atop my knees. “He hated me, Wolffe…” That barely murmured sentence lingered far too long after tumbling from my lips, and I felt it grow heavier with each second of silence that followed.

“You want me to tell you it wasn’t your fault?” There could have been a harsh bluntness to those words. They could have been filled with boredom or impatience or pity, but they weren’t. He asked only because he thought I needed to hear the question, to hear how doubtless he was in his own conviction that I might remember how to breathe before my guilt destroyed me.

“No.” I answered quietly. Still, logic offered little comfort in the face of raw emotion. “But that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“Your brother died.” He stated simply, and my chest bucked at hearing that horrible truth spoken by another. “You’re not going to feel better. Not for a long time.” I knew how clearly the sorrow shone through my eyes as I finally turned to look at him, and I hated him for the honesty in his words just as much as I loved him for offering no false hope or empty platitudes.

“And your last mission? Can’t say I believe Hunter’s excuse of your ship needing repairs.”

“Clearly.” I retorted, glancing pointedly at the ship around us, but the intensity of his gaze didn’t waver, unphased by my feigned jab, and I had to turn away, teeth catching at my lip.

“One of my men got caught.” My voice sank into a quiet whisper, as though it might keep me from hearing my own words as I forced myself to answer him. “He was trapped. I don’t even think the guy who was did it was even a Separatists… pretty sure he was just a merc.” My tongue dragged haltingly over suddenly dry lips, heart racing at the memory of that fight; and the screams still echoing over the low hum of the engines.

“He wouldn’t free him… wouldn’t tell me how to get him out… not until I made him tell me.” Jaw taut beneath the effort to keep my breath steady, I turned back to him. “You want to tell me that wasn’t my fault, either? That I had no choice other than to torture him? That I couldn’t have found a way to cut the power or bribe him or hold off until help arrived?” It infuriated me how perfectly still Wolffe remained, expression locked in that passive stare.

“Do you think I give a damn that you tortured some money-hungry civi to save a brother? You think I’d do any less to save you? That any of us would do any less?”

“Do you think granting me permission makes me feel less like a monster?” I shot back, unable to chase the hint of a snarl from my face.

“This is war, kid.” He replied, a gentle apology woven through the softly spoken words. I felt the urge to snap at him threatening to wrench my lips into a scowl, felt my heart balk at the simplicity of his statement and how crudely that simplicity contrasted with the horrors it represented, but I allowed no reprieve in vying for some way to deny myself the forgiveness implied in that putrid truth, no release of my fury and guilt and hatred by arguing purely for the sake of flinging shouted insults absent thought beyond the base need to lash out.

I could feel him watching me as I forced myself back under some façade of control, but something seemed to shift, a heaviness that held the same tension I’d noted in him the day prior, and I found myself quieting my breath as I waited for him to speak.

“And the thing with the toothpick… how long’s that been going on?” It took barely a second to realize what he meant, what he knew, and my entire body froze, eyes widening as the air caught in my chest, mind racing too quickly for me to grasp onto a single thought long enough to make sense of the waves of dread and guilt and confusion.

“Closet doors don’t hide thermo-signatures.” He explained, voice carefully void of emotion, and my heart dropped. The damn closet. Cody must have already planned to speak to Wolffe immediately after his meeting with me to confirm the mission status… Of course, he would have been nearby…

“I… I don’t think that’s any of your business, Wolffe.” I said quietly, trying to force some measure of indifference into my voice.

“Is that so?” There was a darkness in those short words as he shifted just enough to catch my gaze from the corner of that pale cybernetic.

“No.” I stated more firmly, back straightening as I turned fully toward him. “It hasn’t been for a while… not since you let them take off this squad.” His brows drew together above eyes failing to hide the beginnings of anger.

“Is that what you think happened?” He asked, shoulders pulling back slightly.

“Isn’t it?” This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with him. These thoughts and fears and insecurities were never meant to be given breath, yet I couldn’t seem to stop them lest the conversation return to something far more dangerous.

“Did you ever tell them ‘no’?” The instant I saw the flash of remorse dart through him, I felt something break in me as I realized I was right. “Did you even try to fight for me?” I barely whispered as a fresh surge of devastation flooded my veins with ice. He didn’t need to speak for his answer to scream between us, and I couldn’t begin to hide the betrayal and raw hurt left in its wake.

“You didn’t… You just let them…” Some vain hope for denial forbade me from finishing the thoughts, silently pleading for him to prove me wrong, but he offered no whisper of reassurance.

“You were all I had, Wolffe…” I could hear how the words clawed up my throat amidst tears I refused to let fall. “I was… I was so… so scared, and you just let them take me away?” He refused to turn from me as the reality I thought I knew shattered. I wanted to ask “why,” wanted to shout and rage and sob, but that time had long since passed. Drawing a sharp, unsteady breath into my lungs, I finally turned from him, gaze trailing blindly across the control panel.

“No… What I do now… who I spend my time with… it’s none of your business.” It felt as though I were talking more to myself than to him, and the new silence that fell between us held none of that gentle familiarity that had seen me through some the worst moments of my life. For the first time, I couldn’t bring myself to stay, every cell demanding I flee from his presence. With another deep breath, I pushed myself to my feet, unable to even glance at him as I began walking away.

Next Chapter

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[aviationd]

The small arms and light weapons market report covers current market size and 10 year SALW market forecast. It is segmented by region, ty and end user

[novaonhere]

See You Later

Relationship: Cal Kestis x f!reader

Summary: Cal ends up being one of the causalities to the Ninth Sister.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Death, cussing, mention of blood, bullets

A/N: GET THE TISSUES, apologies,

Prompt: “Hey, at least I loved you till my very last breath, right? Like I had promised.”

(gif not mine)

————————————————————————

You sit beside Gabs, making small talk about dinner plans as you wait for Cal and Bode to finish interrogating the Senator. You and Gabs exchange many smiles and laughs, starting to share inside jokes.

You and Cal have been with this crew for a while, which happily surprised both of you. You haven't had a stable crew for a hot minute and were happy falling into a better routine with people you cared about and trusted.

This was the same crew that showed you and Cal how DESPERATELY in love you two were and finally just locked you in the ship's bathroom until you told each other. It was one of the twin's ideas, but they wouldn't tell you which one. Since then, you and Cal have been all over each other. It's been a few years since your first kiss, and things have been running smoothly, relationship-wise.

You fell in love with him more and more each day, especially since you both live a life-or-death type of lifestyle. You never know when your last day is with each other, so you make each one count.

Senator Daho Sejan sulks behind Cal and Bode, one smiling back at the girls and one giving a quick small grin. You nod to your boyfriend, knowing he isn't in realization mode just yet.

"I'm thinking we make your famous stew, (Y/N)," Gabs smiles, slinging an arm around you as you make your way toward the front of the ship. You laugh, reciprocating the friendly gesture. Cal's eyes lighten up by Gabs's words.

"Oh, we definitely should stop by the market then," Cal smiles, catching up to you. He slings an arm on your free shoulder, placing a kiss on your temple.

Of course, any nice moment in your life had to be interrupted by an explosion. Unfortunately, this one was too close for comfort. Boxes of ammo and weapons exploded in front of the crew, launching everyone backward. Everyone equips their weapons, waiting for disaster. A large ship lands just feet away from you as everyone branches themselves behind some intact boxes. Breathing heavily, you, Cal, and Gabs look at one another, the color leaving everyone's faces.

Bright lights shine down onto the crowd. You and Cal throw up your hands, trying to block the light, but keep a hand on your sabers, ready. Three ships enter your line of sight, one slowly lowering to land on the platform in front of you. The Senator takes this as a moment to shake his way in front of the crowd.

"What took you so long?" He cries out, stomping his way up towards the shadowy figure slowly emerging from the ship. "While you've been chasing shadows, I have been-" A burst of red light appears and in an instant, lands on the Senator. No, pierces through the Senator. Cal takes his free hand to push you behind him, watching the Senator slowly be dragged to the dark figure.

The figure grabs the Senator by the shoulder, hoisting him up. The red light from the saber illuminates their face.

"The Ninth Sister..." Gabs whispers out, pain and anger behind those words.

"You've been caught harboring a traitor," She says, clutching onto his shoulder harder. The Senator doesn't flinch, probably already dead. He retracts her saber back into her hand, flinging the corpse to the side. She turns to the group, both you and Cal in fighting stances.

"KESTIS!" She calls out to your boyfriend. He doesn't move a muscle but trying to Force you behind him. Confused, you try to push up next to him.

"Together," You state, making sure the rest of the crew was safe.

"Take care of everyone else," He frowns, glaring daggers at the beast. "She's mine." You nod, trusting your boyfriend.

"OPEN FIRE!" She calls out. In an instant, bullets are whizzing past your head as you duck for shelter. The twins call out and go charging before Cal can stop them. You turn to your right, reflecting bullets from one of the ships that were aimed at Gabs.

"GET INSIDE!" You call out to her. You dare peek to the ship seeing the boys trying to fire at the ship, but with the amount of armor, deemed a bit useless. As she stands up to move, she yells out. You don't hear what has been said, but feel her tackle over you. Two bullets graze way too close to your ear as you both fall onto the floor.

"Thanks G-" You choke. Gab's eyes aren't filled with light, the corner of her torso burnt and bloodied. You scream out, tears brimming your eyes.

Cal watches the scene play out as he also deflects bullets. In a fit a rage, he runs towards the Inquisitor. Everyone is screaming for him to get back, it's not worth it, yada yada. All you could hear was the two sabers bouncing off each other. Time seemed to have stopped, and this overwhelming coldness drifted over your body. Bullets flew past you, surprisingly, not hitting you at all. It wasn't until Bode pulled you back into him that you came back to reality.

The reality of a bright red light.

The reality of that light illuminating through Cal's chest.

Without much thought, you snatch Bode's gun and take two shots at the Inquisitor's head. Unfortunately, one bounces away, and one only skims her ear. She calls out in pain, retracting her saber and fleeing.

Cal's legs have yet to give out, but are so bent they're practically on the floor already. You drop the blaster and run. You've never ran so hard in your life, you thought your lungs were going to fly out of your back. Sliding up to your boyfriend, he collapses into your touch. You vision is blurred from tears as you brush his hair out of his face. It was wet with sweat.

His breathing is ragged and unsteady. His eyes are wide and staring up at yours. You look to his torso, but the sight only makes your cry out harder.

"(Y/N)," He whispers, shakingly reaching a hand up to your face. Tears pour down your face, watching the life slowly leave the redhead.

"No, Cal," You sob out, holding him tightly in your lap. "You can't leave, not now, not ever. I love you." Your lips quiver, your hands shake. His eyes start to roll back then focus on and off. "PLEASE!"

“Hey, at least I loved you till my very last breath, right? Like I had promised.” Cal smiles weakly, dibbles of blood coming out of the corners of his mouth. "I love you, do what needs to be done." And with that, he becomes cool to the touch.

Your sobs echo through the space. Your chest becomes heavy, your eyelids droopy, your face and lips chapped. You hold him tightly, bringing your face down to his, resting your forehead on his.

Bode and Bravo watch, arms crossed and winced. It took all of their willpower to start the dreaded walk over. To make it real, and not a shitty part of the show. Bode tried to separate you two but you kicked and screamed like a toddler. When he was finally able to separate you, you flung yourself into his embrace, wheezing and hiccuping from the lack of oxygen. Bravo picked up who used to be Cal, and followed you two to the ship.

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

You place a singular petal on Cal's chest. Bode and Bravo helped you set up proper burials for those who had died, and they left you to be alone with Cal for one last time. You shakingly place his light saber across him, letting one of his hands rest ontop of it. You stare at him, his face abnormally white, the freckles stood out even more. His hair was pushed out of his face, and his nose seemed more crooked than ever before. His eye bags had sunken in, as if he was ready for the best sleep of his life.

Leaning down, you place a long kiss to his forehead. And with that, you took a match and lit underneath the table. You couldn't bear to watch.

"See you soon," You hiccup out, trying to hold it together. Slowly, you turn around and head back towards the ship.

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

A/N: Great, now I'm depressed.

[haileybeehappy]

The Blacksmiths Daughter

Summary : You are the Blacksmiths daughter and apprentice, in a secret relationship with one of the queens guardsman

Word Count : 2.4k

Authors note : pure smut really tbh. Not like accurate to actual knights and shit. Also not edited

Warnings : Smut. P n V unprotected sex. Hair pulling. Fem receiving oral. Soft dom Harry. She calls him sir, but I mean, he’s a knight. Secret relationship I guess.

You watch as your father holds the blade up to Sir Styles, his head bowed in respect. Styles takes the blade from him, fingers skimming along the edge. The metal of the razor sharp sword glimmering under the dancing light of the fire

“It’s perfect,” a genuine smile stretched across his lips. “Thank you,” he nods to your father.

“It was an honor Sir Styles,” Your father then presents the sheath for the sword. Intricate leather scenes carved into the brown treated leather. The blade falling to his side and his opposite hand coming up to the scabbard. Fingers dancing over the sorry, starting with a small figure in a Forrest accompanied by a small house. A small figure, the same figure, a top of a horse. The figure, bigger now, sword fighting another with a crooked broken sword. Then again fighting with the same sword a large beast. Then he stands tall, atop the now dead beast, weapon presented high above his head. The second to last, a knight, kneeling below a queen as she grants him his knighthood. The last, the night standing tall, gracefully, surrounded by those who adore him. His eyes track the story. Face unwavering. He looks up to your father.

“Wayland,” his voice filled with admonition. Your fathers head shakes. Hand slowly rising up, finger extended to point to you.

“My leather worker is quite grand isn’t she?” You smile at the comment. Waving to the two men across the shop. Sir Styles sheaths his new sword, slipping into his belt he crosses the expanse of the forge and up to you. Where you rest behind your station. Tools laid all around you. His reach extending for your hand, you place your palm slipping over his. His large hand dwarfing yours in his hold. Pressing a feathery kiss to your knuckles he nods to you.

“Thank you, for it is almost as beautiful as you,” his voice not loud enough to reach your fathers ears, only your own. Your cheeks flush as you look away, unable to keep your eyes on his.

“Thank you Sir,” you exhale. Eyes darting around the shop to avoid his gaze.

“I’ll see you,” he nods. Turning to your father with a thanks and leaves the shop. As the bell rings, signaling the door opening and closing your father looks to you wide eyed.

“I told you he would love it!” His hands thrown up in the air. “Who wouldn’t?” He darts across the shop as fast as his short legs are able, heavy leather apron flapping as his knees hit against it. As he approaches you, your feet hit the ground. Hopping off the stool and allowing him to wrap his arms around you. His build only slightly taller than yours. Large shoulders and arms from years of work, a round taught belly and a slightly scraggly beard hangs from his chin. He breaks his embrace. Looking to your eyes.

“I am so proud of you, I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter,” you smile admirably at your father. Tears in your eyes at his confession.

“Thank you, I couldn’t have asked for a better father, you’ve done so much for me. Taken me this far. Taught me your craft, I am so proud to be the daughter of Artemis Wayland,” his eyes become glassy and he pulls you in for another hug. Your face buried into his chest you breathe in deeply and sigh out. He smells of metal, fire and sage. He finally breaks free from you. Wiping fallen tears from his cheeks.

“I am going to get us some food from the market,” his voice steady once again. Booming off the walls. “Sir Styles always pays us handsomely so we will eat well tonight,” a large smile showcases his crooked teeth. “What are we thinking? Venison? Fish soup? Oh! I know,” he looks up from his desk, where he was searching for the bag of coins Sir Styles had left. “I can pick up more honey from the bee keeper, yes,” he says more so talking to himself. He continues to mumble and jumble as he heads toward the door, coins jingling around in his pocket as his heavy steps leave the shop. Bell ringing, echoing off the walls. You laugh to yourself and decide to get back to work. You pick up your tools and begin to work at the next piece you are making. A portrait of the queen that will be secured to the saddle of one of her guardsman’s horses. The door in the back of the shop opens. Assuming it’s your father you look up, quiet footsteps round the corner and you see him, Sir Styles. A large smile on your face, he approaches you, arms outstretched. You jump into his embrace, large arms catching you. Nose nestled into the crook of his shoulder. He gives you a spin before you unbury yourself from his neck. Green emerald eyes licking with yours for a spit second before dropping down to your lips. You lean forward and his mouth locks onto yours. Your hands love from their grasp on his shoulders and cup his face. Fingers scratching against the stubble on his jaw. You pull back, lips separating from his, a nose scrunching smile etched into your features.

“Happy Birthday,” your voice drilling with happiness.

“Thank you my love,” he pulls you in for about her kiss. Walking forward slowly until the small of your back bumps your work station, your legs still wrapped around his tall frame. You let a small whine as his hands dig harder into your bottom. Lifting you so your weight comes to rest on the sturdy wood table. Releasing his hold on your ass his hands find their way to your hips, kneading comfortably as he continues to press hard kisses onto your lips. Your hands trail down his neck, grazing across his collar bones, down the caverns of his chest to rest at the exposed skin. The float black shirt he is wearing uncinched, revealing the two bird shapes on his skin. Evidence of his travels with the queen, marked by pirates they say. He pulls back eyes still closed as his forehead rests on yours.

“We mustn’t take it too far my love, your father could come back soon,” his fingers finding a pinching grasp on your chin. Guiding you to look at him as stands tall again. You whine and lean into his touch.

“He has to go see the bee keeper,” you sake your head. “He won’t be back till the clock strikes again,” you say referring to the chimes that ring hourly. That has rung just minutes before as you worked. He smirks lightly.

“Then we have time,” his lips connect with yours again. Kiss quickly heating up, his hands running down your hips to the bottoms of your thighs. Slipping under your skirt and into your undergarments. Stopping at the crease of your thigh. Fingers running up and down the soft skin of your inner thighs. You whine at the tease, his tongue poking out to dance with yours as your mouth is agape. He tastes of fruit and wine, remanence if his celebration with the other knights you presume. You separate from him before connecting your mouth to his chin, trailing kisses down his jaw, across his neck until you find solace at the base of his neck. His grip between your legs tightening as you suck and nip at his hot skin. A growl like noise reverberates through his ribcage. He then yanks your undergarments down your thighs, you lift your body slightly so he can free them from your legs. Your lips disconnecting from his skin, once the beige colored cloth is discarded to the floor he drops to his knees. You mewl at the sight of him below you. His hands separating your knees he disappears under your skirt. His bottom lip skimming along the soft skin, slowing trailing to your center. Your hands grip the edge of your desk as he lays a kiss against your clit. Barely light enough to feel. Your hips jerk forward on their own accord, his hands hooking into your skin to keep to spread out in front of him. His tongue licks a long flat stripe against your folds. Humming at the taste of you, his nose grazes your clit as he licks up you me slit once again. Your head drops against your shoulders and a moan wracks through your body.

“Harry please,” you whine as he continues to tease your clit. “Make me feel good,” you plead. He smiles against you before shaking his head slightly.

“It’s my birthday,” his voice husky. “I’m going to eat my sweets,” and he dives back in. Still only licking through your folds. You let go of the table with one hand and slip your dress all the way up to your hips. His eyes look to you as you grasp at his hair and drop down, back flat against the desk. Tools digging into your skin uncomfortably, goes mostly unnoticed, as most of your attention is on the man between your legs. He finally begins to edge at your clit, the moans escaping your lips rising in pitch as he presses harder and further into you. Your hips moving on their own accord as his lips then wrap around your clit. Your fingers gripping his hair tighter, pushing him against you.

“Please Harry I need more,” you whine, your head thrashing on the wooden table under you. One of his hands unfolds from your thigh and inches toward your center, very, very slowly. “Harry please, please, I’ll be so good for you please,” you’re back arching in anticipation. “Just need to feel you Harry please,” you beg, he loves when you beg. Two fingers find your entrance, circling in a teasing manner. You pick up your head and slam it back down onto the table. “Fucking fuck!” You groan. A chuckle comes from Harry, vibrating your clit between his lips. The sensation bringing you the the edge. Closing your eyes so tight you can see bursts of color. His fingers dive into your soaking core, the sound leaving your body closer to a scream than a moan. He pulls back, head resting on your thigh.

“Come on baby, come on,” he coaxes you and dives back in. Sucking and slurping at you as you writhe in pleasure. Your orgasm hits you hard, heels digging into Harry’s back as your fingers pull at his dark brown curls. Hips and shoulders holding you to the table as your back arches deeply.

“Good girl, yes, such a good girl,” he murmurs as his fingers work you through your orgasm. The moans escaping you bouncing off the walls of the shop. Pleasure courses through your body, making the tips of you toes and fingers tingle from how hard they’re clenched. As you come crashing down you see Harry is now stood in front of you, palming at the front of his pants with one hand. The other still playing between your folds, whines of overstimulation escaping you. Your hands resting on your thighs come to push his away. He deters you with a smack on your wrist.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby,” he confirms as you move your hips move to escape his touch. “Gotta get you ready for my cock yeah?” He asks, his voice low and playful. You shake your head.

“I can take it. Harry please, I want it,” your hips still jerking away from his touch.

“Okay, okay baby,” his hands leave your body and push his pants down around his knees. “Comere,” he demands as he pulls you closer to him from where you scooted up the desk. Slotting himself between your thighs, angry cock protruding from his hips. His hand grazing up and down your thigh, soothing you as he lines himself up. You sit up, your chest meeting his, his hand comes up from your thigh and pulls at the strings holding your chest into the taught fabric. Yanking the corset from your frame he exposes your skin. Leaning down he kisses at the newly exposed pieces of you. His warm mouth encapsulates your nipple just as he sheaths himself fully inside you. Burying his dick completely inside you, waiting a moment for you to adjust as he plays with the sensitive bud in his mouth. Your hands playing with the curls at the back of his neck as his hips slowly, painfully pull away from you. Making you feel empty. He finally pulls away from your breast, only to find the other. Eyes pinched closed as he slowly pushes himself back into you. A gurgled moan escaping you as he finds the soft spot inside of you that makes your thighs clench around his frame.

“Oh my god Sir, yes, please,” the name setting him off. His thrusts gain strength and speed. Kissing up your neck he begins to leave sparse light marks along your skin. Teeth nipping at you just enough to enhance the pleasure shooting throughout your body. His right hand quickly finding your clit and the other wrapping around the back of you and pulling at your hair. You can feel the orgasm starting to build in your tummy, walls fluttering around his large cock inside of you. His breath becoming shaky and the noises escaping his throat loudening.

“Fuck please,” you plead harder as you get closer and closer.

“I’m close baby, I’m close,” his lips mumble into your neck. “Hold on for just another minute, wanna come with you baby,” you whimper but nod at his request.

“Fuck, Harry, come for me please,” the voice leaving your mouth not of your control. “Fill me, please I need you,” your hands pulling at his hair the same way his are tangled in yours.

“Fuck, yes, come for me,” he groans. Settling himself deep inside of you, head of his cock pressed painfully into your cervix. Your orgasm unleashes through you, body falling into Harry’s hold as he props the both of you up through your orgasm. You whimper into his neck. Teeth scraping against his skin as you press open mouthed kisses into the plush of his neck. Your name leaving his lips as you disconnect yours from his. Looking to the dark purple mark on his skin, adorned with light bite marks.

“Such a good girl,” he hums as you moves to connect his lips to yours. You smile dumbly into his lips. His hand resting at your chin as he pulls away. Thumb moving back and forth. “Always so good for me,” you lean into his touch.

“Thank you Harry.” You giggle.

“I assure you, all the thanks are for you,” his eyes scanning your face, content smile resting on his features. “For making this the best birthday of them all,” you look away with a blush on your cheeks.

“Whatever,” you laugh, pushing him away. He then proceeded to pull his pants up his legs and readjust his shirt back onto his shoulders. You shuffle yourself off the table and drop to the floor. Pulling your corset closed as tight as you can and quickly tying it up. Harry comes kneeled below you, undergarments I’m hand. You smile as him as he hooks them through one leg, than the other. Sliding them up your legs, dress catching on his arms as he glides them all the way up your legs. Placing a kiss on the inside of your parted legs. Before standing up and letting your skirt fall back to the floor.

“Come to mine tonight, yeah?” He asks. You nod and smile.

“Of course,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your nose.

“I love you,” he sighs.

“I love you,” you emphasize. He just nudges your nose with his, kissing you quickly again. He leans to grab his new sword and sheath, smiling back at you before leaving through the back door, just in time to hear the front door open and your fathers voice ring through the store.

“Hope you didn’t get too bored without me! Let’s go cook up some dinner!” A smile still carved into your features.

“Of course father!”

[bigbadivy]

I was grateful for the warmth of my horse's neck. I held on to her as she galloped through the city, skillfully going around people who ran everywhere. Searching for shelter in the night, but Only worsening the chaos.

Another lighting struck a building me, causing another yell of screams.

"EVERYONE HOME NOW!"

I shouted, praying that my voice is heard to all through the thunderstorm.

"DIRECT ORDER FROM THE KING!"

"HOME NOW!"

My horse, steadfast as she was, ran through every street. Inspired by her persistence, I kept yelling to the crowd. Ignoring the thunders, the pouring rain and my rattling sword.

We kept going until the crowds dissapeared. I whispered to my horse to slow down, caressing her neck. I allowed myself to lead her to a small market stall, where we could rest from the rain.

Maybe, just maybe, we finished our part. Maybe our night now ends.

"HELP!"

Of course.

I jumped down and ran towards the voice.

"My sister!

She is stuck under the fallen tree!"

I turned and searched for a tree in my eyes, but there is no... NO

The sound of an unleashed sword stood out against the rain.

I sprut towards my horse, but my sheeth was already empty.

Of course. Someone will try to use this disaster.

This will be a long night.

I saw the blade's shine from above me, and recognized a person climbing the nearby stone building.

She balanced herself on a window, then swiftly brought herself to the next.

"Halt!"

Whether she heard me or not, she made no sign to care. So be it.

I got on my horse and stood up on her saddle. My legs shook, but I managed to hold on to grab at the side of the closet window. I tried to move legs up to it, thankful for the empty street. There was no crowd who saw me wobbling in my armor. I looked up to the stranger, she watched me from afar. I couldn't see her face well, but her head was tilted to the side in an amused way.

I let go of the window's side and started taking off my armor, leaving only a dirty shirt to fend me from the cold. Slowly but surely, I climbed up.

I was cold, clumsy and sluggish, but had a small smirk as I managed to make my progress. This troublemaker picked the wrong knight.

The roof was just above me.

I raised my hand to climb there, and a lighting struck above it. It was the closet one I saw. I would want to believe that it's power made me tremble, but nothing but my own terror caused me to lose my grip.

I fell and- No.

A hand caught my arm, and I grabbed the roof tightly. I felt myself being pulled up signed in relief as rested on concrete matter.

The woman crouched down next to me. Her hood's shadow covered her eyes, but I could see her cocky grin clearly.

"You screamed a little, sir craven."

This could go unmentioned.

I inhaled and looked right into her.

"Thank you,"

The cold was taking it's tall at my exposed skin as I tried to keep my voice confident.

"But I cannot let you steal a weapon of the king's knights.

Tell me where the sword is and we both can go home safely."

Just let us go home.

"I have no evil motive,"

She said assuredly.

"It is right there."

She turned around and I could see my sword.

It was a few meters behind her, emedded in the center of the roof.

"And it needs to stay here. This is the only way to keep the lightings at bay."

She did not sound like she was lying.

And if she had any intent to harm me, she would have already done so.

But danger wears many faces.

I started getting up.

"I am sorry, it is my role t-"

A radiant white light crossed from the sky to the roof.

By incstinct, I tackled onto the hooded woman and placed myself between her and the light. I stayed above her, careful not to let us touch and make us both defensless.

Shaking, I waited for a strike.

"We are safe, craven."

Her voice was so sweet, I could barely tell it was the same person.

"Look."

I slowly opened my eyes.

Her hood fell, and revealed a freckled face and a beaming, knowing smile. Her sparkling, green eyes gestured to the sword.

I unwillingly turned back to it.

It was magic.

The very next lighting struck it as well.

"How?"

Her smile grew brighter.

"A witch never tells."

The white lights only highlighted her eyes. She was far more mirthful than I ever thought a witch would be. Far bolder and kinder, too.

I realized that I was smiling as well.

"Also, you have an awful method to protect someone from a lighting."

She said, deciding I was too happy.

"But, thank you, you are..."

Her smile turned softer.

"Yes?"

I urged her to continue. It was my turn to smirk.

"You are not as much as a craven as you seem."

I tilted my head, still smirking.

"Try not to drool too much, my lady."

She merely rolled her eyes and I laughed. Feeling safe for the first time since the night came.

My smile died down when she started getting up.

"Thank you for your chivalry,"

The witch said, pushing dirt of her cloth.

"and the amusement, of course."

I moved aside to let her stand, yet my eyes were unable to let go of her. I did not even know her name.

"But it seems like your duty is done and mi-"

"Wait, just..."

She did.

The cold barely mattered anymore. I searched for a reason, an excuse, for her not to leave. The way her eyes stared into me made it seem like she was looking for an excuse, too.

"Tell me what is needed to protect the city,"

I said then. Praying that the glint in her eyes was not just my imagination.

"I can get more weapons, and people who will embed them wherever is required."

The witch merely stared at me. Looking for any sign of dishonesty. Then her childish grin came right back.

"If you manage to climb down without fainting, I might just cooperate, sir craven."

Her taunt only made me smile.

"Your challenge is accepted, my lady."

I gestures to the roof's end, bowing a bit. She bowed dramatically, holding her hood with both hands as a dress. Her movements were swift and gallant as she jumped to the window, and soon I started following her.

There was a long night ahead of us.I did not mind that at all.