#and even though he’s largely expressionless in this

[burrowdarling]

My MVP II (18+)

Summary: What happens after the NFL Honors, especially after your ride back to the hotel. Read part one here!

Pairings: boyfriend! Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: oral (fem receiving), light spanking, elevators, Joe praise, sex (p in v), MDNI

Note: Heyo! Here's part two: The Hotel Room from My MVP, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you all so much for the love on the first one, which has over 600 notes in 3 days (like what?!?) Happy Superbowl Sunday, wish we had our boys playing, but smut always help with that right?

Word Count: 2.8k

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 @hotburreaux @lilfreakjez Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

You tried your best to keep pace with Joe’s long legs as you trailed behind him, fingers knotted through his. He Handed his keys off to the valet, his face expressionless as he did so. You felt your cheeks flush at the knowledge of what you had just done, knowing some stranger was about to get into the same car. Trying to keep your face down, you mumbled a thank you to the man as you passed him by. The walk wasn’t long, but your short legs were no match for Joe's long strides. 

“Joey, can we slow down? It’s hard to walk in these damn things,” you pleaded, wishing you had taken them off and reaped the consequences later. 

He wordlessly obeyed your request, slowing his pace slightly so you could catch up. Joe took the opportunity to release your hand, slipping his own protectively around your waist to keep you close. You walked through the sliding doors of the hotel lobby, Joe making a beeline for the elevators. The wait was short, glad to have gotten an elevator all to yourselves. Joe pressed the ‘close doors’ button as fast as he could, making you giggle.

“Someone’s eager,” you said, trying to spin to face him. You were feigning for his touch, still riding the high from your first orgasm. It was nothing compared to what Joe could give you, him knowing your body better than you did.

Joe pulled you tightly into his front, the feel of his cock straining against his dress pants making your breath hitch in your throat. The thought that this could stop on any floor, anyone could walk in had your pulse thrumming. Joe leaned his head down to the crook of your neck, mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“Do you know how badly I want to fuck you right now?” Joe asked as more of a rhetorical question, “how badly I wanted to rip this dress off of you before we even got out of the car at the venue?”

He slipped the back of your dress up, keeping your front covered. You let out a gasp of surprise at the sudden breeze on your backside, feeling more exposed than you were in the car. You were shocked, unsure of what to do with this new side of Joe. He was always so reserved when it came to you, but tonight was like he had flipped a switch of his own.

“I’m regretting letting you put your excuse for fucking panties back on right now,” he groaned, giving your ass a smack and a squeeze. Joe took the chance to grind himself against you, a moan slipping from your lips at the feel of him, desperate to have him against your bare skin

You made it out of the elevator unscathed, in a desperate pursuit to find your room. You fumbled with the keycard, unsure as to why Joe entrusted you with the job considering his composure was much better than yours. He waited patiently though, large hands on your shoulders while you went through your bag to find it, slipping it out of your purse and only dropping it to the floor once before you both made it in the confines of your room. 

The moment you passed the threshold, Joe was on you. You had only taken a few steps in as your back was against the door as it closed. Joe’s mouth was everywhere on your skin, lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

He walked you backwards to the center of the room, mouth never leaving yours. When he was satisfied with your placement, he left one final kiss to your lips before parting from you. You groaned at the loss of contact, confusion over your features when he took a seat in the armchair. 

“I want you to strip for me, sweetheart,” Joe growled out, eyes heavy with desire. His eyes were so blown with lust, you’d give him anything he asked of you. 

You walked towards him silently as you spun around, needing help unzipping your dress. You felt his large warm hands move up your back before settling on the top of your back. Joe gave you a short stroke of his thumb as a way of saying he was there, using his other hand to move the zipper down to the base of your spine. You walked back towards the middle of the room, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves as you turned back to face your man.

You hesitated for a brief second, processing his request fully under his domineering gaze before he gently nodded towards you as a sign to go ahead. He dropped you a wink before giving you a small smile, reminding you that your Joey was still here, even if he was putting on this persona tonight. You wanted to please him, give him the proper celebration he deserved. 

You pulled your hair to one side, exposing your shoulder and the skimpy strap of your dress. You locked eyes with him, taking your hair and moving the strap to slip down your arm. His eyes never left yours, licking his lips as he was unable to settle into the chair fully. You could tell he was ready to jump your bones, holding himself back to preserve this moment for as long as possible. You moved to drop the strap from your other shoulder and watched as the fabric pooled around your ankles. You stepped out of it as Joe moved from his stop on the chair. He had you in his arms, tossing you like you weighed absolutely nothing back against the pillows on the bed. You erupted in laughter, feeling heat pool in your stomach at his sheer size and strength.

You were laid back on the bed, knees bent and your heels sticking into the duvet. You watched Joe as he started to rid himself of his clothes. You admired him, feeling a strong pull of lust and love for the man before you. A well of pride sat heavy on your chest that you were able to shower him with the love and affection he deserved, to treat him like the MVP you believed he was to you. You watched as he reached around his neck, getting ready to slip the chains off for the night.

“Keep them on,” you spoke softer than you meant to, breathless at the sight of him, “you never wear jewelry, I wanna enjoy it.”

Joe nodded at your request, beginning to remove his jacket while leaving the chains around his neck. His skin was taught, his muscled chest finally being within your reach after he wore that suit all night. You got up from your place on the bed, moving on your knees to meet Joe where he was standing. He took the last of his clothing off, tossing it to the side before turning towards you. You took your opportunity, slipping a delicate hand up his chest and settling on one of his chains, giving a soft pull towards you. Joe groaned at the feeling of the taught jewelry at the nape of his neck, nipping at your lips in praise. His hands settled on your ass, gripping your cheeks in both hands before giving them a tender squeeze. You gasped at the sudden touch, Joe capitalized on the moment to slip his tongue in your mouth. Moving one hand to the middle of your back to support your body. 

It was raw and full of passion, unfiltered and encompassing the pent up emotions of the day.  Your hands were lost in his hair, gripped whatever you could to keep your head from spinning. Joe laid you back on the mattress, getting to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed. Much like he did earlier, he took the time to take off each one of your heels

“As sexy as these are, I wanna be able to move you around freely and not risk taking a heel to the face,” Joe joked lightly, slipping off your heel as he kissed up your calf. You nodded in agreement knowing you weren’t the most coordinated person. Even in intense moments like this, he always knew how to keep you comfortable. He repeated the same on your other leg, taking the time to move slowly up your body. Joe didn’t leave an inch of skin untouched by his lips as he settled at the apex of your thighs. 

“God you’re fucking dripping for me, sweet girl. How do you want me first?” Joe asked as he toyed with you, stroking the area just above your pubic bone causing you to stir.

“What do you mean first?” you question him, you did already finish once tonight. Your mind went blank at the possibility of just how much he wanted to wear you out tonight.

“You heard me, I plan on getting you to cum multiple times tonight. How many times do you think I can make you finish him? Once, twice, maybe three times if I’m lucky” Joe said with such confidence in his voice that your body trembled with excitement. 

“Though I think we both know I don’t need luck for that. I know just what makes you tick, exactly what my girl likes” Joe said as he brought his hand down between your legs, swiping a finger through your slit before moving up to circle your clit with his thumb.

The simplicity of the touch already had your back arching off the bed, having been craving to have his hands on you for hours. He took his free hand and brought two fingers up to your lips, tapping them to get you to open. He slipped them inside, thoroughly wetting them like you did earlier. Your eyes stayed locked on his gaze as he slipped them past your lips with a pop. You could tell he was imagining his cock in your mouth, drawing a lazy smile to your lips as the later probability. 

He brought the wet digits down to your core, slipping them inside of you as he pumped them in and out slowly to start. You were already beginning to lose it, your  body wound so tightly, it wouldn’t take much to get you there. He increased his pace as he changed the angle of his fingers, moving them in the ‘come here’ motion as he kept hitting that certain spot inside of you. In perfect rhythm, you were on fire from his touch as you were seconds from losing it, his movements unrelenting. Your hands gripped the sheets, knuckles going white at the sheer pleasure he was causing your body. You felt electric, a simple spark could send you reeling. You tossed your head from side to side against the pillow, eyes clenched shut from the pleasure coursing through you. You were so close to the edge, fighting to get to the point of that sweet release.

“I'm so close, Joey. I wanna cum for you like a good girl,” you moaned, stirring something inside of Joe at your words. It was as if he took your words as his own motivation to get you there, feeling how close you were.

“That’s it, cum all over my fingers baby,” Joe praised as your high ripped through your body, feeling a bit sensitive from your previous orgasm. “Number two will be with my mouth, I gotta get a taste of you.”

Before your mind could uncloud from the high, Joe’s tongue was already slipping inside of you lapping at whatever he could get. Your hands settled into his hair, pulling him closer to your body as you possibly could. You were a moaning mess, earning a groan from Joe in response that only made things feel more intense from the vibrations. It didn’t take long for you to finish on his face, grinding down to ride out your high that came so fast out of left field. This one feeling more intense than the first, the realization dawning on you that you had just squirted all over Joe. A small pit formed in your stomach that he would be upset somehow, propping yourself up on your elbows to look down at him between your legs.

His gaze met yours, telling you everything you needed to know. His pupils were blown so wide with lust. A look that said ‘don’t you dare feel bad for that’ while he made no move to part from you. He tenderly licked as your breathing even out, lapping at your juices like he was deprived. He moved to make his way up your body, flipping you around and lifting your hips so you were on your knees. He climbed on the bed to settle behind you, leaning down to bring his mouth by your ear. 

“You have no idea how hot that was, watching you do that. I can’t wait for number three to be around my cock, I already know your cunt is so fucking wet for me,” Joe growled out as he brought his mouth down to you, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

You hadn’t spoken much, mumbling back an incoherent string of sounds that were meant to come out as words. Joe laughed behind you, pulling you up from your hands to rest back against him. You leaned your head on his shoulder, taking the time to breath before he would wreck you with his unrelenting thrusts. He gave your temple a kiss, gripping your breasts and toying with your nipples. He already had that knot in your stomach forming again, the pressure building in your center with an ache to have him inside of you.

“Need you inside me, Joe,” you whined against him, reaching your hands around to get any part of him in your grasp. 

“I can’t deny my baby what she wants, good to hear your voice still works for now,” Joe said as he moved you back to your hands and knees. You arched your back and wiggled your hips, ready to have him inside you. You pushed back against him, feeling his hands on your hips to stop your movements. A low whine slipped past your lips, ready to beg for his cock to be inside you already when he slipped in without warning.

You moaned loudly at the fullness of having him inside you, dropping your head in relief at the contact. Joe’s grip on your hips was firm as if he was taking out all of his pent up tension and the nerves from the night out on your body. You weren’t complaining, relishing in the thrusts and feel of his body coming into contact with yours after each one.

He pulled out quickly, flipping you onto your back before quickly finding his way back inside of you. He dropped to his forearms above you, caging you into his body as you locked eyes.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, i wanna see your face when I make you come undone on my cock,” Joe said as he deepened his thrust more than you thought was possible.

Your hands were clawing at his back, trying to ground yourself into the moment, every delicious stroke making you lose more and more of your sense of control. You felt yourself tightening around his cock, your release on the edge of tipping. It was as if Joe knew exactly where you were, dropping one of his hands between you and rolled your clit with his thumb and forefinger, the touch acting like a catalyst to your orgasm. You were a mess below him, arching up into his body as your nail raked down his toned back. 

Your release brought Joe to his own, painting your walls with his own cum shortly after you. He slowed his strokes, the both of you feeling sensitive to the slightest touch after your highs. You both laid there and caught your breath.You brough one of your hands to cup his cheek, Joe leaving into the gentle touch in the aftermath of everything.

“Congratulations, Joey. That was way better than any afterparty’” you said, giving him a peck to the nose as you giggled. Joe’s hand found their way to the sides of your face, still propped up on his forearms.

“Let’s get you cleaned up baby,” Joe said as he picked you up in his arms to bring you into the bathroom. Your body felt tired, but your desire was still high.

“Round two in the shower?” you questioned, wiggling your eyebrows at him making him let out a laugh and you to pout, “I didn't get to reward you properly. Someone was too caught up in my pussy to let me.”

“Let’s get in there first and go from there you minx, a man needs a moment to recover.”

[cupofteatoyou]

The Secret Between Us

The last place you wanted to be was on a red carpet. But he asked you to come — and you went, like you always did when he looked at you that way. Like you were something breakable to be protected. Even if your heart wasn't all in it. So here you were.

Camera flashes lit up the night as youand he stepped out of the car. His hand rested at the small of your back — reassuring, comforting. Your daughter clung to your other side, her small hand grasping yours with a tight hold.

You fixed the hem of her skirt and smiledat her gently. "Just stick with me, okay?"

She nodded, her large eyes darting over the lights, the crowd, the noise.

You weren't a celebrity. Not like him.

You hated this person of attention, always did. But you insisted it would be okay — that you had to be seen. And some part of you wanted to think that. That you were here. That the past wasn't anymore.

But then you saw her.

Alexia.

Standing across the room, near the stage, looking stronger — and more distant — than ever. Her suit crisp. Her face expressionless. Surrounded by other players and reporters, she looked completely in her element

You didn’t look her way. Not directly. Not even once.

But you felt her there. Like gravity.

Still, you stayed close to him. You smiled softly when he leaned in to ask if you were okay. You nodded. You always nodded. And your daughter — sweet, sharp-eyed, and blissfully unaware — hummed quietly as she sipped apple juice through a paper straw.

You almost made it through the night.

Almost.

But kids never time anything well.

“Mommy,” she tugged at your hand, standing on tiptoe. “I have to go.”

You glanced up at your partner mid-conversation, gave a quick squeeze to his arm. “We’ll be right back.”

You threaded through the elegant chaos of the hall, gently guiding her along the marble floor until you found the restroom near the corner of the venue — quiet, dimly lit, tucked behind a velvet curtain.

It was almost peaceful inside. Cool tile. Soft lighting. No cameras. No stage lights. You breathed easier the moment the door shut behind you.

You helped her into one of the stalls, humming something under your breath to calm your nerves — and hers.

She chatted softly while you fixed the bow on her dress, completely unaware of the world outside that door. Completely unaware of the woman standing by the sinks.

You didn’t notice her at first.

Not until you straightened up, turned around—

And froze.

Alexia.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your stomach dropped.

You met her eyes in the mirror. Alexia. She looked just as composed as she had across the room — if not more so. Her expression unreadable, her presence overwhelming in the quiet of the bathroom.

“Didn’t think you were the award-show type anymore,” she added casually.

You gave a small, polite smile. “I’m not.”

A beat passed. Her eyes flicked toward the stall door, where your daughter was humming to herself behind it.

Alexia raised a brow. “She yours?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t know you had a kid,” she said, drying her hands on a paper towel. “Guess a lot’s changed.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It has.”

She didn’t press. She just gave you that look — the one she used to give when she was biting back something sarcastic.

“You and him, huh?” She nodded toward the door, meaning your boyfriend. “He’s… tall.”

You blinked, caught between confusion and amusement. “He plays football.”

“Figures.”

There was a weird silence then. You knew her well enough to tell when she was holding something back — and she clearly had something to say. But she didn’t. Not yet.

Before either of you could fill the quiet, the toilet flushed, and your daughter came out of the stall. Alexia glanced down at her again, offering a faint, polite smile — more awkward than warm. “She looks like you.”

You smiled gently. “Thanks.”

“She’s cute. Definitely not yours, though — she’s too confident.”

That made you laugh, just once — short and quiet — and Alexia smirked like she’d won something.

But your chest still ached.

Your daughter padded over to the sink, standing on tiptoe as she tried to reach the faucet. You instinctively leaned forward to help her, but she waved you off with a stubborn little frown.

“I got it, Mommy,” she said proudly, sticking her chin up just a little. “I’m a big girl now.”

You smiled softly, backing off with your hands raised in surrender. “Okay, okay. Big girl rules.”

She managed to twist the tap on with both hands, the water splashing a little as she struggled to keep it at just the right pressure. Her brows furrowed in deep concentration while she lathered the soap across her tiny fingers.

Alexia watched the whole thing in silence, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

Something about the scene must’ve amused her, because she let out a quiet chuckle. “Bossy little thing, huh?”

You glanced at her. “She knows what she wants.”

“I can see that,” she said, her tone light, but her eyes didn’t leave your daughter’s face.

Your girl rinsed her hands and reached for a paper towel, standing on tiptoe again to get one from the dispenser. You moved to grab it for her, but she beat you to it, yanking one free with a proud little “Ha!”

Alexia raised a brow. “Big girl energy.”

“Every single day,” you said, smoothing a wrinkle in your dress while your heart thudded in your chest.

You could feel Alexia’s curiosity, even if she wasn’t voicing it.

“She’s got your attitude,” she added with a small smirk, glancing briefly at you. “God help your boyfriend.”

You gave her a tight smile, saying nothing.

Your daughter finished drying her hands and walked up to you, hugging your leg as she looked up at Alexia with a shy, curious expression.

“Mommy?” she asked in a whisper, still holding onto you.

“Yes, baby?”

“Who’s that?”

Alexia let out a soft laugh, crouching slightly so she was closer to her height. “Just a friend of your mom’s,” she said, her voice warmer now — instinctive, without thinking.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because the way she looked at your daughter — even for a second — held something deep. Unspoken. But still… she didn’t see it.

Not yet.

You reached down and gently stroked your daughter’s curls, your voice quiet. “Say goodbye, sweetie.”

“Bye, nice lady,” she said, and Alexia gave a small wave in return, still crouched.

“Bye, big girl.”

She stood, brushing invisible lint off her pants. Then she looked at you one last time, her voice lower this time.

“She’s… great.”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “She is.”

And then you turned, walking your daughter out of the bathroom with your heart hammering, wondering how much longer you could keep this secret.

“There you are.”

You glanced up to see your boyfriend walking toward you through the hallway, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored suit. That soft, easy smile was already on his face — the one that never failed to calm you, even when your chest was buzzing with nerves.

“Hey,” he said, bending slightly to meet your daughter’s eye level. “You okay, mi reina?”

She nodded proudly. “I washed my hands myself .”

“Oh?” he gasped dramatically. “Look who is growing up quickly!”

She giggled, slipping her hand into his without hesitation as he stood again. “Come on,” he said warmly, offering you his other hand. “They’re about to serve dessert.”

You took it, grateful for his steady presence as the three of you walked back through the ballroom. You tried not to glance back toward the hallway. You didn’t want to think about who was still in there. About whether she had heard your daughter’s voice. About whether she had noticed.

Your daughter tugged on her boyfriend’s hand. “Do you think it’s chocolate?”

“I hope so,” he said. “Otherwise we’ll have to file an official complaint.”

She laughed, totally enchanted, and for a moment — just a moment — you let yourself breathe.

You reached your table and he pulled your chair out for you before helping your daughter into hers. The moment was smooth, natural, familiar. No fanfare. No awkwardness. Just comfort. And stability.

You sat down, smiling faintly, and watched as he leaned over to whisper something to her. She covered her mouth to hide a burst of laughter, and he looked over at you with a wink.

And you thought — this is the life you chose.

Not chaos. Not heartbreak. Not ghosts of what used to be.

The days since the award show had passed in a blur, but Alexia couldn't seem to shake the encounter. It wasn't just the awkwardness of the bathroom moment — though that certainly hadn't helped. It was the nagging feeling that there was something she was missing. Something in the way you held yourself, the way you’d interacted with your daughter. And now, in the stillness of her office late one evening, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

At first, she told herself it didn’t matter. You were long gone from her life. You’d chosen to leave, and so had she. There was nothing left to discuss. Except for the kid.

She hadn't given it much thought at the time, but the more she thought about it, the more unsettled she became. The little girl — she’d seemed so familiar. But she couldn’t pinpoint why.

It wasn’t until Alexia was scrolling through social media a few days later that she noticed it — and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

There was a photo of you and your daughter, your arms wrapped around her protectively at some recent charity event. But it was the child’s eyes that held Alexia’s gaze, frozen to the spot.

Those eyes.

It wasn’t just a resemblance. It was unmistakable. The same deep-set, almost-melancholy shade of brown Alexia had carried with her all her life. The same intensity, the same sharpness that anyone who had spent enough time with Alexia could recognize. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat.

She leaned closer to the screen, narrowing her eyes, not believing what she was seeing. The child’s gaze locked with yours in the photo — the same soft curve of your smile, the same way you tilted your head as you spoke to her. But it was the eyes that pierced her.

She blinked slowly, trying to shake the thought, but it refused to leave. The child’s gaze seemed to pierce through the screen, almost as if it was beckoning her to understand something she wasn’t ready to face.

The more she stared, the more the weight of it all settled in her chest, tightening like a vice. This doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t be real. She couldn’t have missed this. The child wasn’t hers — was she?

Her heart raced again, a mix of confusion and frustration. She had always prided herself on knowing things, on reading situations clearly. But now, nothing made sense. She had seen you move on. She had seen you happy with your boyfriend, a life she never expected, but this… this was different.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that no one in your family had eyes like that. Not you. Not your boyfriend. No one. It couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it? Her fingers gripped her laptop tightly, the screen still illuminated with that haunting image. She wasn’t sure if she was looking for answers in it, or if it was just the only thing she could focus on as her mind spiraled into uncertainty.

Her gaze drifted down to the other photos that followed — the ones of you laughing with your boyfriend, the way your daughter seemed to belong in the mix. And then, she saw it again. The connection. The little girl’s eyes, her eyes. They were so much like hers, it felt like something in her was unraveling.

Alexia’s breath hitched. She couldn’t stop the tide of thoughts crashing through her, each one more overwhelming than the last. She had seen you in so many photos over the years. She had seen how you smiled, how your expressions shifted, how your personality reflected in everything you did. And yet, she had never seen anything like this before. Not this… connection.

What if?

The question lingered, heavier than anything else she’d been asking herself. What if the little girl was hers? What if everything she had ever known about her past — their past — had been a lie, kept from her for all these years?

Her hands were trembling now, the phone slipping slightly as her thoughts spiraled out of control. She couldn’t even think clearly. All she knew was that something had been taken from her. Something important.

How could you have kept this from her?

The more she looked at the child’s face, the more the emotions boiled within her. Anger. Betrayal. But most of all, hurt. She hadn’t been part of this. She hadn’t been given the chance to know. She hadn’t been part of a chapter of her own life.

She closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing thoughts. It wasn’t just the child. It was the years that had passed. The way things had ended between them, and the overwhelming sense that they had left her out of this entire chapter. This secret. This piece of her own history that had been hidden from her.

Her chest tightened again. Was this a family she had never known about? Was she really supposed to just accept that she was the last person to find out?

She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this to herself.

And then, almost instinctively, her fingers tapped the screen once more, bringing up your name, searching for something — anything — that might explain this. But all she found were the same photos, the same stories of your life without her.

Alexia stared at the photos again, wondering how it all had happened. And then, she saw it: a picture of you at a charity event, your daughter by your side, smiling brightly, her eyes… still unmistakably like Alexia’s.

It’s her eyes, Alexia thought again, her mind racing in a thousand different directions.

She didn’t know why, but the realization hit her hard. The girl looked at the camera with the same intensity, the same focused expression Alexia had worn in her younger years. And then it hit her harder — the truth. The child didn’t look like anyone else in your life. She looked like her.

Her mind was a blur, but one thing stood out. Alexia couldn’t sit with this feeling any longer. She needed to know.

But how? How could she ask you? What could she even say?

She sat still, her mind frantic, each thought colliding into the next. She stared at the screen, almost waiting for something to happen — a sign, an answer, something to break through the chaos of her emotions.

For the first time in a long time, Alexia didn’t know what to do.

The silence in the room stretched for what felt like hours. Alexia couldn’t take her eyes off the picture of the child. The one with her eyes.

The silence in the room was suffocating.

Alexia stared at the photo like it might suddenly change, like the child’s eyes would stop looking like hers if she just blinked hard enough. But they didn’t. They never would. And the longer she sat there, the more unbearable it became.

Her hand tightened around the phone that was sitting beside her laptop.

No more sitting. No more thinking.

Her fingers hovered over her phone this time , but not over your name.

She didn’t know your address.

Of course she didn’t — why would she? It had been years. You had built an entirely new life, and she hadn’t been part of it. But someone else had been.

Alba.

Alexia’s jaw tensed. She remembered in passing — not long after the breakup — that Alba had mentioned helping you move. At the time, Alexia hadn’t asked. She hadn’t wanted to know. But now?

Now she needed to know.

Without another thought, she scrolled to her sister’s name and hit the call button.

It rang once.

Twice.

“Hola?” came Alba’s voice, groggy and confused.

“Alba,” Alexia said quickly, her voice low and urgent. “I need you to tell me where she lives.”

A pause. “Who?”

“You know who.”

Alba was silent for a beat too long.

“You’re calling me at midnight to—”

Alexia cut in, her voice tighter now. “This is serious. It’s about her… and the girl.”

The other end of the line went quiet.

Alba finally sighed. “Alexia, what’s going on?”

“I can’t explain right now. Just… please. I need the address.”

Another pause. Alexia could hear shuffling, the sound of Alba walking through her apartment, maybe finding something to write with.

“You’re not going to cause a scene, right?”

Alexia didn’t answer.

“I’m texting it,” Alba said, quietly. “But you should think about what you’re doing.”

I’ve been thinking about it for days, Alexia wanted to say. And it’s tearing me apart.

Instead, she ended the call with a tight, “Gracias,” and waited.

A moment later, the address lit up her screen. Her heart thudded so loudly she could hear it in her ears. It was real now.

She grabbed her jacket.

She didn’t even think about the time — didn’t care if you’d be angry or confused or stunned at the sight of her on your doorstep.

She just knew one thing

She couldn’t keep staring at photos, wondering if that child was hers.

She had to look you in the eye.

And finally ask.

The front door clicked shut behind you as you set your keys on the small tray by the entrance, the familiar jingle echoing softly in the hallway. The air inside your home was cool and still, a comforting contrast to the buzz of the busy restaurant you’d just left.

Your daughter kicked off her shoes in a practiced little routine, placing them side by side near the door with exaggerated care. “Done,” she declared proudly.

“You’re getting too good at that,” you teased, shrugging off your jacket and hanging it by the stairs.

“It’s ‘cause I’m big now,” she said, dragging her unicorn backpack behind her as she headed toward the living room. “Can I have ten minutes of cartoons before bath time?”

You gave her a look — playful, but firm. “Eight.”

She gasped. “You drive a hard bargain, Mama.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, walking over to the kitchen to grab two water bottles and a couple of strawberries for her to snack on. Everything felt so normal. So routine. Dinner had been easy, light — your boyfriend made her laugh until she snorted lemonade out of her nose, and he’d held your hand under the table when no one was looking.

This was the life you’d built.

And for a while now, it had felt safe.

You walked back into the living room to find your daughter curled up in her usual spot on the couch, the blanket around her legs and her favorite cartoon already playing. She looked up when you set the strawberries down.

“Thank you, Mommy.”

You ruffled her curls, then sat beside her with a soft sigh, letting yourself sink into the couch cushions. You hadn’t thought much about that night — the award show — since it happened. You’d forced yourself not to. Maybe it was denial, or maybe it was just survival.

Your daughter was humming softly to the cartoon, completely absorbed in her little world of flashing colors and playful characters. You turned your attention to her for a moment, letting her laughter fill the quiet space of the room. It was a small, perfect piece of normal.

But even as she laughed, you felt the edge of something unsettling at the back of your mind. You pushed it away.

You stared down at your phone for a moment, absentmindedly scrolling through a couple of notifications. Another message from your mother, just checking in, and you typed a quick reply, reassuring her you were both home safe.

Then your gaze flicked to the window, catching the soft orange glow of the streetlights outside. The night was still and calm, but your stomach tightened.

A soft knock at the door interrupted your thoughts.

You stood up slowly, thinking it was probably your boyfriend or maybe one of your neighbors stopping by. It was a quiet evening after all, but the knock still made your heart rate pick up, like something about it didn’t feel quite right.

You glanced toward your daughter, who was still blissfully unaware, her eyes glued to the TV screen, completely content in her little world.

Another knock came, and you shrugged it off, deciding it was just someone who had come by for a casual visit. Maybe your boyfriend had forgotten something, or one of your neighbors had a question about the community garage sale happening next week.

You walked over to the door, still uncertain but not overly concerned. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, you turned the doorknob, half-expecting to see your boyfriend standing there with a sheepish smile or maybe one of the neighborhood kids needing something from you.

But when you opened the door, it wasn’t who you expected.

Standing there, just outside your doorstep, was Alexia.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body stiffening for a split second as the reality of the situation hit you. Alexia stood there in casual clothes, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, her expression unreadable.

She looked… almost out of place. The athlete, the confident and poised professional — she looked far more human now, softer somehow, with an exhaustion in her eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

You blinked, the shock of seeing her at your door momentarily paralyzing you. “Alexia?” You said it like a question, like you couldn’t quite believe your eyes.

For a moment, she didn’t respond, just stared at you with that quiet intensity, as if trying to read your face, searching for something.

Your first instinct was to close the door — to push back the memories, the silence, everything. But you didn’t.

Instead, you stood there, heart pounding in your chest, wondering what on earth she was doing here. You’d never told anyone about your past with her— especially not your boyfriend,noone except your parents . And suddenly, with her standing at your doorstep, everything you’d kept hidden felt like it was on the verge of spilling out.

Alexia stepped forward slightly, her voice coming out soft but sharp. “I… I need to talk to you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath. “About what?” you managed to ask, your voice betraying more emotion than you’d intended.

Her eyes flickered to the side, and that’s when you realized she was looking past you, glancing into your house. The tension in the air shifted slightly, and you suddenly felt very aware of how exposed you were standing there.

She cleared her throat, not quite meeting your eyes again. “It’s about your daughter.”

[angelbby555]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ stone cold

Summary: The daggers watch an expressionless girl light up when Bradley comes up up behind her.

Word count: 700

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

All the daggers tried to guess what was wrong with the girl sitting quietly at the bar. Dog got run over by a car, fired at work, boyfriend cheated on her. Your face was naturally pulled into a sad expression leaving the group wondering what was wrong with you.

Bob had gone to the bar to order a drink and couldn't help and ask if you were okay. You flashed him a tight lip smile and nodded. For some odd reason they were expecting you to trauma dump all over him. The moment Bob left, your eye feel back into that cold distant gaze. Your lips falling into a frown and your eyebrows falling back down into place.

"Yeah she looks like she's had rough life." Jake remarked while they all obviously stared at you from across the bar.

"Probably walks through hell and back, and consider it a regular day." Coyote add stealing the pool stick away from Jake's hands.

"Hey where's Bradshaw?" Natasha asked turning to look back at the pool table. He always seemed to be somewhere, that everybody else wasn't. Bradley was always the last the join the group parties and turns up late to work.

"Doing whatever adventurous things little birds do" Jake said with a scoff not really caring if Bradley was here or not.

After a round of pool and drinks the daggers were looking for entertainment again. They all avert their gaze back at you, still sitting at the bar with your stone cold resting face. Analyzing you like you were a piece of art up for interpretation. Everything about your sad features were beautiful like the cold snow. You looked intimidating to talk to, since you didn't smile at all, but that made you more alluring.

"Oh my god rooster going up to her." Mickey announced to the daggers even though all of them had noticed.

"Give it up you got no chance." Payback mutter what all the group was thinking. Bradley looked like a ray of sunshine while you looked like a rain storm.

The group did not blink as they all observed Bradley walking up to you with a smile on his face. He came up behind you and covered your gloomy eyes with his hands.

"No shot." Jake shook his head.

They watched Bradley whisper something in your ear before kissing you there. Their jaws were on the floor, no way was Bradley acquaintances with the depressed looking girl.

Your hands cover over Bradley large ones. Your whole face lit up. The sorrowful look had completely vanished off you. Your smile was contagious and bright. You didn't look like a mean girl, but the sweetest one to drop the earth.

You turn to look back and gently pry his hands off your eyes. The moment his hands uncovered your eyes, your full attention was to the 6 ft tall pilot behind you.

The only way they could describe the look in your eyes was in love. Like Bradley was the only man to ever exist. They watched Bradley nod his head at you, before you leaned back to kiss him.

"You got to be kidding me." Reuben said in disbelief.

It was absolutely nuts for them to witness true love in action especially with none other than expressionless girl and Rooster. They watched you transform before their eyes all because you held so much love for Bradley.

After that you were introduced to his friends. Obviously Jake was the first to speak up.

"Wait so you're not sad?" He asked the question everybody was wondering about.

A shy laugh escaped your lips as you looked up at Bradley with nothing but admiration in your eyes.

"No, no this is just my resting face." You shook your head. Now that you weren't looking Bradley was gazing down at you with a love sick expression like he could hang the moon and the stars for you. "But I get that a lot."

After a few weeks you started to grow comfortable around the group and didn't look intimidatingly stern like you used to. A small grin was on your face now, but not a smile that reached your eyes like when Bradley was around.

It was clear that you to held a special connection.

couldn't find any lonely girls at the bar pinterest pics so we resorted to the blonde girl,

[kissandtellus]

Could you write something with brat tamer zayne and sylus please? 🥹

Brat Tamer: Zayne & Sylus

Warnings: Smut, spanking, punishment, mention of small wound, collar and leash.

Zayne~

“Did I say you could look at me?” Oh. Y/n KNOWS she’s in trouble. As if being bent over Zayne’s lap, his white lab coat still over his shoulders and his large hand punishing her cheeks wasn’t enough of a clue.

She just wanted to give him those big and wide puppy eyes. But even that was beyond how much she acted up today.

It had all started with simply refusing to eat the nutritious breakfast he cooked for her. His hours with her were already short, but she decided to just have a piece of toast, because she was busy. Even though he said he could pack it up for her.

Okay, fine. He could let that slide.

But then it came time for his break. The two always met up at the Akso Hospital garden. But she had sent him a quick text right as he found a comfortable bench.

“Sorry. Can’t make it. Xavier asked me to spar with him. See you at home!” She ended it with a cute little snowman emoji.

Okay, fine. Having good connections with coworkers was important.

The last straw came in the form of her refusing to talk to him after her hard work day. She had clammed up, and would turn her head aside at dinner whenever he questioned her.

“No. Use your words, Y/n. I am not doing this with you.” Uh oh. Y/n knew that tone of voice.

But still she insisted on keeping her mouth sealed.

“It’s nothing, alright? Just drop it.” That did it. Zayne dropped his fork onto his plate, standing up as he carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“Bedroom. Now.”

And the rest was history. Her poor little ass cheeks were a rosy red. Zayne had his fingers hooked in her waist band of her panties to pull them flush between her cheeks so the outline of her drooling lips were visible

Every 3 spanks was then accompanied by his fingers sliding over the outline of her clit through the soaked fabric. Y/n was sniffling and sobbing, squirming from the overstimulation. Zayne’s face was expressionless when she started to beg.

“Z-Zayne!”

“Wrong.” He pinched her swollen pearl between his index and thumb.

“D-Dr. Zayne!” She corrected herself immediately. “I’m gonna cum Gonnacumgonnacum!”

“No.” He pulled his hand away completely and released her soaked underwear. The fabric clung to her sticky folds and she actually cried as the heat in her stomach raged on. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The kiss to the back of her head was nearly ice cold.

Oh she couldn’t hate but to love him.

Sylus~

Sylus was a man that always had a schedule. A strict schedule.

Most of that schedule including Y/n. His sweet Kitten who could do no wrong in his eyes-

“Present.” He nearly purred to the woman at his feet on the plush, faux bear rug. The pretty red collar around her neck jingled as she crawled with her back to him, breast against the rug and ass arched deliciously so.

Sylus hummed, taking a sip from his wine cup. “Already wet? Are you wet because you disobeyed me? Or maybe because you enjoy putting your life in danger?”

It was neither of those, not really.

Sylus would have taken the bullet if she didn’t intervene. The target was a lot more slippery than Y/n anticipated.

Sylus stared down at her bandage wrapped arm and his heart throbbed. He’d carried her to his car and stayed silent, aside from his one hand pressing on her bicep to keep the wound from gushing blood.

But now she was at his home, his domain. He stood silently from his seat and kneeled down next to her.

She was stripped naked aside from the collar and chain. He grabbed the leather handle and-

“Bad kitten.” The handle came down right across her aching cunt. She gasped out loud, body lurching forward. But Sylus hooked two fingers in her collar to keep her still.

“No. You are going to learn to follow my orders. Ass up, Kitten. Let me see how disgusting you are.”

Y/n lost count of how many swats her pretty pussy took but all she knew was the bear rug was ruined by her dripping juices.

“Clean it up. Mouth only. Then I’m cleaning that wound and we are going to bed.”

Maybe she should’ve let him take the stupid bullet.

[corellianhounds]

An alternate universe where the Mandalorian never turns the child over to the Client.

Pilot episode begins as normal with the Mandalorian retrieving a bounty and heading back to Nevarro. This Mandalorian moves a little more stiffly, handles the bounty a little more harshly, as if he’s had an even harder life than the one we the audience have come to know. His armor is a different patchwork assembly of materials and trophy pieces scavenged from his successful hunts, in addition to a beskar helmet and one vambrace with what one might assume is red paint. It’s hard to tell.

The Mandalorian is even more on guard once inside the Stormtrooper safehouse, obviously uncomfortable, and his gaze never wavers as he listens to the Client while he makes the offer. His hand is never far from his holster.

When he accepts the job and goes back to the covert, down payment of beskar in tow, everything proceeds as normal, save for the conversation with the Armorer as she prepares the forge for the casting process. His voice is almost unrecognizable, hoarse from disuse, a gruffness that’s more pronounced and world-weary than we’ve come to know in canon, further evidence of an even harder life.

“This is extremely generous,” the Armorer says, looking over the ingot. “The excess will sponsor many foundlings.”

“That’s good,” the Mandalorian says. “… How are they faring?”

“They are doing very well,” the Armorer replies. “They will be happy to see you.”

The Armorer prepares the forge to make the pauldron for the Mandalorian, and as the music ramps up we see the same flashbacks as before, the stamp of the forge and flickering lights harkening back to that day on Aq Vetina so many years ago. The Mandalorian remains rigidly in place, unflinching as the Armorer works, his mind’s eye filled with images of a terrified family racing through the streets as their friends and neighbors are shot and killed in the midst of an assault on their city. The flames of the forge settle once more and we barely get the glimpse of a brown-eyed child in red robes being rushed to the safety of an underground shelter before we cut back to the expressionless mask of the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian leader bestows his armament, placing the pauldron on his shoulder herself, and we cut to the Razor Crest’s descent on Arvala-7.

Events proceed as normal all the way up through the assault on the Nikto bandits’ encampment. Though the Mandalorian’s disdain for droids is clear, he and IG-11 still blow a hole in the hideout and follow the tracking beacon to the metal pod half-hidden beneath netting and supplies. When it opens to reveal a small green creature with large, dark eyes, the Mandalorian stills in his tracks.

He never asks IG-11 for clarification regarding the target’s age. He never asks IG-11 anything because the second the pod opened the Mandalorian realized what the occupant was and had already made a decision.

A shot rings out. The assassin-turned-bounty-droid falls to the floor inert, and the Mandalorian cautiously reaches out his finger to the child, seeing him reach back.

The Mandalorian leaves for his ship that night, pushing through the injuries sustained in the firefight with the Niktos. His dogged trek back to the Crest puts his arrival right at the beginning of the Jawas’ scrap haul, and he readily dispatches them with the rifle before assessing the damage to his rig. The Ugnaught helps him here too, piecing the ship back together and fortifying it for flight off-world. The Mandalorian thanks him, and the discussion turns back to the bounty before the Mandalorian is set to depart, asking for assistance with one other project.

“What do you suppose it is?” Kuiil asks. “I worked in the gene fields for years and I’ve never seen its like.”

“A child,” the Mandalorian says. “That’s all that matters.” He’s stooped next to the boy, keeping him steady with a gentle hand as Kuiil fastens a small bracer around his forearm. When it clicks into place it lights up, and Kuiil carefully presses a sequence into it before it emits a high-pitched whine that makes the boy shake his head, tugging at the Ugnaught’s grasp.

Kuiil gently pats his head with his other hand. “The noise will go away after a minute.” Then to Mando: “Do you have the code you wish to input?”

Mando nods and the Ugnaught watches as Mando presses another sequence along the bracer before locking it in place. The Mandalorian grunts, satisfied, shifting the boy’s sleeve back down around the bracer once all of the lights are blue. The tracking fob on the Mandalorian’s belt goes dark and silent. He picks the boy up and settles him against his hip as the boy wriggles his arm free, looking down at his sleeve.

Mando addresses Kuiil again. “I can’t thank you enough for your help. Please allow me to pay you for the trouble.”

The Ugnaught shakes his head, turning to walk away. “There will be no peace until the old ways of the Empire are gone forever. I’m happy to help.“

The Ugnaught stands at his homestead and watches as the Razor Crest swiftly lifts off red clay soil, turning its nose skyward and ascending to break the atmosphere. It does not return to Nevarro.

What follows is a season different from canon, one where the Mandalorian takes different contract jobs where he can but steers clear of official Guild business. The child is always by his side, and though we can’t see Mando’s face we see how he cares for the little boy, providing for and protecting him at every turn. The dichotomy of the Mandalorian’s character is seen in how quickly he falls into the parental role versus how he treats those he deems a threat, readily removing both pauldron and breastplate to let a baby sleep against his shoulder while in the same day snapping a man’s wrist for laying hands on the cradle. He removes his gloves and allows the child to play with his hands as he sits on the floor across from him, provides him with improvised toys, and he even seems to hum as he walks the length of the ship and back with the boy in his arms, bedtime accompanied by a gravelly voice finding use again in soothing a restless child. When the child absently gnaws on his calloused knuckle the Mandalorian lets him, gently stroking the boy’s cheek with his thumb as he pilots one-handed. It’s as though he’d always been meant for this role, slotting seamlessly into place.

The Mandalorian’s vicious protective streak reaches new heights too. Instead of what we’re used to seeing in Din offering everybody at least one chance, this Mandalorian only offers it half the time and even then seems reluctant to do so. He can’t take as many chances— The patchwork armor of trophy pieces and improvised protective gear isn’t as resilient as Mandalorian iron; there’s no full beskar cuirass or whistling birds since he never returned to Nevarro to collect payment from the Client. During all of their travels he fends off thugs, mercenaries, and hired guns of every kind, showing no mercy to those who threaten or try to use the kid as leverage against him, demanding what beskar he does have. Shoot first, ask questions later.

Interestingly enough, however, none of his adversaries are other Guild hunters. Anyone he runs across are people trying to prove something by gunning for a fight (something he’s used to, having been a Mandalorian for almost thirty years now), or trying to scavenge the beskar, or they’re enemies from his past with scores to settle.

The job he takes with the crew at the chop shop has a very different feeling to it. For one, it isn’t Ranzar Malk running the garage but his brother Tyko. Mayfeld is still the same as he is in canon, and though Burg is similar to what we know, he’s not sizing up the Mandalorian like before, and the Devaronian is missing most of one horn. He lingers in the back, his arms crossed as Zero joins them, Xi’an not far behind.

There’s no catty Harley Quinn-esque taunting and flirting with Mando this time around. When Xi'an joins the group she’s collected and silent, watching Mando from the corner of her eye as Tyko briefs the lot of them on the mission and plans out their route to and through the prison ship. Mayfeld, the only one not familiar with Malk’s crew from before, tries for a couple of jabs but none of them really land because nobody else joins in, and we can see him slowly start to feel the creeping unease the Mandalorian gives the others from his presence in their midst. On the Crest the Devaronian and Twi’lek give him a wide berth, keeping to the other side of the hold, and when Mayfeld’s the one to prompt a scuffle, reaching for the Mandalorian’s helmet, Mando reacts swiftly and fends him off. The door to the bunk still opens, revealing the kid, but before Mayfeld can close the gap to pick him up, Mando lands his last blow with a vibroblade straight through the edge of Mayfeld’s shoulder padding, just to the left of his bicep, pinning him to the wall.

Mayfeld’s doing his best not to show his panic, and though the others approached when the fight started they’ve still stopped several feet away, this time telling Mayfeld to back down. That Mando’s still needed for the mission.

Mando lingers with his hand on the hilt of the blade, his thumb hovering over the safety that would switch the vibroblade on and easily slice right into the meat of Mayfeld’s arm. He stays there long enough to make his point clear before jerking it out and letting Mayfeld stumble away, Mayfeld swearing as he does. Zero latches onto the prison ship and they drop down below as planned.

Everything in The Prisoner still goes as it does in canon (though with the characters changed just a little to the left in their regard of Mando), and when Ranzar Malk is revealed to be the prisoner they’re extracting, Mando’s caught in the middle of the ambush from the others, putting up more of a fight when he realizes the betrayal. The sequence that follows is harder hitting and bloodier than we see in canon: Burg eventually gets his hands around the Mandalorian’s upper arms, holding him in place for Ran to get a couple shots in.

“That’s for Alzoc III,” Ran snarls, ramming a fist in Mando’s gut and spitting on the face of the helmet.

The Devaronian lets go of one of the Mandalorian’s arms as he’s doubled over, putting both hands onto one shoulder and wrenching his arm out of socket. The Mandalorian lets out a strangled yell. “That’s for double-crossing us,” Burg growls.

The Mandalorian gasps, barely standing as Burg holds him by the arm. Xi’an ends with stabbing him between the ribs, up close and personal as she digs the knife in to the hilt just to the side of his armor. “And that’s for my brother.”

They shove him into the prison cell, harsh laughter echoing down the halls as they make their escape.

The Mandalorian looks down for the count. We watch as he drags himself, bleeding, upwards against the cell wall, assessing the droids outside in passing. He pants unevenly, gingerly assesses the stab wound with a shaking hand and grunts again in pain. With a steadying breath he steels himself and rolls his dislocated shoulder back into socket, yelling again. One injury fixed, he peers out of the jail cell again with his hand on his side, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.

When Mando breaks free the hunt that follows is severely personal and merciless. Blood drips down his side and leaves a trail through white corridors. How he separates the criminals is similar to before, getting each of them pinned before ending with his stand-off with Malk. Ran makes the same bargaining negotiation as Qin does in canon and Mando still shoots Zero in the cargo hold before returning to the Roost with Ran in tow.

Tyko pays out the money to the Mandalorian, as promised, though it’s clear the brothers aren’t happy with how things shook out with the rest of the crew. Mando departs, they get ready to fire on his ship, the New Republic X-wings show up as before, having followed the tracking beacon Mando took from the prison ship and planted on Ran, and the chop shop is destroyed just as Mando planned.

The Mandalorian is uncharacteristically stiff in the cockpit, his movements jerky and labored. The kid coos, trying to get his attention, but as soon as the navicomp charts their course and they jump to hyperspace, the Mandalorian exhales raggedly, adrenaline finally running its course as he slumps over in his seat.

The child can sense something is wrong and wriggles out of his own seat, padding over to the Mandalorian. He shakes the man’s leg, worried when he doesn’t respond, and we see his gaze track to where the Mandalorian is still bleeding from Xi’an’s stab wound, his flightsuit darkening by the second.

The child’s eyes widen in alarm and he clambers up over his guardian’s boot, climbing his pant leg and over his lap until he can reach the Mandalorian’s side, blood pooling where his breastplate doesn’t cover. The child strains to reach the injury while keeping his balance, closing his eyes and holding out his hand, and very slowly we watch as the flow of blood beneath the suit stops and the wound knits back together as if it were never there.

There’s a long moment still before the Mandalorian takes a shuddering breath, jolting upright and nearly dislodging the child before catching him on reflex as the boy’s eyes slip close and he slumps against Mando’s chest. The Mandalorian looks around, feels at his side, and— in frustration at not being able to see with the angle he’s looking— takes his helmet off just above the view of the camera. He pulls his glove off with his teeth and he goes to feel his side again, his hand only bloody on its retreat from skimming his clothes. The knife wound from the Twi’lek is healed entirely, the muscle smooth and the skin unmarred. He gasps again, disbelieving, before he realizes the child is unconscious in the crook of his opposite arm. We see over the Mandalorian’s shoulder, just past brown hair going silver at the temples as he worriedly checks for the child’s pulse and breath. The tense moment holds, silence in the flickering light of hyperspace, before we can see the Mandalorian relax with a shudder, reassured that the boy is still alive. He gently tries to wake him, slipping his thumb into the boy’s hand, but the child doesn’t move.

Mando brings the child up against his chest, squeezing him gently in an all-encompassing hug before tucking him under his chin and standing from the pilot’s chair, the audience still never seeing his face. He turns back towards the ladder behind him while the camera lingers on the dash and the helmet smeared with blood, his retreating reflection warped in the visor.

Though we leave the found family on a good note, the next episode begins back on Nevarro with the Mandalorian covert that still remains below ground, having never had to expose themselves because Mando never returned with and subsequently stole the child back in the first place. Above, the marketplace is a buzz of gossip: rumors travel fast in a town like theirs and it becomes apparent to the audience that both the Guild hunters and Imperials from the safehouse are angry about the biggest target that sector had seen in a century suddenly dropping off the grid. Karga, a veteran Guild broker and diplomatic businessman, has his hands full mediating between short tempers left and right. Regular citizens are wary of leaving their homes and Karga sees hunters harassing others in town as competition for work stokes tempers even higher. The Client is furious, his stony expression betraying nothing but the tone of his voice making it quite clear what he thinks of Karga’s “most valuable partner.”

The Mandalorians of the covert discuss their options, knowing that if any of them are seen aboveground now of all times, they’d immediately be considered a target by association and hauled in for questioning, if not killed on the spot. The foundlings are packing bags, tools and supplies and blankets and toys hastily assembled or forced to be left behind. They don’t know what happened to the bounty hunter but it’s clear Nevarro is no longer safe for them to remain there.

Night’s beginning to fall as a rumble of thunder shakes the earth. The Client and Dr. Pershing’s furtive argument is cut short as they glance in the direction of the noise. Civilians halt in the streets, searching the sky for approaching ships. Hunters straighten in the cantina and go to the windows, looking out as others in alcoves outside begin to emerge, on guard. Mandalorians in the tunnels freeze for only a moment before mobilization efforts pick up double time at the Armorer’s orders, all of them knowing trouble when they hear it.

Three ships kick up dust and gravel as they land on the port city of Nevarro, two carrying troupes of sleek, efficient gunmen that pour out into the town square as an Outland TIE fighter descends behind them.

The next episode picks up with the Mandalorian muttering to himself as he unfastens hidden compartments in his ship, obviously in search of something. His visor occasionally darts to the cradle where the child sleeps cocooned in a muted red blanket. Frustrated by whatever it is he can’t find, the Mandalorian sighs and answers an incoming holo from another employer about a job.

When he arrives at his destination he places one ungloved hand on the child’s chest, needing the reassurance that he’s still breathing and just asleep, before he leaves and locks the ship behind him. The hunt follows the Mandalorian like normal— a local fetch and ferry to get enough credits for food and fuel— but it’s clear he’s impatient to return. How the camera moves as he wraps up the job and cuffs the target gives the audience the distinct impression that he’s being followed.

The Mandalorian has to intimidate the commissioner into paying out the full price promised for the job and he leaves silently once the man forks over the credits. He slips between people in the crowded marketplace, and as he rounds a corner the camera follows him, only to reveal an empty alleyway.

Greef Karga scans the alley, confused, and behind him in the blurry background we see a figure silently lower from the scaffolding and drop to the ground, grabbing Karga’s shoulder and whirling him around to slam his back against the wall.

The Mandalorian remains still as Karga yelps, clasping his wrist and breathing a sigh of relief at realizing who it is.

“What are you doing here,” the Mandalorian demands, his voice low and dangerous.

“Easy Mando, it’s just me, I’m sorry—”

“What are you doing here, Karga? Start talking.”

Karga shoves him off, irritable but evidently unafraid of the Mandalorian with a blaster still aimed at his chest. He looks around, lowering his voice too. “There’s a problem. We need to talk.”

“You followed me for two hours to talk with a gun in your hand?” Mando says flatly.

Karga scowls, holstering his pistol. “This is the Ring of Kafrene, you think I’m stupid enough to let my guard down here? Listen, I had to find you— Something’s happened on Nevarro.”

With the finale nearing, it turns out Karga himself was the only one capable of tracking down the Mandalorian, familiar with his old haunts and sources. None of the other Guild members or informants had seen hide or hair of either the Mandalorian or the target— It appeared the kid was listed on multiple registers and posting boards by a number of different entities and clients gunning for him. The Imperial warlord on Nevarro just happened to have the largest reward. When the child’s bio-signature disappeared and all tracking fobs were rendered useless, thanks to the bracer Kuiil was able to configure for the kid to scramble his chain-code, it caused a number of issues between the Guild, the still-operating ISB (through which the Bounty Hunters Guild operates), and posting agencies across the galaxy.

There in the hold of the Crest Karga says he’s there to warn Mando: a few days before this, an Imperial Moff arrived on Nevarro, establishing a despotic hold on the town and holding it hostage until the Mandalorian that disappeared from Arvala-7 returned to his base of operations with the target in tow. Karga managed to persuade the Moff into giving him time, saying he could find the Razor Crest but had to do it alone, and that he could convince Djarin to return.

Until then Mando had stubbornly refused to budge an inch, but when Karga says his family name— one very few are privy to— he jerks in surprised anger and stalks forward and demands to know how Karga got that information.

“The Moff,” Karga says, backing up, hands raised. “He says he has your family as ransom for the kid, that you would know what that meant.”

“My family is dead,” Mando states flatly.

“He had one of them,” Karga says, confused. “Another Mandalorian? A woman?”

At that, Mando freezes. “… Another Mandalorian.”

“Yes!”

“What did she look like?”

“I don’t know, you all wear the masks, she wasn’t—”

Mando grabbed Karga’s collar and shoved him against the bulkhead. “What did she look like?!”

“A gold helmet!” Karga says, floundering. “Red armor, I don’t know, a— a fur mantle! She was still alive when I left!”

Mando dropped his broker back to his feet, stumbling back in astonishment. “They have her?!”

“Yes! I didn’t know who she was, I’ve been hailing the Crest for weeks since you went dark but you didn’t answer, never got the holos, I didn’t have any other comm—”

Mando whirls on his feet and stalks towards the ladder, Karga forced to catch up. “Who is she, Mando? What’s going on?”

Karga followed him to the cockpit where the child lay curled up on one of the seats, still asleep. Mando scooped him up onto his lap and hurriedly flicked through his pre-flight checks, manually priming the Crest for takeoff. “He found the covert.”

Karga pitched to the side as the ship rumbled to life. Mando hardly spared enough time to make sure they were clear of their surroundings, hydraulics groaning under the strain of a cold liftoff. “The- the other Mandalorians on Nevarro, the tribe hidden beneath the city— Karga, there are children down there—”

Karga stumbled again, barely grabbing the other seat behind him; he hauled himself into it and strapped in. The Crest took off at a juddering pace, Mando pushing it to the limits to break atmo and set his course.

“Tell me everything,” the Mandalorian demanded once in hyperspace, turning back to Karga. The child made a soft sound in the crook of his arm, still asleep. “We’re going to get backup, and then we’re going to take back our city.”

—

Whatever allies Mando has made along the way are swiftly recruited to his and Karga’s cause. Kuiil and the reconfigured assassin droid join their ranks (the latter at the Mandalorian’s obvious loathing), one or two others from the season in tow. Either the Moff wiped out the covert, or had the rest of them under armed guard to ensure they didn’t interfere in an attempt to free the Armorer, or she gave herself up as a hostage in order to distract the Moff and let everyone else get out of harm’s way until the Mandalorians could make a coordinated attack against the remnant Imperials. If it’s the latter (and he prays that it is), Mando knows without a doubt who will be leading the charge and says they’ll need to find him first.

If it’s either of the former scenarios, then… Their prospects are much more grim. He says to plan for that, saying it’s possible the rest of the covert may already be dead or well on their way to it.

The child wakes up sometime during the flight and recruitment phase, and the Mandalorian is relieved to see he, at least, is doing better. He’s not exactly sure how the kid did what he did the night of the prison break gone awry, but he can see why the Client and the Moff may be eager to get their hands on him. During the retrieval of their allies we see Mando poring through what appear to be old codices and scrolls of some forgotten religion, finally found in the hidden recesses of his ship. The leather binding is cracked and the pages are yellowing with age, but it’s clear in how reverently he handles them that they mean a great deal to him.

There’s a quiet moment where we see the rest of the crew asleep in the hold while Mando sits up in the cockpit. He allows the child to crawl into his lap, turning the pages to bookmarked passages with drawings so the child can see. The child makes no sign that he recognizes anything Mando points out to him, murmuring the names of things, until he curiously lands on the page with an iridescent drawing of a cluster of crystals. The child perks up, leaning forward to tap the page, looking between the Mandalorian’s visor and the book expectantly. The Mandalorian re-reads the passage to himself before asking the boy:

“You know what this is?”

The boy tilts his head.

“Kyber crystals? You recognize them?”

The boy coos, his ears alert. He taps the page again.

Mando flips through the adjacent topics on either side of the page containing information on the crystals. “Ilum? Christophsis?”

The child doesn’t respond, instead trying to turn back to the page containing the crystal drawings. Mando flipped forward some more.

“The Whills? Jedha?” No response. “The Final Protector? Does any of this ring a bell?”

Still the child showed no interest. No other drawings or names elicited the same response.

Mando sighed. He wasn’t even sure the boy understood Basic, let alone human speech at all. He’d never spoken.

Still, the passage on the crystals themselves gave the Mandalorian an inkling as to why the boy might have latched onto them, and if his hunch was right, there was only one explanation for why the Mandalorian hadn’t bled out in the cockpit after he left the chop shop.

The thought was concerning.

The rallied forces aboard the Razor Crest descend far out from the outskirts of Nevarro’s port city. Not wanting to alert the Imperials should they be listening over the covert’s comm channels or their own, they maintain radio silence and depart on foot across the flats. They access the old pyroduct exit on the flats and Mando leads them down to the lava flow under the city.

Before they make it very far down the tunnels, though, he’s grabbed by hands reaching from the dark and shoving him up against the igneous wall.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your skin around here,” Paz Vizsla growls. Mando’s crew snaps to attention, blasters raising as two other Mandalorians materialize from the shadows, their own guns brought to bear. Mando scrabbles at the infantryman’s wrist as Paz tightens his grip around his throat. His feet dangle above the ground. “I ought to kill you myself.”

IG-11 raises his blaster and immediately fires a shot that ricochets off of Vizsla’s helmet— The action spurs a flurry of activity as other Mandalorians appear, bringing their guns up in a line of defense the same time Mando’s group does. The cacophony of threats only dies down as Kuiil raises his voice above theirs, stepping between both groups and mediating until both sides calm down. IG-11 lowers his blaster, following Kuiil’s command.

Mando brings his vambrace down hard on Vizsla’s gauntlet, forcing Paz to drop him. He’s pretty sure Paz let him go just to see him fall, but he doesn’t care.

“Where are the foundlings?” Mando asks hoarsely, rubbing his throat.

Paz scoffs. “If you cared, you wouldn’t have done whatever blasted fool thing you did to bring the Empire down on our heads. Where have you been? What did you do?”

“I’ll explain when I can,” Mando says. He gestures to the crew behind him. “I brought backup. Are the foundlings safe? How many people do we have left?”

“You’re not calling the shots here,” Vizsla snarls. “The Armorer’s being held until you turn yourself over to the Moff, and if I have to drag you up there tonight myself—”

“There’s a kid,” Mando interjects. “The Moff is after a child.”

Paz glances to his right where Mando’s allies stand, unsure as they look between themselves.

“Start making sense.”

Mando turns to his group, gesturing for Kuiil to come forward with the boy’s pod. The cradle opens to reveal the small green boy with pointed ears, staring curiously up at those around him with big brown eyes before Mando continues. “I didn’t know the target was a kid when I was hired to find him. He’s barely old enough to walk. The client that commissioned me promised a camtono of beskar for him but I would never have been able to make that exchange. I couldn't turn him over.”

Vizsla’s hackles seem to lower at the sight of the boy and Mando’s explanation, the fire in his tirade dying down. “Why would he want a kid? Is it his?”

“I doubt it. I’ve never seen this species before, I can’t find anything about him anywhere. He’s… different.”

“Different how?”

“He’s Force-sensitive.”

“A Jedi?!” Paz asks, incredulous. The Mandalorians’ grips on their blasters tighten again and Mando’s friends shift uneasily. “The Jedi were wiped out, they’ve been gone for decades, how did you—”

“I don’t know, I’ve only heard of them in folklore, but he can do things I’ve never seen before, I didn’t think—”

“You weren’t thinking at all. You picked up an enemy’s child and you kept it.” Paz shook his head in disbelief. “Of course you would, of course you’d grab something that would bring the Empire to our door—”

“They would have killed him,” Mando snaps. Paz turns away and stalks down the tunnel to where a small cache of guns is propped next to some meager supplies. “The Empire destroys anything that doesn’t fit their mold and takes every good thing the rest of us has for themselves. Beskar or the Force or our land, it doesn’t matter, they wipe us out and scavenge the pieces—”

“Us,” Paz emphasizes, straightening up. He jabs an accusatory finger against Mando’s breastplate. “You had other options. The elders only took you in because you wouldn’t let them go without you. You were old enough, you could’ve gone back to the rubble they picked you out of and stayed there and we would have been fine without you and we wouldn’t be here right now and the Armorer—”

It was Mando’s turn to shove Vizsla against the wall, whipping a vibroblade up to hum beneath the lip of his helmet. Paz went still.

“Don’t speak to me of Aq Vetina,” the Mandalorian says viciously, the antechamber deathly quiet. “I lost everything, Vizsla. And I earned my place here. You’re no better than me because you were born into it.”

The cavern is silent for a long moment as they eye each other.

“If you’re one of us,” Vizsla says slowly, “Then what’s your plan to get everybody out?”

—

Vizsla’s and Mando’s groups come to an uneasy alliance, working together to plan an ambush on the Imperial forces. As Vizsla tells them how part of the covert managed to escape when the Imps started flooding the tunnels, his narration provides the voiceover for the scenes as they happened in the days prior, several warriors taking the foundlings out of one of the hidden exits to escape while the rest of them remained behind to fight and stall for time. The Imperials managed to get the Armorer separated from the group, those who took her no mere Stormtroopers but slick, black armor-encased Deathtroopers. She killed six alone before they stunned her, hauling her back towards the entrance they’d blown in the tunnels as the rest of the Mandalorians fought. Though they’d surged after her they were beaten back by a barrage of cannon fire, an E-WEB stationed up on the street that would have annihilated them had the tunnel not collapsed and blocked them in first. Vizsla’s tone is grim as he details the loss of another four Mandalorians who had gone above together in an attempt to retrieve their leader. Vizsla pulled the rest back to regroup and strategize farther outside of town, should the Imperials come back down to finish the job.

After spending the entire night strategizing it comes down to this: Kuiil and IG-11 would leave to take the boy back to the ship for safekeeping while Mando’s group used the tunnels to get up to the cantina on the other end of the main drag with the kid’s floating cradle as bait, and then they’d proceed to negotiate an exchange with the Moff for the Armorer while the Mandalorians placed detonators around the central bazaar. While Karga stalled for time with the Moff, backed by Vizsla, Mando, and Mando’s allies, the rest of the Mandalorians would move into position for an ambush and strike from above, using the Phoenixes to mount an aerial assault. Vizsla would destroy or commandeer the E-WEB to take out the Imps while Mando retrieved the Armorer. With luck, there’d still be enough Mandalorians with jetpacks able to grab each of them on the ground and fly out of range, finishing off the Imperials with the detonation from above.

The rescue party begins to bed down for the night, only a few hours between them and sunup. Paz can be seen looking over at the child’s cradle as Mando rolls out his bedroll. He looks back at Mando.

“How do you know the kid’s really Jedi?” he asks. “What did he do?”

Mando glances at Paz, getting settled. His hand rests on his ribs as he lies on his back.

“He saved me.”

The scene cuts to Dr. Pershing and the Client, frustratedly discussing something between themselves in the lab of the Stormtrooper safehouse. A comlink on the table behind them lights up and crackles to life, a familiar voice saying, “Come in, Doctor. It’s me.”

The two quickly come to the table, the Client picking up the comlink. “Yes? I presume you have answers?”

“Yes,” the voice says. “I can tell you where the child is.”

The next day brought with it a sense of unease. Everything was contingent on their bluff holding up long enough to keep the Moff’s attention while the Mandalorians snuck into the city from the outside, remaining undetected. Mando comm’d Kuiil to have him on standby once he reached the ship, ready to fly the Crest out to them on their escape.

Mando, Karga, Paz Vizsla, and the rest of Mando’s few recruits split off and made for the surface. They cut an exit from the maintenance access grate in the common house, quietly slipping out and barricading themselves behind upturned tables for safe measure. Karga makes his announcement and gives their terms to the Moff from the cantina.

The Moff seems entirely disinterested in what Karga has to say, however, unresponsive and unperturbed. Mando can see his focus turn almost to face him, as though he can somehow see through the architecture blocking him from view. The man in black outside projects his voice to be heard through the latticed window.

“A chain-code is a curious thing,” the Imperial says. “Individualized for each citizen, archived upon their demise, and until recently thought to be irreplicable. Falsified perhaps, but never revived.”

Mando goes very still. Karga and Paz looked between each other. “What’s he talking about, Mando? Who is this guy?”

The Moff continued. “When I saw this one crop up for the first time in almost thirty years, I thought our intelligence had found a glitch in the system, or perhaps someone was able to slip by unnoticed for decades before making some crucial error in revealing themselves.”

The familiar flashback of a mother and father racing through city streets begins to flicker in and out as the camera focuses on the Mandalorian, explosions and laser fire raining down around them as the man carries his young son in his arms. Neighbors, disciples, friends… Bodies fall as ships fly overhead and battle droids stalk the streets of Aq Vetina.

The Mandalorian strides for the door, halted in his tracks by the crew grabbing his shoulders, standing between him and the exit. “Mando,” one of them hisses, “Mando, what are you doing?”

The music builds, and though we can’t hear it we see the woman scream as another explosion rocks the ground beside them, a nearby wall crumbling and collapsing. The boy’s father course-corrects and races down a different street, his eyes darting between the chaos for somewhere to protect his family. The boy clings to his neck and squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his father’s coarse beard against his cheek as strong arms tremble around him. Plasma and smoke fills the air.

“It’s Moff Gideon,” the Mandalorian snarls. “He was an ISB officer during the Purge. He knew my name— He knew how to draw us out—”

The man stumbles to a knee but the boy’s mother helps him up, dragging him away from the wreckage of yet another building. Their hearts thud wildly in their chests as they race for the cellar beyond the pavilion, adrenaline fueling their feet and clearing their heads of all other thoughts but to run, and survive.

“Gideon gave the order for the Night of a Thousand Tears,” Mando said venomously, jerking in their grip. “He ordered the attack on my home.”

The scene in the ravaged cantina melts away, and Aq Vetina takes center stage.

—

The reinforced cellar doors come into view. The man skids to a halt, looking around them as his wife takes the boy from his arms so he can open the doors. He turns his son to look at him, cradling his round face in his hands as he does.

“Look at me,” he says as steadily as he can manage. “I will come back for you. It’s going to be okay.”

The boy nods, wide brown eyes mirroring his father’s. His father kisses his brow and his mother helps lower him below ground. There isn’t time for him to tell his wife goodbye as he helps her clamber down to meet their son, and as he takes one last look at the faces of his family he tries to smile in reassurance, praying they don’t see his tears as he closes the doors, sunlight dissipating to darkness around them.

The man turns to run, to lead their attackers away from the shelter. Four battle droids march down the streets. He waves to draw their fire, dodges another volley of shots and darts away from the cellar—

But the man in red only makes it twenty feet before a deafening clap of thunder knocks him back, the blast from the battle droid’s missile sending a concussive ripple through his body.

There’s a long, deafening silence accompanied only by a high-pitched ringing in his ears. The man tries to move, rolls over, thinking No, no, please… Please, not them… and his head falls at a painful angle to see the cellar doors beyond him, caved in and hanging from the hinges in a smoldering black crater.

His heart seizes. He chokes, the painful realization of what he’s just lost washing over him. An agonizing cry of fury, despair, and heartbroken anguish tears from his chest as he screams.

The man shoves off the ground in a rage-induced burst of defiance, grabbing a broken spade and wielding it like a quarterstaff as a battle droid comes into view. He darts beneath its uplifted arm as turmoil rages on, uncaring and unseeing beyond the singular purpose of dismantling the creature piece by piece by any means necessary. He jabs the broken-off metal tip into the droid’s unarmored shoulder joint high above him and shoves it up into the carapace, sparks flying. He pulls back and strikes again as the droid twists to grab him. Unfeeling metal locks around his upper arm and yanks him into the air, his feet kicking above the ground. The uncaring optical sensors turn his way as the arm locks in another shot.

He doesn’t care. He’s already died once that day.

But before he can pass into the next life with a mouth full of blood and a demand for answers, a different shot rings out, hitting the battle droid in the opposite shoulder. The man blinks, and the droid pivots, only to be shot in rapid fire succession by blaster-fire of a different kind, collapsing it to the earth and releasing the man as it does.

Several long seconds pass and the man tries to gather his strength. He turns over and looks up to see the visor of a warrior clad in armor, more like them descending upon the city and swiftly taking out every battle droid in the streets, shielding survivors with their own armored bodies, deflecting blaster-fire, pushing the advancing assailants back.

When the warrior extends their hand to him, the man takes it without hesitation and stands to his feet.

“The Imperial Security Bureau has records dating back decades.” Gideon looked to the common house from the side. “It’s curious to see a child’s chain-code come back from the dead.”

Mando’s allies struggle to hold him back, the whole group straining and clamoring for him to wait, to stick to the plan. Outside, more soldiers file in behind the Deathtroopers.

“Tell me, Tomás Djarin, for how long did you think you could use your son’s code as a cover for this substitute?”

A growl rips from Mando’s throat and he breaks free, lunging for the exit and slamming against the door, narrowly seized only by Karga and Vizsla hauling him back by the shoulders. Mando seethes, straining against their hold, his boots losing traction and sliding over gravel as he fights.

“What do you propose?” Karga barked to the Moff outside, gritting his teeth in the struggle.

Gideon smiled.

“Reasonable negotiation. I have in my possession an E-WEB cannon, with which I know many of your Mandalorian’s brethren are already intimately familiar. Come outside, lay down your arms, and we’ll consider sparing the city.”

Thick tension bore down around them in the silence. Mando sagged defeatedly, the reminder of the city held hostage shuttering his ire. It was time.

“Kuiil,” he murmurs into his comm. “Kuiil if you can hear me, take the kid and get out of here.”

He keeps his hand on the cradle as they leave the common house.

Moff Gideon towers above them, encased in black, his face inscrutable. The Client stands off to the side, seeing them march out in front of the squadrons of Deathtroopers and Stormtroopers alike, five against fifty. Gideon regards them almost with disinterest, and Mando seethes beneath the mask.

Karga acts as spokesman, but Mando is barely listening, his hatred of the Moff boiling under the surface until Gideon gestures for his troopers to bring out the Armorer. As Deathtroopers exit one of the crumbling buildings to their right, Mando's blood runs cold.

The covert leader is bound by the wrists, bloodied and devoid of all armor save for her helmet. The once-gleaming brass is clouded with ash and blood, smeared to a dull finish, and she’s hiding a limp as she walks. The Deathtroopers on either side of her hold onto her upper arms, escorting her to the center as Moff Gideon comes to stand directly behind her, his blaster drawn.

“The child,” Gideon says coolly, nodding to the cradle. “As soon as you hand him to me alive, your leader and the city are yours.”

The scene cuts to Kuiil and the assassin droid approaching the Crest on foot, still a good way’s away. The child sleeps against Kuiil’s shoulder. A high-pitched whine fills the air, quiet before steadily increasing in volume, and as Kuiil and IG-11 register the noise they turn, only for a bolt of red blasterfire to hit Kuiil in the shoulder. Kuiil falls to the ground, the child tumbling from his grip. Another laserbolt hits IG-11 at the same time, ricocheting off his head plate and sending him down. Four speederbikes begin to converge on the trio, the child sitting up from his blanket on unsteady feet. The Scout troopers split to flank the group, slowing to a stop. One hops off and goes to retrieve the child, who looks between the four of them, his ears turning down in fear. The Ugnaught’s body doesn’t move, but strangely enough the droid’s does; his servos spin as his motor functions return to life, the reinforced head plate Kuiil installed with care successfully protecting IG from the same fate that had befallen him on Arvala-7.

We see a split-screen HUD from IG’s point of view as his optical sensors spin to assess each target in millisecond timing. The scout trooper that had dismounted his bike stumbles back as the assassin droid comes to life, lifting off of the black earth. The troopers collectively fire at the droid, who in turn takes Kuiil’s blaster from the ground as he stands and returns fire, effortlessly spinning, evading, or deflecting the troopers’ bolts as he advances towards the child, firing at each of the troopers in turn. One of the speederbikes explodes, taking its trooper out with it. IG scoops up the child, spinning his torso to shield the boy as two more troopers are shot and fall, one after the other; none of them stood a chance against the cold and calculating processor of an assassin droid with both his manufactured skillset and a reprogrammed duty to protect, and as IG turns, the last trooper standing stumbles back in terror, firing wide as he falls onto his back. IG-11’s long strides close the distance between them and he kneels down to grab the man’s neck and slam his head back into the ground.

IG stands, spinning his torso back to the front. The child is unharmed, his ears perking up as he surveys their surroundings.

“It seems our position was compromised,” IG says mechanically, holding the boy out to peer down at him. “I surmise by the attack on our party that the Mandalorian’s plans have gone awry and that our allies are in need of assistance.”

There’s a groan somewhere off to the right, and IG turns with the boy to see Kuiil struggling to roll over, grunting in pain. The droid goes to the Ugnaught and kneels, assessing him with a clinician’s eye.

“You have been badly injured,” IG says as Kuiil sits up, extending his arm as a nozzle flips to take the place of his pincers. It sprays a mist into the opening where the laserfire burned through Kuiil’s coat, and Kuiil sighs in some relief. “But it appears our adversary’s shot missed anything vital. The bacta spray will heal you within a matter of hours.”

“IG,” Kuiil grunts, gingerly getting to his feet. “Mando is going to need your help.” He gathers his few belongings as the droid follows, the Razor Crest visible in the distance. “Take one of the bikes and get to town as quickly as possible. I will take the child with me. Do what you can to protect the others.”

“Affirmative.” IG hands off the boy to Kuiil and rests a hand on his creator’s good shoulder. “I hope to see you again soon.”

The Ugnaught nodded and the two turned and parted ways. The child watched as the bounty droid picked up two rifles and mounted a speederbike, kicking dust up behind him as he sped away.

Back in the city the negotiating party faces the Imperials. Moff Gideon’s serene expression reveals nothing.

Mando hears Vizsla yell from his position on the other side of the street, jerking his head to the Armorer. “How do we know she isn’t a decoy?” His voice is unsteady. At this distance Mando can hear her breathing raggedly through the helmet’s modulator. They needed more time.

Gideon almost smiles, then digs his free hand under the edge of her helmet. The Mandalorians jolt on reflex, but stop as the Moff holds her in place in front of himself.

“Would you like a guarantee?” he asks. “Or would you even know, regardless?”

“Do not give him the child,” the Armorer grits out, and they freeze at the confirmation. She stands as straight as she can, her voice hoarse but unmistakable. The Moff remains impassive.

“What assurance do you give that you’ll leave these people in peace?” Mando says, gesturing to the town. His joints have locked up. He’s barely breathing.

“Only this,” Gideon says plainly, and then he gestures to the side with his blaster. “Give me the child, or I promise to return to you tenfold what you had planned for us.”

At that, Deathtroopers from the shadows of the surrounding streets march out with the rest of the Mandalorians at gunpoint in front of them. Mando’s shock turns to outrage and despair as he sees each of the ambushing party lined up around the bazaar, and it’s then that Karga smoothly steps past Mando, pulling Mando’s blaster from his holster in one move and crossing the line of troopers, a grim look on his face when he turns back.

“I’m sorry Mando,” Karga says, and he almost looks as though he means it. “I have people to take care of too.”

The broker steps beyond the ranks of troopers, receiving a nod from Gideon before passing the Client. The Client slips something into Karga’s hand and Karga tucks it into his breast pocket, the two of them retreating from view as Mando trembles with helpless rage. The Deathtrooper at the E-WEB primes it to charge. Moff Gideon steps forward with the Armorer still directly in front of him. “The child, Djarin,” he says. “My generosity and patience have run their course.”

Mando hesitates as he steps forward, his hand still on the cradle, desperately trying to think of anything that might give them a chance to escape. A shadow passes over Gideon’s face, and he brings his pistol up under the Armorer’s jaw. Every Mandalorian jerks against their captors and Gideon digs the muzzle of his gun against the Armorer’s neck, a sliver of skin now visible above her collar. They go still. Mando’s fist clenches so tight he can feel his bones shift.

“Now.”

Defeated and without recourse, Mando presses the button on the cradle to open the shield, revealing the empty space within.

This time Moff Gideon does smile.

“It appears only one of us is a man of his word.”

And then Moff Gideon rips the Armorer’s helmet off her head.

Absolute, unfettered rage bursts from every Mandalorian in a vitriolic war cry as all hell breaks loose in an instant, every Mandalorian rearing back against their captors with unparalleled ferocity, breaking free and firing at the Imperials without mercy. Mando tears the Armorer away from Gideon and unleashes the full power of his flamethrower in Gideon’s and the Deathtroopers’ faces, hauling her back from the blaze as both sides fire shot-for-shot at one another.

The Mandalorian closest to Mando dives forward to grab the Deathtrooper’s rifle and cover their retreat. Vizsla shoots a white-hot spray of molten plasma from his gauntlet across the four troopers that had restrained him, their screams following them to the ground as their armor melts and they convulse. The firefight descends into chaos, Mando’s allies working together to cover one another and retrieve arms and munitions all across the square, ducking for cover behind the debris. The Imperials are caught off guard, having thought disarming them would be enough to keep them from retaliating, but they quickly find that even an unarmed Mandalorian is a weapon.

Mando shields the Armorer as they run, feeling blaster fire streak across his bicep, glance off the beskar pauldron and helmet, sear his vision white. The Armorer stumbles, trying to keep up but buckling under the weight of exhaustion and her injuries. He pulls her behind a large chunk of a fallen archway, breaking the binders holding her wrists together and looking wildly around for somewhere to get her to safety. He sees a clear path from their position back to the common house and the two of them begin to run.

A grenade lands in their path and Mando has seconds to react. He tackles the Armorer to the side, shielding her as best he can as the explosion blows them a dozen feet away, their ears ringing. Mando felt the lance of shrapnel embed itself in his leg, and his head slams against a piece of the barricade, stopping his trajectory and sending him to the ground. As he tries to make sense of which way is up he can see the Armorer struggling to pull herself up next to him, pulling a scavenged rifle from the wreckage of the street. He can’t breathe, and as his vision swims he catches sight of the covert’s leader, resilient even now, forcing her hands to cooperate as she fires back at their assailants from behind a broken wall. Her face is streaked with blood and dirt and the tracks of tears streaming down through both. Her helmet lay distantly in the dirt in the middle of the street surrounded by rubble and the bodies of dead Imperials.

Of everybody there, she was the most justified in leaving him for dead, and still she fought.

The Imperials start to gain ground as Mandalorians are killed or incapacitated. Their forces start to bottleneck, forced backward in the onslaught, but just as the Imperials start to catch them on the backfoot a high-pitched whine fills the air. Seconds later a speederbike slides into the fray, an assassin droid leaping off and firing with deadly accuracy against the troopers. A rallying cry goes up from Mando’s allies, even Vizsla crowing in triumph as IG advances, his body twisting and limbs spinning to fire in every direction.

“Paz!” Mando yells, struggling upright. “Cover her!”

The heavy infantryman picks up one Deathtrooper and slams him bodily into another, toppling both. He dashes over to their place amongst the craters and plants himself in front of the Armorer; she grabs hold of his shoulder for support, firing around him and shouting orders as they clear a path to the E-WEB. Mando drags himself to his feet and ends up back-to-back with IG-11, feeling an odd sense of gratitude towards the droid he’d left for dead all those weeks ago. The two of them twist and turn around each other, IG deflecting shots as readily as he fires.

“IG unit! Where’s the kid?!”

“The child is safe aboard the Razor Crest,” IG says, taking out three more troopers. Vizsla takes hold of the cannon and rattles the Imperial forces, decimating a fresh wave of Stormtroopers. “Kuiil is en route to our location.”

“No! Tell him to take the child and get out of here!”

“There is no time,” IG says. “My duty is to nurse and protect: you and our allies are in need of protection.”

Mando growls at the droid’s obstinate refusal to listen. He’s about to drag one of the Mandalorians with a jetpack closer and order them to fly out to Kuiil, but then he sees an arc of flickering white through the smoke of battle.

Time almost seems to slow. A swipe of black void edged in white light cuts through the haze beyond Vizsla and the Armorer. They haven’t seen him yet, but the figure in black carrying the blade materializes through the smoke, and in the breadth of a second, Moff Gideon raises his arms and brings an otherworldly saber clean down through the barrel of the E-WEB. Paz jerks back from the recoil of the cannon falling apart in a series of smaller, sizzling explosions, and as his attention turns to the Moff he blocks the still-vulnerable Armorer, shoving her back. Gideon brings the phantasmal sword up again and carves a downward slash at the infantryman— Paz blocks it with his vambrace in a skitter of sparks.

Mando moves without realizing it. He darts through the tumult of battle, honing in on the angry, half-burned face of Moff Gideon, not knowing if or for how long Paz’s armor can withstand the heat of the spectral blade. Laserfire streaks around him, each of their allies and adversaries fighting for their lives.

Gideon cuts through the chain gun’s connecting line, rendering Vizsla’s heavy repeating rifle useless. The next slash is caught by his other vambrace, Gideon pressing the sword in long enough Paz’s gauntlet starts to blaze orange, melting the circuits of his plasma thrower and leaving hot beskar intact to burn through his armor cladding. Though he easily towers above the Moff he’s forced to fight defensively as Gideon darts and weaves, aiming for the Armorer behind him, throwing off his blocks and parries. Vizsla’s vision burns with hatred as he sees this aruteii— this outsider— wielding what he knows is his ancestor’s sword against them. Imperials advance from the side, forcing the Armorer to shoot them and protect Vizsla, leaving him to fight Gideon. It’s only when they’re backed into the fallen debris of the city that the saber’s trajectory is halted mid-swing.

Mando stands resolute between his enemy and his tribesmen, the beskar tines of his pulse rifle catching the sword in the air. Gideon’s shock morphs to immediate outrage and he rips the saber back, twirling his wrist to cut upward, blocked again by Mando’s gun. The Mandalorian advances, using his rifle like a spear in a flurry of movement, energy crackling off the blade’s contact with every strike. Vizsla and the Armorer work together against the Imperials, and Mando advances on the Moff.

Back against the Imperials, the Armorer sees an opening, the door of a building near the Imperials’ base of operations buckled inward. She turns back to see the Moff fighting the bounty hunter forty feet away. They’re too close together to get a clear shot and smoke continues to billow from the explosions surrounding them. If the Moff finds an opening she knows the bounty hunter’s armor won’t hold against the Darksaber.

And then she looks down to the opposite end of the decimated street, seeing a distinct silhouette over the horizon growing closer every second.

The Armorer breaks the latch on the door with the butt of her rifle. “Get everybody towards the dockyards,” she orders Paz over the din of battle.

“What are you doing?!” Paz barks over his shoulder. He fires again, killing two more soldiers.

The Armorer kicks the door in, determination written across her face. “Reclaiming what I can.”

—

Moff Gideon spits insults between his strikes, and Mando fights just as viciously in return. Thrust, block, parry, jab— Every close-quarters maneuver is accompanied by the unsettling hum of a blade dipped in the void of space, light bending and refracting around its edge. Gideon swings at his head and when he ducks, the sword carves through a support column, bringing part of the decimated building down with it. Mando rolls to the side, hearing the hum of the blade miss him by inches.

Mando swings the rifle upward again, aiming it at the Moff. Gideon deflects the bolt of energy, his face twisted in a snarl. The Amban rifle crackles with electricity, but as Mando jabs the end of it towards the Moff, the barrel and its current are redirected by Gideon into one of his own troopers. Before Mando can twist free and put enough space between them to fire, Moff Gideon pulls back and twirls the blade directly up towards the Mandalorian’s chest.

There’s a gnarled crackle of energy as the saber cleaves the pulse rifle in two at the wooden stock, a piece of the gun in each of the Mandalorian’s hands. That split second shock is enough of an opening for Moff Gideon to thrust again, stabbing through the Mandalorian’s lower breastplate.

Mando feels the searing edge of white-hot fire dig into his body; he cries out in agony, doubled over at the shock. Time slows yet again, and all he can see is the helpless face of the boy he saved in his mind’s eye, knowing that if he cannot defeat the Moff, it won’t matter if his allies escape with the child. Gideon will keep sending hunters after the boy until he’s killed everybody standing between him and his prize.

With the greatest effort he’s ever exerted in his life, Tomás Djarin brings the barrel of his rifle up and jabs it against the hilt of Gideon’s blade once more, trapping it between the tines. Moff Gideon’s eyes widen, and the Mandalorian shoves him off with an agonized yell.

There’s no time to recover— Mando messily blocks the black blade with the barrel of the gun. He stumbles, shoves himself up and forces himself to fight through his injuries, but it’s clear he’s barely clinging to consciousness.

He’s bent at the waist and clutching his midsection, leaning against a stone column. He manages to duck and the move forces Gideon’s blade to become lodged into the stone, and Mando stumbles around the column, ducking when he hears the telltale hum behind him. Another spray of stone flies over his head— He twists, evades a second thrust from the sword, and punches Moff Gideon in the face.

Gideon howls in infuriated pain, messily swinging the sword as the Mandalorian parries it with what remains of the rifle. Hit after hit strikes stone until another slash glances off Mando’s beskar pauldron, singeing his flak vest. This time when he stumbles Moff Gideon brings his foot up and kicks him square in the chest, sending him sprawling a dozen feet down through the rubble. Mando yells in agony, the rifle skittering from reach. The Moff stands triumphant beneath the crumbling building, breathing hard, the saber in hand. Mando drags himself to one knee, refusing to die without standing up.

“You and your kind should have been eradicated long ago,” Gideon snarls. “The Empire will not make the same mistake twice.”

Before Gideon can advance, however, the Mandalorian aims his gauntlet and fires.

Gideon easily evades what he assumed to be a projectile, the Mandalorian firing wide. It isn’t until he sees Mando wrap both hands around the whipcord and pull it taut that Gideon’s glare hardens in confusion, and as he looks behind him there’s a grating, crumbling sound of stone on stone, the whipcord wrapped around what remained of the support column.

With wild eyes, Moff Gideon looks up as the structure groans, and with one final heave Mando wrenches the cable through the broken, weakened support, and the overarching section of the building finally gives way.

A tremendous rumbling crash brings the building down in a massive cloud of dust, shaking the ground. Mando runs as well as he can to a barricade, barely evading several large pieces of rock cascading behind him. When Mando looks back, Moff Gideon is gone. All that remains is the towering pile of rubble, carved out of the connecting buildings in the bazaar.

He wishes he felt relief. All he feels is pain.

A sudden ripple of force shudders through the square and extinguishes several flames, and all eyes turn to see a heavy artillery gunship descending to hover at the other end of the street near the dockyards. There’s a whoop of defiant hope from Mando’s friends and allies and they start trying to make their way down the long market street.

His head pounds. His leg is shredded. Exhaustion hangs on his limbs and his abdomen burns where the blade seared through his flesh, every movement sending lancing pain radiating through his torso. He looks beyond to the tumult of battle and surveys the scene.

Kuill has the ramp of the Razor Crest lowered, hovering in place for everyone to get onboard while there’s still time. More and more Imperials start to march on the bazaar. Mando can barely hold his head up to see Kuiil frantically gesturing from the cockpit, and with great effort he stumbles further to the second concentric barricade while his allies fight their way down the street. Very few covert members remain, and the battered few have to dodge through enemy fire between the razed buildings, trying to get out of range as Mando’s friends fight with them, shoulder to shoulder. Two of the remaining Mandalorians with jetpacks help draw the fire of the Imperials, but even they are forced to the ground, too much laser fire flying from too many directions. IG-11 sees the Mandalorian struggling to even stand as he holds one hand to his middle before he finally falls to his knees.

—

The Armorer twists, shattering another Deathtrooper’s chest-plate, caving their chest in. Two Stormtroopers emerge from an alley, targeting the droid and the hunter, and she brings the hammer up in a strike beneath one’s jaw before bringing it down on the helmet of the trooper behind him. She doesn’t wait to see them fall as she jerks her attention back to Mando.

Soldiers quickly file indoors and shoot outward from broken windows into the street now, the bazaar becoming a shooting gallery on both sides. The droid is far more accurate than any of them could hope to be, but even he can’t move without a barrage of laser fire forcing him down.

The bounty hunter is blocked from the assault by the debris shielding him and the assassin droid. She’d seen the Imperial stab him in the chest and knows he can hardly move. She doesn’t know how he even got to his feet.

The Mandalorian is dying, and his only chance of survival is extraction.

She quickly assesses their surroundings, but the moment she goes to step out of the mouth of the alley and slink down behind the lower-level stonework, a heavy hand clamps down on her shoulder, jerking her back.

“Don’t,” Vizsla says grimly. “We can’t save him. We have to go.”

“Let go,” the Armorer warns him, rolling her shoulder in an attempt to dislodge him. “If we don’t try, his death is guaranteed.”

“Alor,” Vizsla says, the pain in his voice evident. He nods to the shots raining down into the street from above, troopers filing onto the roofs of several buildings now. “Please. I cannot block them all.”

The Armorer shakes, wavering for the first time since she was unhelmed, but her eyes are filled with fire and flint as she twists out of the infantryman’s grip. “He wouldn’t leave us,” she says. “He’s the reason we’ve made it this far.”

“He knew what the cost of saving you could be,” Vizsla grits out, pulling her again. “And it would be a waste of his sacrifice to die now.”

A shot sails past them, missing them by inches as another strafing run of fire jutters against the earth. Vizsla wraps an arm around her from behind and pulls her forcibly back. The ship beyond falters in stasis, shots from larger artillery scorching off the hull.

“We need to go,” Vizsla says, dragging her with him despite her shouts of protest. “We can still save the others.”

With a heavy heart the Armorer is hauled away from enemy fire, praying the droid can find a way to secure their freedom. He’s the only hope the Mandalorian has.

Kuiil can’t fire from the angle he’s at and is busy trying to maintain a steady position for the survivors who climb onboard, who in turn are all so busy helping one another and crowding into the hold none of them see the small child in their midst, his stature and familiarity with the gunship allowing him to slip between them unnoticed the same way he avoided Zero weeks before.

Stormtroopers fire from rooftops down at the escaping heroes below. Mando and IG-11 are pinned down, unable to fight their way out as they cover the rest of the escaping party. A streak of silver catches the light and Mando realizes the Armorer is there, hammer and calipers in hand as she dispatches Deathtroopers with vicious precision and ferocity, vengeance exacted against those who held her captive. Vizsla follows behind her and the remaining covert, dodging through the wreckage as he covers their backs. He makes it to the Armorer’s helmet lying in the street, picking it up as they move. Mando can feel the adrenaline bleeding from his body, the stab wound beneath his breastplate buckling him with every step.

Of all the ways the Mandalorian expected to die, fighting side-by-side with a droid was never one of them. IG-11 was a crack shot, but there were simply too many Stormtroopers coveyed behind buildings for them to advance without being shot in the back. Mando’s gut throbs and black spots swim in front of his vision. He knew he was dying.

“You are in need of medical assistance,” IG says, peering at the Mandalorian between the laserfire. He shoots another Stormtrooper, and two more take their place.

“It’s too late for me,” the Mandalorian says miserably. Strength seeps from his body as the blackness presses in around his eyes. He can taste blood on his tongue. “Go. Get to the Crest. Tell the rest of them I’m— I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant for th-them to be hurt.”

Another explosion goes off nearby, closer than the ones before it. Mando leans his head back against the stony debris.

“I am programmed to protect you,” IG-11 says.

“There’s no way out,” Mando replies, coughing wetly. “Please, just— Keep the rest of them safe. Tell the kid I’m sorry. For everything.”

Mando had always known it would only be a matter of time before his sins caught up with him. You didn’t get to where he was in life without making mistakes, but now as he thought of the little boy in the floating cradle, he couldn’t help but wish he’d had the chance to tell him goodbye.

Another ripple sweeps through the street, shuddering the architecture, and in an instant the laser-fire sounds far away and muffled. Mando tries to turn his head to the side, and what he sees perplexes him.

The Crest was a blur behind the near transparent, blue-green bubble that had formed in a hemispherical dome over Mando and IG, the blaster-fire outside being repelled by whatever invisible force sustained it.

“What- What is that?” he chokes out.

“Ah,” says IG-11, sitting up from behind the rubble. “It appears the child is no longer safe aboard the Razor Crest.”

Paz heard the sound of the battle change first. He looks around them, then hangs out of the docking ramp to see the boy a dozen meters away with his back to them, one hand raised as he summons a force field around himself, the last Mandalorian, and the droid. Paz hollers for the others’ attention, but as soon as he tries to step off the ramp the boy’s other hand comes up, throwing him backwards and rocking the ship with a violent shake.

In the cockpit Kuiil tries to pull up on the yoke, seeing Imperial ships on the distant horizon, but the Crest remains seized in stasis. “What’s going on down there?!” he barks over his shoulder.

Vizsla rams the invisible barrier covering the open doorway with his shoulder again, all of those in the hold trying to break through. “The foundling’s blocking us in!”

Mando sees the boy concentrating fifty feet away, retaining some invisible hold on the ship and on his position next to IG-11. His allies yell somewhere distantly behind the child, and Mando realizes he’s buying them time.

“Go,” IG-11 says. “The child needs you. I can protect you until you both get to the ship.”

“Come with us,” Mando says, half using the droid for support, half pulling him along.

The droid gently pulls his arm away. A barrage of lasers and small explosions continue to hit the outside of the bubble. He hoists his gun up.

“If you assure me the child will be safe, I can revert to my original function. You must go.”

“But you’ll die,” Mando protests.

A larger explosion hits the outside of the bubble and it wavers, the child’s brow digging deeper over eyes closed in concentration. The repurposed assassin droid pushes Mando towards the boy.

“And you and the child will live, and I will have fulfilled my purpose.”

“Please,” the Mandalorian pleads. “We need you.”

“The child needs you.” The droid gently pulls his arm away, and Mando doesn’t have the energy to reach for it as the droid steps back, turning to walk in the opposite direction of the ship.

“Goodbye, Mandalorian,” IG said. “Tell Kuiil I give him my thanks.”

Another explosion hits the force field and it dissipates in shimmering ripples of blue and green. Mando’s heart rate spikes as he sees the child stumble, exhausted and exposed, and with one last burst of energy he dives through the smoke, scooping the boy up into his arms and running for the ship. Behind him the assassin droid’s voice can be heard from down the street.

“Manufacturer’s protocol dictates that I cannot be captured…”

—

A Mandalorian races with a pounding heart to his ship, leaping towards the ramp with a child curled protectively against his chest. He grabs the brace and lurches to the side as the pilot pulls up, and allies old and new reach with arms outstretched to pull them to safety inside the cargo hold.

The explosion on the streets of Nevarro sends a concussive blast rippling up through the surrounding buildings as the Razor Crest pulls away. The pitch and roll of the ship forces the survivors to brace themselves; Kuiil pulls up, firing with deadly accuracy against the Imperial ships bearing down on them. Several successive shots blast the ships apart and with a burst of acceleration Kuiil flies through the wreckage and smoke and soars skyward, leaving the destruction behind them.

Mando hears his friends cheer. Laughter and relief suffuse the hold with a warmth he hasn’t felt in years. His tribesmen and his newfound friends look over each other’s injuries, helping each other stand. The ache of his own injuries throbs with his slowing pulse, and he finally exhales a grateful sigh of relief.

The child squirms under his arm, and as Mando sits back against the bulkhead, the darkness pressing around his vision overtakes him and everything begins to fade. The last thing he feels is a small, three-fingered hand reaching up to him, slipping beneath the chin of his helmet.

Dim light filters through the helmet and someone shakes his shoulder. He couldn’t have been out long and as his blurry vision clears he can see the distressed face of the Armorer through his visor in front of him. He thinks she’s saying his name, but it still takes several long seconds for him to register her voice. The fire in his abdomen is unlike anything he’s ever felt. He’s barely clinging to life.

“Can you hear me?”

He tries for a nod, but even that sends pain through his neck and shoulders. His visor tilts down to see the child, large eyes watery and full of fear, his distressed coos tugging at the Mandalorian’s heart.

“He- He shouldn’t-t be here,” Mando croaks.

The kid crawls over his leg to perch next to his midsection. Mando’s arm feels leaden, too heavy to raise, and as he tries to sit up again he bites off a choked out yell of pain, the Armorer pushing him flat as she works to rid him of his belt and bandolier. Sweat pours from his brow and chills course through his body.

The child climbs up onto him. Mando watches as the boy moves, frantically gesturing for the Armorer to remove the fabric staunching the flow of blood beneath Mando’s breastplate. She does, swiftly following it with both breastplate and plackart to reveal the extent of the damage caused by the saber. Mando chokes in pain despite her care, his leg kicking out weakly on reflex as he writhes, vulnerability clawing at every nerve.

And then, for some unknown reason, a sense of gentle assurance washes over him like a tide. He gasps, relaxing immediately as tension releases from his chest; lost and confused, helpless to stop what comes next, he looks down at the boy.

Awake this time, Mando watches the child close his eyes in concentration; he hovers his hand over the charred, bloody wound with blackened skin lining the edges and depth of the laceration.

And over a long, tense moment we see the vicious injury begin to close up before their eyes.

Mando’s eyes prick with tears, seeing the depth of care on the child’s face. For so long he had worked to keep the boy safe, fighting off any and every assailant that dared try to take the child from him or put the boy in danger. He’d held him as he slept, picked him up when he stumbled, kept him close and loved him the only way he knew how, and now he watched as the child selflessly returned that care a hundred times over. No matter what he did in this life, Tomás knew he’d never truly be able to repay the boy for what he did.

Mando heaves a sigh of relief, the strain of survival being lifted in an instant. The boy turns, carefully coming up to his shoulders and tapping his small hand against the metal of the helmet. Before he can register what’s happening, the Armorer has joined him and has carefully cradled the sides of his helmet in her hands.

Alarm cuts through his senses and he immediately clasps her wrist, shaking his head and looking around wildly. “No- I shouldn’t- I’m fine—”

“You are in the captain’s berth,” she says, her face calm. “The child and I are the only ones here. Let us help.”

He’s shaking his head, trying to sit up, pull away, dislodge her hands without tipping the boy over, but he’s still so weak he can’t muster the strength. “I can’t— I’m not s-supposed—”

“Tomás,” the Armorer said, catching his protesting hands, and the sound of her weary voice makes him stop fighting. “I was the one who bestowed your armor. Of all the people on this vessel, I am the one best suited to help. Be still.”

The injustice of her own oath being broken by Moff Gideon weighs on his conscience to an unbearable degree. Though she remains stoic and reserved, the lines on her face are shadowed and deep, and there are still streaks of blood and tears on her skin. He can only imagine the toll it’s taken on her.

“Alor,” the Mandalorian said roughly, tears filling his own voice. “I— I’m so sorry. Please— Please forgive me.”

The Armorer sighs, her jaw working to maintain her composure, but she remains where she is with her hands on either side of his face. “You are not the cause of my pain,” she said. “Cuyir su. Be still.”

Somewhere beside him he heard a plaintive sound, accompanied by a tug on his cowl. The boy appeared in his periphery, his little face filled with concern.

Slowly, the Mandalorian lets go, and the Armorer lifts his helmet free.

The man we see is a sight older than Din Djarin, deep set wrinkles lining his face and silver hair prominent at his temples. He has the features of the father in the flashbacks, and though his brown eyes are the same, they are much more tired, and much more sad.

He starts to choke up as he looks at the Armorer. The child moves and places his small hand on the Mandalorian’s face. The Armorer watches intently, and suddenly the pain at his temple and the base of his skull abates, the wounds he’s sustained closing up.

The child sits back, exhausted, and immediately curls up to the side of the Mandalorian’s chest beneath his arm, falling asleep. Tomás looks at him in awe, gently stroking the boy’s hand with his thumb.

“So this is the one whose safety deemed such destruction,” the Armorer murmured. “I see why you thought it judicious not to return.”

Tomás cleared his throat, sitting up and cradling the child gently. “If I’d known what would happen, I- I never would have put the tribe at risk.”

“We knew what could happen if we were discovered,” she said. She stowed medical supplies in a footlocker, and Mando could see that his leg was bandaged as well, a metal washbasin with bloodied shrapnel also set to the side. “Moff Gideon is the only one to blame for all that happened on Nevarro, the danger he posed to the child included.”

There’s a beat of silence as he looks at his leader, her at the child.

“What will you do?” he asks.

She knows what he means. “I will return to Mandalore in search of the Living Waters,” she says, taking a seat nearby. “There I will seek out redemption.”

“… The Empire turned the planet to glass,” he says thickly. “How do you know they still exist?”

“I don’t,” she says simply. Her expression never changes. “But I have faith. This is the Way.”

For the first time under her leadership, he doesn’t feel like he’s permitted to echo their mantra. He still feels responsible for the desecration she experienced at the hands of the Moff, and the injustice only compounds his anger now.

“Let me help,” he says. “Let me come with you.”

“No,” she replied, taking his helmet in hand and beginning to clean it. “You have a charge to care for, and a new mission.”

“Mission?”

“Yes.” The Armorer nodded to the boy. “You must know that this is a Jedi child, yes?”

“Yes…?”

“Then you know that he must be reunited with his own kind.”

Mando’s jaw works as his eyes fill with tears once more, and he clutches the child closer to himself on reflex. He knows she sees it, but he can do nothing to curb the impulse to hold him tighter.

“… You wish for me to search the galaxy for some long-forgotten enemies— people we have never met, who may not exist— and relinquish him to them?” he asks carefully. “Enemies of the Mandalorians?”

The Armorer smiles sadly, resting a hand on his pauldron. “The child of our enemies found safety in you.”

Tomás has to look away from her as his emotions war on his face, his breathing stilted and harsh as he tries to keep them under control.

“Their kind were enemies at one time,” she says. “But the both of us have a common enemy in the Empire. The truth of the matter is that the boy is capable of more than either of us understand, and there are those who would stop at nothing to use him for what he can do. He needs training we cannot provide. Without it, he will not survive.”

The Mandalorian sagged, hearing her say what he knew out loud. He looked at the little boy in his arms, still stroking his fingers with his thumb as the boy slept.

“He may already have a family, Tomás,” she says gently. “It would be an injustice to keep him from them, should they be looking.”

“And if he doesn’t?” he demands. He’s trying to temper his reflexive impulse to protest but the weight and warmth of the child in his arms is making it difficult not to object.

The Armorer watches him silently, though not unkindly. He can’t muster the will to face her.

“… This child is a foundling,” she says with finality, standing. She sets his helmet beside him and goes to the door. “Until it is of age or is reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

Mando jerks his head back to her, watching her with a look of confusion and, perhaps, hope.

“We will be landing soon,” she says. “Where you go after this will be up to you.”

[rosesandoranges90]

Caught you staring

The blue lock boys catching you checking them out.

G/N READER X BLUE LOCK

CHARACTERS: ISAGI YOICHI, BACHIRA MEGURU, CHIGIRI HYOMA, NAGI SEISHIRO & REO MIKAGE.

Isagi Yoichi

"Hello boy next door."

you though as you strolled through Shibuya Crossing on a brisk morning, your gaze fell upon an adorable guy with striking blue eyes and the most charming smile you'd seen in years. He was enjoying a hot drink from one of the nearby cafes, swaying to the rhythm of the music in his earbuds. Captivated by his presence, you lost focus and collided with a light pole, resulting in a painful "thud."

"Oh my god, are you okay?!" he exclaimed, concern etched on his face as you let out a pained groan and clutched your shoulder. You thought to yourself that this was definitely going to leave a bruise while he gently placed his hands on your shoulders. Flustered, you shrugged off his touch, trying to conceal your flushed cheeks.

"I'm fine! I-I wasn't looking, thank you!" you stammered, hastily merging into the crowd, hoping to disappear among the throngs of people. As you glanced back one last time, you caught him watching you with a worried expression that quickly transformed into a warm smile.

"Hm…Pretty."

Bachira Meguru

"That cute guy is here!'

You said in your head as you pedal through the picturesque Mizumoto Park on a warm, sunny day, your thoughts drift to the charming guy practicing football nearby. His infectious grin and sparkling eyes draw you in as he skillfully maneuvers the black and white ball. Lost in admiration, you realize you've been staring a bit too long when—

THUMP!

Grateful for the bushes that softened your fall, you find your bike sprawled across the path. As you extricate yourself from the prickly foliage, a voice offers, "Let me help you," and you feel a pair of hands lifting you up. To your surprise, it’s your crush, who brushes the leaves from your hair with that signature smile that seems to outshine the sun. "You alright? That sounded like a nasty impact," he asks with concern.

"Yup! Fine…fine…um…um…thanks…Have a great day," you stammer, hastily grabbing your bike and pedaling away. Once you feel you've put enough distance between you, you glance back to find him watching you intently.

"Hope I see them again soon"

Chigiri Hyoma

"I need to know this guys hair routine…"

you thought to yourself while passing a charming guy whose stunning red hair outshines even the brightest rubies on a crisp fall evening. As you admired him typing on his phone, you accidentally collided with a friendly vendor carrying a box of gala apples. Snapping back to reality, you hurriedly caught the apples that nearly fell and placed them back on her stand, bowing in apology.

"I'm really sorry, ma'am! I wasn't focused; I'll pay for the ones that dropped." She reassured you, "No, no, dear, it's fine." You let out a sigh of relief, feeling your cheeks flush as you noticed a few curious glances from onlookers. Just then, the cute redhead chimed in with a playful remark,

"Huh, am I as sweet as a candy apple to distract you like that?" His mesmerizing scarlet eyes locked onto yours, and your face turned as red as one as you quickly turned and hurried away, only to glance back and see him still chuckling.

"Cutie."

Nagi Seishiro

"What a doll"

Those words echo in your mind as you spot a striking guy with white hair engrossed in a light gun arcade game. Despite his expressionless demeanor, you find it hard to look away from this towering figure, only to stumble over a "wet floor" sign. In a desperate attempt to shield your phone, you brace for impact as you hit the ground.

Your head throbs, your body is sure to be sore with bruises come morning, but miraculously, your phone remains unscathed. As you lie there, relief washes over you for surviving another day, and then a large hand reaches out to you. "Nice save. You good?" the baby-faced gamer asks, waiting for your response. Blushing, you grasp his strong hand, feeling the effortless pull as he lifts you up. Embarrassment floods you, and you avoid his gaze while rubbing the back of your neck.

"Thanks… Well, have a great rest of your day," you stammer, quickly withdrawing your hand and making your way out of the arcade, your cheeks hidden by your scarf. One last glance reveals him staring at you with those captivating green eyes.

"Pretty"

Reo Mikage

"What a handsome dude."

You think to yourself as you notice an elegantly dressed young man browsing through some luxurious handmade suits in the department store, you're passing through. His deep purple hair frames his face perfectly, captivating you so much that you accidentally bump into a male mannequin, causing it to teeter.

You manage to catch it just in time, but the mannequin's wig, reminiscent of your uncle's toupee, slips off. Suddenly, laughter erupts from across the store, and you wince as you turn to find the handsome guy you were admiring watching you with amusement.

"Are you alright?" he asks, approaching with a playful grin. You're too busy trying to smooth out the wrinkles in the polo shirt, which you caused, but you manage to offer him a polite smile. "Yeah, I wasn't paying attention... Sorry," you reply, reaching for the wig to put it back in place when his gentle hand wraps around your wrist, making you blush. "Don't worry about it," he says, taking the wig from you. "Honestly, it’s an improvement; the wig makes the suit look tacky."

You can't help but giggle at his remark as you slowly back away and exit the store, lightly tapping your temple and muttering "idiot" to yourself repeatedly. Just before you leave, you glance back one last time to see the charming young man waving at you, still grinning and chuckling softly.

"See you another time, beautiful."

(This was kind of rushed but it's readable. Hope you enjoy!)

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Perfect Queen?

BRANDON STARK X READER

Summary- As the new queen and lady of Winterfell, you feel out of place. Thankfully, Bran reassures you of your position and loves you for who you are- not who you are trying to be.

A/N- I have not written for GoT in awhile, but HotD season 2 has sparked my interest again! Reminder that REQUEST ARE OPEN! <3

Requested by- @eualiabd @zamwnda

Word count- 1,612

You were barely a noble. The third daughter out of seven girls born into house Frey. Not a single male survived long enough to carry on the family name. What does a family full of women do? Marry off. So quickly that just after your ten and nine birthday, you were the only sister who was unwed.

Maybe being from a low house, and not having much experience with lordship- landed you as King Brandon Starks wife.

Of course, your mother was ecstatic when the king of all men, wanted to marry you. You had only known the previously named prince when he was a boy.

His father, Ned Stark, would visit on business to the Riverlands. Brandon always joined, eager to see you. Even after his fall, you were able to see him one last time before he disappeared for many years. You were devastated when you learnt of his 'death.' When he returned, you figured he forgot all about you. Though, a dozen knights showing up at your door, requesting you to meet with the King, changed your mind.

"A Stark never forgets an oath." Was his reasoning, suddenly a fond memory of Bran and you as children appeared. He, even at his young age, held your hand and swore on his name to marry you one day. To join your families.

At his now official and surprising marriage proposal, you quickly agreed. Any woman would be insane not to, feelings aside, you were helping the reputation of your house.

While your reunion with him was quick, it was satisfactory. He had changed with age and with his new responsibilities. As king and The Three Eyed Raven. Deep down, he was still the boy you loved. Even if he only showed it to you.

The cold air was refreshing, not stiff not muggy like you were used to. Though it took some time, you've learnt to grow fond of the snow and crisp feeling. A trip back to Brans home made you overjoyed. Even if Bran was only there on 'kingly' matters.

A large coat made of the finest furs rested up on your shoulders. A pin with the Stark emblem let all know you were the Queen. A title you were trying to get comfortable with. There were so many duties you were getting familiar with.

That wasn't hardly the worst part, however.

What irked you to no end, were the stares. Mostly women who were in court, or wives of men who frequented the castle. They had no room to speak, yet still murmured and gossiped to each other. The audacity to talk about the queen as they passed you. It shocked you that they were so informal.

You could never get close enough to hear, as Brandon had two Knights with you at all times. You understood the precaution, though your freedom was slightly limited.

"Bran, please tell me what they said..." You pleaded. It was evening, and the two of you were sat side by side for supper. Only separated by a corner of the table.

He looked up at you, face expressionless like it always was. "It is insignificant gossip."

You pushed your warm plate of food back, you were not interested anymore. "Not to me, it isn't."

Bran was fully aware of what they were thinking and saying. Just because he was All-Seeing, did not mean you also had to bear that burden. He would do everything he could to keep away the ill effects of his powers.

"Consider the matter finished." Was all he responded with, very 'Bran-like.'

However, the matter was not finished to you. With enough time, you knew you could get Bran to cave into you. He almost never told you 'no.' All he wanted was to keep you happy. He just did not see any reason to spread negative thoughts into your mind.

You pushed your chair back with a small screech. Taking a deep breath, you took one long stride to Bran's side.

Maybe you were trying to soften him up, you'd never tell, but you wrapped both hands around his forearm. Even crouching down to look up at him.

"I want to be a good queen. I want to fix whatever they chastised me for. Bran, you know I wont give until you tell me... Surely you know that?" You lightly moved your hand up and down his arm. He did know, he just wanted to do something his way for once. Deep within, he knew you'd get what you wanted. It was terribly hard to do anything that upset you.

He pursed his lips, giving out a sigh. "You are a good queen." He leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

With a puff you stood up, letting him go. "Obviously no one else thinks so." Your dramatic side got the best of you as you turned and left the dinning hall.

You allowed yourself to wallow in self pity, something you'd have time to regret later.

Your handmaid rushed behind you, eager to help whatever the problem was.

"I just don't understand why he won't tell me, Tamsin." You sulked on a padded chair while your handmaid gently took the ties and pins out of your hair.

She pressed a friendly hand to your shoulder, "He just wants to protect you."

You gave a half hearted smile, "I want to get better, I've never been a queen before..." You stood to let Tamsin being to unlace your corset.

You both heard a strong knock, assumingly from a member of the kings guard.

"The queen needs a moment to dress!" Tamsin called out, aware of a queens modesty.

A deep voice called back, "The King requests to see her Majesty."

Tamsin stopped with the laces and went to peek her head out. You couldn't hear what she was saying, but she quickly returned.

"Uh, Ma'am, the King is outside... waiting..." She was always a little nervous around Bran, you knew it was because of the Title and passiveness.

She fiddled with her fingers, "You are dismissed, thank you. Please let the King in." She responded with a light curtsy.

After Tamsin opened the door, you stood and watched as a knight pushed Bran in. The two of you were quickly left alone as Bran waved off the man.

You look down, trying to press your dress flat, slightly anxious.

Bran simply looked, the smallest smile present. "I apologize for upsetting you. It was not my intention." He says, his own hands resting still in his lap.

"I know..." You licked your lips, suddenly your mouth felt dry. At the following silence you started again, "Will you help me?" You gestured to your lace that was halfway tied on your back.

He nodded, "Of course."

He pushed himself over, getting closer to you. You turned your back to him, pulling your hair over your shoulders.

"Bran?" You quietly said as his gentle hands worked at your laces. An activity that was strangely intimate and peaceful.

"Yes, my love?" He responded, mindlessly. You let the dress fall from your frame. You stepped out of it, now only in a white slip.

You gnawed at your bottom lip, tears were threatening. "Please, just tell me if I become a better queen?" Your voice cracked up on the word 'queen', tears spilling over.

Hands came up to try and cover your sobs.

''I have a feeling you have been struggling with this for awhile..." Bran says, ushering you to spin around with his hands at your waist. He would never read your secret thoughts without your permission.

You weren't able to deny or agree, but you turned to look at him.

"I have seen, and you will become the most loving Queen the realm has ever known. You will be named for your care of the people." He said, pulling you down into a hug.

"Really?"

You fell further to your knees, leaning your head onto this lower chest. Bran pet your hair slowly, his other hand rested on your back.

"Have I ever lied to you?" You shook your head, still buried in him.

"Would you really like to know what those two women said?" He asked, a finger bringing your chin up. You nodded.

"They said your house was not high enough for you to become queen. They were sure that they would be better candidates." His face was stoic, clearly in disgust at what they said.

You sighed and rested your head down once again, arms crossed under your head. You looked out the side sadly, though starting to accept your position. There was nothing you could do about the house you were born into.

"You do know that I would rather die an old and lonely man than marry another? Right?" He pets your hair once again.

A smile arises on your face. "I couldn't think of a more handsome nor giving husband of you."

Without skipping a beat, he says, "Well, that's because I am king." His expression and tone is serious, but you laugh nonetheless.

It is soon clear that he was joking as well, as he breaks into a grin.

You sigh once more, this time happy. "Can we retire to bed now?" You ask, squeezing his hand.

"Whatever you so wish."

Sleep was moments from taking you, your eyes fighting to stay open. You were pressed up as close as possible to Bran, your head tucked under his chin.

"I meant what I said, earlier." Bran mentions, staring up. Without moving you speak, "About what?"

"That you're already a great queen." Your heart fills with flutters.

"Promise?"

"I swear it."

A/N- Not going to lie to y'all, I hate this one. But, I promised more Bran content! Please let me know if you have any ideas on how to improve! Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the support guys!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[wisteria-lodge]

Dumbledore & the Rejected Drink

So there's this little character quirk Dumbledore has. He really likes offering, and asking for drinks. It's his go-to social ice-breaker. BUT there's also a motif of that drink... not happening. And it's not a children's literature thing, there are plenty of scenes of the Order drinking, Harry, Ron and Hermione drinking, Hagrid, Slughorn, Narcissa, the Fat Lady all drinking. Mundungus, Trelawney, and Winky drink *too much.* It's just a Dumbledore thing! No one wants to drink with Dumbledore!

In Book 4 he invites Barty Senior, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff to have "a nightcap" with him after the Goblet of Fire ceremony, they all turn him down. :(

When he goes to pick up Harry in Book 6, Dumbledore pours mead for all three Dursleys, which they obviously don't drink. (And the longer they don't drink the more insistent the glasses get, until they're bouncing on the Dursleys' heads.)

In the next scene, he asks Slughorn for a drink, which he does get... but Slughorn doesn't drink with him.

Slughorn will later plan to give Dumbledore a bottle of mead for Chirstmas, and then just... not do that. This is a huge plot point too. Like with the bouncing glasses at the Dursleys, the narrative is drawing attention to the fact that no one is drinking with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore mentions that if anyone sees him leaving the castle, they'll think he's "off into Hogsmeade for a drink (...) I sometimes offer Rosmerta my custom, or else visit the Hog’s Head... or I appear to." So again with this "thwarted drink" thing. He's not actually drinking at the Hog's Head. (We learn later that the Hog's Head belongs to Aberforth so that's like... he's not even drinking with his brother. who owns a bar.)

There's a bit in Book 3 which *might* count, where Dumbledore asks Hagrid for "a cup of tea. Or a large brandy.” And Hagrid agrees, but we don't see him actually drink with Dumbledore (and we don't know for sure that he's going to go with the alcohol.)

Dumbledore drinks with exactly two people in the entire series:

1. Harry

“Madam Rosmerta’s finest oak-matured mead,” said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely.

2. Voldemort

“May I offer you a drink?” “That would be welcome,” said Voldemort. “I have come a long way.” Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet where he now kept the Pensieve, but which then was full of bottles. Having handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk. “So, Tom . . . to what do I owe the pleasure?” Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine. “They do not call me ‘Tom’ anymore,” he said. “These days, I am known as —” “I know what you are known as,” said Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly. “But to me, I’m afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges’ youthful beginnings.” He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless.

Then, the only other time Dumbledore and Voldemort actually meet face to face, we see this dynamic continued:

“There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!” snarled Voldemort. “You are quite wrong,” said Dumbledore, still closing in upon Voldemort and speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks.

Like, I get it. Dumbledore is put on a pedestal by most people who know him (I'm also thinking of his comment about how people always give him books as gifts, when he really wants socks.) He's just a person, he's just a guy, but the vast majority of people in his life treat him as this all-knowing powerhouse and maybe... aren't that motivated to break that illusion by getting to know him on a personal level. No one is drinking with him (this symbol of connection and equality) even though he keeps offering.

So, it does make a lot of sense that Harry drinks with him in Book 6. Book 6 is where Dumbledore finally decides that he can tell Harry his secrets, and pass the torch onto him. In the French translation, this is where he and Harry start using informal pronouns with each other. He sees Harry as his equal.

But Voldemort.... like. The idea of him and Dumbledore drinking together is brought up twice. It's also interesting that at one point Dumbledore had a drinks cabinet in his office, but doesn't during the main series. Did Dumbledore have (or want) more of these 'equal footing' connections before the first Voldemort war? I wouldn't be surprised.

So we have Voldemort and Dumbledore: the two brilliant, powerful, goody-two-shoes students who won every award in the school, then opted for jobs they were aggressively overqualified for after they left, learned to read minds, spent Books 4, 5 and 6 battling it out through proxies. They're oddly similar people. And they treat each other as equals.

I'm not totally sure what I'm supposed to do with this info, to be honest. I guess, start shipping Dumblemort?

EDIT: Have been informed that this ship is called Riddledore, which does sound much less stupid.

[kyokutsu-sama]

_____________________________

The captain's sword

A/n: I've been writing about this man on ao3, I've already posted two works there and I'll post this one there later. This captain makes me feel things🤭(Seriously bro, there's something about men with tough personalities that attracts me...)

Tw: NSFW content

_____________________________

You wondered how you had managed to get to the base without falling along the way due to exhaustion. Your mana was extinct as was your energy, all you wanted to do at that moment was pass out on your soft mattress and sleep for the whole week but it seems that you had other plans before going to sleep.

You saw Yami at the counter and wanted to kill him after he sent you on a mission that almost cost you your life.

"There you are, you scoundrel !" You said, approaching the counter. "You were drinking and smoking while I was there dying, weren't you?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?" He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and an unfriendly expression on his face, as if he wanted to intimidate you but you were too mad to be afraid

"With my stupid captain, Yami Sukehiro" You said, sitting next to him and he looked at you for a long moment in silence, the cigarette smoke leaving his lips after he took a long sigh. He undoubtedly liked your defiant air when you dared to speak like that, strong women were his type and he was definitely going to play that game.

"Your tongue is very sharp tonight, I see" He slightly curved his lips upwards

"I thought you liked tough girls with sharp tongues. What's the problem now? Can't you handle them?" You teased and he closed his eyes with another long sigh

"Here, drink" He said, extending the large mug of beer to you

"You didn’t answer my question"

"Drink" He insisted and since you knew he was stubborn, you decided to do what he said

There was no one else there, you thought it was strange since they would also like to be there drinking or breaking everything but maybe they were already asleep. It was late and you were supposed to be sleeping too but since your dear captain was there, you weren't just going to turn your back on him. He enjoyed your company even if you were mad at him and you also couldn't ignore him when he was offering you drinks and company too.

Anyone who didn't know him at that moment would think he was a calm person, with half-closed eyes, a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth, some strands of his black hair falling over his face making him even more attractive and an expressionless face. However, he was not someone to mess with and everyone there knew it. You also knew and that's why you pushed his buttons until he lost his patience, which was little and led him to do crazy things. He also did the same to you, teasing you every day until you went crazy. Deep down you knew he has a tender heart when it comes to you, even if he teases you twenty-four hours, even if he gives you more difficult training because he believes in you and your abilities and that you can surpass your limits, even though he was a stubborn and short-tempered at times, you loved him with all his flaws. You knew that inside his little heart was you and he himself admitted that to you a lot of times.

You placed the empty mug on the table and looked at him, who still seemed focused on a random corner of the room.

"I finished drinking, are you going to answer me now?" You said, looking at him

"Drink another one"He replied, taking a drag on his cigarette, still without looking at you

"Yami, are you testing my patience ?" You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head slightly to the side

"You're the one testing my patience, princess. Did the mission go well or do I need to go in there and take out the other guy for you?”

"No, I already did what had to be done, I even broke the sword you gave me last week"

"You broke what?" He looked at you as you placed the remaining part of the sword on the table. "Honey, I hadn't even finished paying, in fact, I didn't even pay mine, let alone yours"

“Well, Yami, it looks like you're going to have to start saving more money instead of betting everything on gambling like you always do, even with your clothes” You looked away in the last words, remembering when he came back from long nights completely naked after having bet them on gambling

“So what? My nudity is nothing new to others... and not to you either" He gave a little smile and you felt a slight blush on your cheeks."Now, regarding the sword, leave it to me. I'll see if I can find some money to pay this shit for the next hundred years"

"And see if the next one is of quality"

"It's not about quality when you don't know how to wield it"

"What did you say, Yami?" You looked at him with a threatening look

"Nothing" He said, raising hands in a kind of surrender

"See? You don't even have the balls to repeat what you said to my face, it just proves that you can't handle a strong woman like me" You teased and got up from the bench but he grabbed your arm turning you towards him

"Princess, you're making me lose my mind with all that tough personality. Come here" He picked you up and put you on his shoulder so easily and quickly that you make you scream at his sudden movement

"Yami, what are you doin--" He slapped your butt as he carried you to his room."Are you punishing me now?”

“And it’s just the beginning, baby" He laughed and entered the bedroom

He threw you on the bed and closed the door, you looked at him as he put out his cigarette and looked you up and down, wondering where he would start.

"Why are you looking at me? I thought you were a man of action"

"Be quiet brat, I'm concentrating" He said as he took off his tattered black cape and shirt.

"Brat? What happened to ‘princess’?"

"They will evolve for worse if you keep talking" He said climbing onto the bed and holding your face in his hand

Yes, it would, you knew it would. The beautiful nicknames he gave in the beginning would be the future dirty talk. It was only making the heat in the room rise as well as the heat building up between your thighs. However, he also had to be punished for the mission he had given you and you would take care of it.

"What’s wrong? Why aren't you laughing now?" He asked with a low voice close to your face and you blushed

He would tease you until the end, until you couldn't handle it anymore, take you to the limits and even beyond that. That was his type.

He pushed you onto the mattress and got on top of you, removing your clothes and you helped him, his strong and hurried hands roaming your body. He leaned towards you and kissed your lips, taking your breath away with heat and strength, you hugged him close to you, taking your hands to run down his back. His hand slid between your thighs and stroked the wetness that increased the more he touched you, he pulled your lip between his teeth before settling on your neck and sucking the skin there. You could already feel your sweaty skin and slight goosebumps, you whimpered when he placed his fingers in you and you tight them inside you. The ability that man had to make you forget that you were mad at him moments ago was impressive. You arched your back and both bodies touched, there was no distance between the two and you were delirious with so much proximity. You put a hand to the back of his head, he was still marking your skin and tasting every bit of it.

The fingers moving in and out and scissoring, opening more space inside you as you writhed and moaned beneath his huge body covering yours. His thumb brushing against the sensitive bud and sending shivers throughout your body, making your legs tremble. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure just at the feeling of his lips kissing your neck. You were close but you held yourself back so you didn't have to come before you could take control of the situation and play with him a little too. You grabbed his forearm and removed his fingers from you and turned him around, sitting on top of him, resting your hands on his chest while he looked at you, intrigued that you had changed roles.

"You're feeling very confident today" He joked, placing his hands on your waist

"My turn to punish you for giving me such a troublesome mission today" You said taking the belt off his pants to tie his wrists above his head, to prevent him from touching you

"You don't think this will last long, do you?" He chuckled, looking at you and you smiled

"No, but I just need some time for what I'm going to do. Don't worry dear, I'll be gentle with you" You leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips

You knew that he would go along with it because deep down he liked having you on top showing your strength, that turned him on.

You held the waistband of his pants and removed them. You had the beautiful vision of him all naked and with his arms tied above his head and that only made things heat up more. You brought a hand to his dick, stroking it while you looked at him and saw his hands start to fight to free himself, he just wanted you to continue what you were doing because it felt too good.

You spat into the palm of your hand to make back and forth movements as you felt your insides tighten with emptiness and the desire to take him right there but you liked the idea of just watching him suffer a little. Not that he was suffering from your touch but rather the fact that he wanted to grab your hips and bury himself inside you.

"What's wrong, Yami? I can't see your smile right now" You teased, using his words and he bit his lip, seeing the way you were teasing him

"You're a teaser"He said with a hoarse voice and his eyes half-open

Your hand moved faster around him, his hands fought to free themselves again, you weren't sure if he was closer to coming or letting go from the belt and making you pay for it.

He was right when he said that it wouldn't last long, and besides, he wouldn't need to try very hard to get out of that knot.

And it was when you least expected it that one of his hands was already on your wrist, preventing you from doing anything else, you looked at him after being taken by surprise.

He turned you around and placed you under him on the mattress and pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, looking at your panting and flushed face.

It seems like you would have to leave your revenge for another day.

"You found a way to surpass your limits again, did you?" You smiled and he chuckled

"You make me surpass them"

"Good to kno---" You barely finished your sentence and he turned your back to him and lifted your hips up. All that desire of his was making him impatient and with little time for conversation.

"You talk too much" His hand rested on the red skin after slapping your butt. "Just watch me surpass my limits again"

He was quick to place himself inside you and fill your insides to the deepest point, your fingers grabbed the sheets in front of you and your moans were muffled against it.

“You're so tight right now, Y/n”He sighed heavily."Don't tell me you were thinking about me while you were there fighting?"

He placed one hand on the back of your head, keeping your head against the mattress and the other hand on the headboard as he sped up his thrusts. You could barely breathe at that moment, even if you wanted to lean your head back, his strong hand was pressing you and the only thing you could do was feel your legs tremble and whimper every time his body collided against yours. The others would probably hear all those dirty sounds coming from the room but you wouldn't believe that any of them would be stupid enough to complain about it out loud, unless they wanted to move up the date of their death. He removed one hand from the back of your neck and brought it to your clit to make circular movements that made you tighten more and more around him. You felt the butterflies in your stomach intensifying when you came, your legs weakened and your fingers were still holding the sheets with some strength as he filled you with his cum, until you felt it running down your thighs. He withdrew from you and pulled your body back so that you were leaning against his chest, he bent down and kissed your neck while his arms hugged your body from behind making you feel protected from everything.

He could have all that size and be a brute, but he always seemed so clingy and careful with you. It was as if you changed his personality for something different, not very different but at least it softened this man's little heart a little.

"I'm sorry Y/n, I won't let you go on a mission like that alone again." He said kissing the top of your head and tightening his arms around you

"And I think I should also apologize for breaking the sword.”

"Don't worry about it, I'll find another one. Even if it means not seeing my paycheck for months or probably years." He said, laughing

[leonw4nter]

been obsessed with ur fics relating to Taylor’s songs 🥺 can u do one with ‘sl/t’? Just a good ole fluffy fic.

My Cuddly Eldritch Boyfriend!

Eldritch Horror!RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

“Ah yes, my human female companion, I believe I am required to inform you of my whereabouts for today. Since we have run out of the minuscule jar of the chocolate-hazelnut spread you quite enjoy consuming with sliced bread, I had to leave our shared den and purchase some for you. It appears that I have underestimated the price of such delicacy for the bills I have pocketed fell short of a few more dollars,” your boyfriend Leon happily recounted as he showed you the large tub of sandwich spread that he bought earlier today. “Boyfriend”, rather, if he can be considered that.

Leon waltzed into your life quite interestingly, a little more differently than most boyfriends do in the lives of others who have them. You were trapped in an unhappy relationship, the kind where you had to beg to be shown affection and got scolded for buying yourself little goodies like a funny little pond jewelry dish. He was always on his gaming computer or out with his buddies for beer and snacks, yelling at you over the phone whenever you refused to lend him more money. You went home one evening, after a draining workday, to see your “boyfriend” quietly cleaning around the house and stopping to greet you good evening and ask you about your day. It’s quite the contrast to go from an “annoying clingy hoe” to “human female companion” but the latter is leagues better than the other words hurled at you. Leon isn’t even the name of your former boyfriend, wherever he is now; this replacement simply decided to name himself. You know you should be looking for your former partner, wherever he is, but you don’t want to. You’re more than happy with Leon and you wouldn’t want another undeserving girl to fall into the suffocating clutches of your ex.

“A lady has also offered me a small slice of processed meat– a sausage, it is called. Seasoned pork meat rolled into logs, a cut skewered into an infinitesimally slim stake referred to as ‘toothpick’. It is quite delectable, I must admit, but I haven’t any payment in my pockets so I had to politely decline her offer,” he continues recalling. You take out your phone and google a word: “infinitesimally”. This is another of the changes you noticed with your boyfriend: his lexicomane speech; you would never hear words the likes of ‘infinitesimally’ and ‘minuscule’ from him, intelligent phraseology is not in his vocabulary. A few days after the swap of boyfriends, you found yourself having to install a dictionary app on your phone in order to keep up with his sesquipedalian use of words and engage in conversation. You smile, finally spotting the definition of the word: extremely small.

“That’s great, Leon. We still have some sausage in the freezer, though, so I think it’s only right that you didn’t get some coz we might’ve ended up with far too much,” you respond as you set your phone down on the counter. “What brand was it though? I might pick that up for you next time around when I go for groceries.”

“Hm,” he hums in thought.

His human appearance appears to slightly glitch as he delves deeper into his recollections of the day earlier; he appears to have a chromatic aberration, multiple shadows of his head moving about and twitching around in smoky wisps, as several muffled voices of ancient chanting begin to grow a little bit more noticeable in volume. You grow worried yet you stay seated on your chair, carefully observing Leon before anything too out of control and mind-shattering occurs. Thankfully, he finally manages to remember before the voices get too overwhelming for your human mind.

“I believe it was called ‘MorningStar’,” he finally says. He falls silent, head tilting as his face grows expressionless. “Are you alright, girlfriend?”

He steps closer and sits in front of you, back straight and hands in his lap as he continues to observe you thoughtfully, the gears in his head turning to determine how to approach you.

“Oh, yes, Leon. Don’t worry, just zoned out a little. That’s all,” you respond with a forced smile that doesn’t convince him entirely.

“Have you finally observed that I have left the bathroom light bulb switched on during the entirety that I was out purchasing goods to consume?” he quietly asks, voice laced with guilt and shame as he looks at you with something akin to puppy-dog eyes; you didn’t know that eldritch horrors are capable of giving puppy-dog eyes. “I apologize with utmost remorse, my human female mate. In my haste to please you, I have overlooked a step in securing your household utilities.”

You wonder what is the connection between his previous concern for you and the most recent sentence he just uttered then it occurred to you that he wanted to delay admitting to  you that he forgot to switch off the lights; Leon must’ve also forgotten that humans don’t have the level of perception as whatever his kind has, or maybe he assumed that you and you alone possessed that ability. You never would have known if he didn’t bring it up to you. It is funny to see this eldritch being that was clearly trying to pass off as human, as if you had the power of the universe in your palm and could so easily kick him out into the streets, a look on his face now reminiscent of a kicked puppy. It appeared as if he shrank into his olive green sweater, hiding into the warm and dark depths that the piece of clothing offered. Now his ashamed aura was seeping into you, making you feel a slight tinge of what he’s feeling.

“Leon, it’s fine, okay? We’re still in one piece and nothing too bad happened. Besides, I have enough money to comfortably pay off utility expenses so there’s nothing much to worry about,” you reassure him with a gentle hand to his firm shoulder, feeling the spot unwind from the tension beneath your warm palm. “That happens to me too and I get frustrated sometimes but now I just laugh at it.”

He lights up again and that aura of despair fizzles away lickety-split. He beams again, a little too widely for what could be considered normal. He continues rambling on about sausages before asking you about your workday and leaning in to listen intently; you talk and talk, he sits and devotes all his attention to you and answers too, from time to time. He’s a lot more engaging and present when it comes to talking about yourself than your former boyfriend; all he’d talk about is himself and how you’re lucky he loves you, the occasional comparison to other girls. When you’re finally finished talking about your day, it’s Leon's turn to talk about his.

You don’t want to tell him that he’s not perfect on trying to pass off as another ordinary human being– he still tends to unhinge his jaw when he gets excited, his form glitches when he’s deep in thought, he refers to you as ‘human female mate’ or ‘human female companion’ or simply ‘girlfriend’ though in a manner free of offensive intentions, he likes to change the shades of his blue irises, and his verbose vocabulary. Other than the multiloquent manner that he converses in, no one seems to pick up on the irregularity of his physical form, not even when there’s faint shadows of his head fluctuating when he thinks; surely he’s travelling to universes beyond human comprehension just to figure out an answer to “what’d you think of the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie?”. You guess that he’s conjuring some form of illusion that mask slip-ups in his form but why this doesn’t apply to you, you’re not exactly sure but you don’t plan on telling him his lapses; you’re perfectly content with him cooling up your drink with his hand alone in a matter of seconds when you’re out together. He’s far from perfecting the image of a totally human boyfriend but you’re slightly positive that he’s the most perfect lover.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“I would like to relish in the amusement of motion pictures with sound alongside you on our couch,” Leon expresses in mild emotion though he seems quite eager to watch movies, just phrased in a more archaic fashion.

“Me too” you respond with a small giggle at his unintentionally goofy personality. “Got a movie in mind?”

“Movie? Ah, yes. The moving images,” he recalls. “I have overheard this title from a young couple I happened to share a bus with, Kate and Leopold, they said. Appertaining to this hearsay statement, it must be a picture that thoroughly imprints itself on the heart and mind.”

“Kate and Leopold?” you say out loud and he nods. “Sure, why not. C’mon let’s head to the living room.”

“Of course,” he responds with an enthusiastic smile as he gets up from his dining room chair and quietly pushes it back before trailing behind you like the lovecraftian horror puppy that he is.

You put on the movie, both settling into a comfortable silence, attention centered on the film on your TV. In the middle of the film, you realize how you are quite near to him yet he does not make advances to touch you as he appears content with your shoulders touching. You sit up, inching closer to his side yet you don’t make this all simultaneous as you don’t want to shock him into discomfort. Much to your pleasant amazement, he not-so-subtly extends his arm behind your neck and rests it there. You look at his head and his face is still trained on Leopold chasing the snatcher, though the tips of his ears are dusted with a faint bloom of pink; who knew that cosmic beings could blush. Now slightly more confident, he slowly tries to urge you closer to the warmth of his side though he’s now hesitant with his actions. You snuggle closer to his side and now his hand is comfortably resting on the side of your arm where his silvery touch sends a flurry of tingles. Leopold and Kate are now sharing a kiss on a rooftop after a waltz to which your heart nearly goes into overdrive; Leon is not faring any better, visibly red-faced and overcome with butterflies that press up against his lungs (if he has any), making breathing feel a little funny. You wonder if he’s mentally replacing the characters with you and him and the image makes him feel madly excited.

“Leon, are you cold?” you ask towards the movie’s nearing end.

“No, but are you?” he counters, turning to face you now.

“Kinda.”

“Would you like me to fetch some for you?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can get it myself–”

Something heavy and weighted and fuzzy envelopes you from the chest down, placed down by the man beside you.

“What’s this?” you ask in a slightly raised voice.

“A blanket,” he responds in a nonchalant manner.

“Why is it so heavy? I know weighted blankets exist but this one’s a little heavier than what I’m used to…”

“It’s bear fur.”

You fall silent, staring down at the brown fur mass laid above your body before staring back up at him, silently asking if this is his form of a prank. Unfortunately, he is serious about this.

“Um… Leon, I appreciate the blanket but I generally prefer faux fur to actual animal-sourced fur. It’s, you know, more wildlife friendly… yeah, um…”

You need not to say more when the blanket is still brown but is now clearly made of faux fur, having changed it right away without arguments or insults hurled at you. He seems satisfied with his service, adjusting the blanket to cover you up properly without obstructing your view of the movie. You offer to share the blanket but he objects, tomato-faced as he stutters his apology.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The movie is finished and he smiles, remarking on how the couple was correct about their opinions and recounting some of the lines that stuck to him. He seemed to especially adore the portion where Kate is enchanted by the sight of Leopold on horseback, most excitedly analyzing the scene and going into detail about the look of love and the twinkle of Kate’s eyes before sighing dreamily.

“I wish to one day flawlessly emulate the depth of emotion she captured with only both her eyes, though I am well-aware that this is all expert acting. It would be my pleasure to one day look at you with such adoration as you tell me tales for there is nothing more that I desire than to enlighten you about the boundless worship that I present to you,” he wistfully conveys as he watches you walk around the bedroom before settling down to lay beside him.

You softly giggle, biting your lip as his voice bounces off in the walls of your mind and plays over and over again.

“Thank you. You’re doing a great job at that already honey,” you sincerely respond to him as you slip under the sheets and get snug.

“Your welcome,” he softly murmurs as a dopey smile points the corners of his lips skyward.

You ask if you can switch the bedside lamp off and he nods, the darkness of the room taking over as your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You lay still and silent before quietly wishing him a good night and restful sleep, to which he returns before he shifts and faces his back to you. Sometime in the middle of the night Leon awakens to the warmth and weight of your head and arms on his chest, the sight of you causing a human warmth to bloom where a human heart would be. You are peaceful and delicate, basking in the warmth that his form offered; the fact that you sought him out in your sleep made him feel loved, a feeling he didn’t know he’d grow to constantly crave. He pulls you closer and delicately wraps his arms around you in a protective embrace, a soft purr humming from his chest– an actual purr, like a cat’s. He strokes your hair with a silvery touch, daintily patting strands as he thinks about the fragility of his human and how he’d need to be very careful with them. His silky hands cause you to drift between the world of sleep and waking consciousness, growing more aware of his purr. You’re not new to his purring; he purrs when you two hold hands while running errands together, he purrs when you refer to him as your boyfriend to other people, he purrs when he finds out that you bought him a snack he likes. He has yet to discover that humans do not and cannot purr, that’s why you aren’t returning his physical display of contentedness but he’s satisfied that you’re letting him hold you like this. You don’t mind his purring at all and you’re firm on the decision that you love him and that he loves you back.

NOTE - First off, thank you to the anon who requested this!! I hope this one reached your expectations, even if I did put a little twist to it :)) guys... I think we're back!!! coz I decided to start on this last night at around 11:30 PM and I rlly had my creative juices flowing, like it just occured to me so clearly so now ig I'm going to start quite late into the evening if I'm going to start something new :D this fic is inspired by the eldritch horror boyfriend prompts that I came across on TikTok and also bc I felt like writing Leon rlly poetic and soft tonightt teehee :3 That's it and and I hope you really enjoyed this fic :)) Thank you for reading my works!!!!!!!!!! I <3333 UUUUUU!!!!!!!!!

The dainty chain dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[daimus]

Reo knows about the crush you have on Nagi. He thinks it’s funny. Nagi also knows about the crush you have on him. He has no opinions on it. You think.

“Why are you scared of Seishiro, pet? He’s not scary,” Reo coos. He’s running his fingers through Nagi’s hair, scratching his scalp. Nagi moans, arching further into the touch. “Are you scary, Sei?”

“Mm,” Nagi sighs. “No.”

Reo bends down and kisses him lightly. “No, you’re not. So why is our little friend so scared of you, hm?”

You make a strangled noise of embarrassment to have your feelings so casually dissected in the open like this.

“Aw,” Reo turns your face this way and that in his large hand. “Look how cute she is. She’s all embarrassed. Don’t you feel bad, Sei? She’s only like this because of you.”

“Should I feel bad?” Nagi considers Reo’s question seriously. “You like it. You get off on it.”

Reo slaps him lightly across the shoulder. “I do not,” he says, mock angry. His smile gives him away. He does and he knows you know. He’s delighted by the fact that you know, actually. “You make me sound like such a bad person.”

“Aren’t you?” Nagi stretches. His shirt rides up on his stomach, exposing a swathe of pale flesh. Your mouth water with the desire to bite, to touch, to lick. You look away. “You like it when she cries.”

Reo rolls his eyes. “Says the one making her cry.”

“Do I?” Nagi gets up. It startles you. You scramble backwards on your hands and knees, almost crab like. Reo, evil man that he is, bursts into laughter.

Nagi draws closer, looming over you. Reo told you once that he likes making you feel physically small. It was something about the face you made when he forced you to be so aware of him.

In the moment, though, his face is expressionless. “Do I make you cry?”

“Uhm. No?”

“Liar,” Reo sing songs. “You’re such a crybaby. I don’t know why you thought you would get away with that.”

“When?”

Reo walks behind you and drops into a crouch. Now you’re trapped between them. His hand falls on your shoulder, it’s weight nearly oppressive, forbidding movement. “Tell him,” he murmurs in your ear. “Tell him how bad it is.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice nearly wrecked.

“Oh? You don’t want to talk about what you get up to in your bed at night?”

You shriek, turn around, and shove him. He laughs like you’re not a threat to him at all, which only enrages you further. You clamber on top of him, your legs around his waist, raining down weak blows that do nothing.

You don’t actually want to hurt him after all, do you?

“So scary,” Reo says, smirking. “You should teach her a lesson, Sei.”

Nagi’s hand catches your wrist the next time it falls, preventing you from hitting Reo. He drags you backwards and pins you against the wall.

He’s too close. Your heart is racing so fast you think it might explode. You’ve got it so bad for him you can’t even look him in the eye - and when he does try for eye contact, you yelp and try to duck out from under his arm.

He laughs and pushes you harder against the wall, caging you between it and his body. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh like that, soft, purring delight.

“You’re right, Reo. She is a scaredy-cat.”

“You’re being mean,” you whimper, your voice trembling. You’re still looking down at your shoes, trying not to face him.

“But I think you like it?” He presses a hand against your neck. You make a choking noise. “See? Your heart is beating so fast.”

[solbaby7]

Psychological Warfare

pairing: rhysand x reader

warnings: cruel Eris, insinuated methods of torture, taunting, angst, swearing, in depth descriptions of a panic attack, and again angst

summary: The High Lord watches his most fearless soldier shatter to pieces

—

“Just perfect,” You mutter snarkily to Rhysand under your breath, eyes scanning the lavish office and the steadily growing number of High Lords occupying its space.

It was spacious enough to fit the obnoxiously large table in the middle; had an assortment of liquors in their freshly polished bottles and no food.

Intentional, no doubt.

Booze them up and when their guards are low, the intel will flow.

“It won’t take long,” He hums back, hand rubbing soothingly at your thigh under the table and even though it’s clear to him you don’t want to be there—to others your face is the picture of neutrality, almost completely expressionless in your seat.

You ignore the side eyes, the Lords who clutched their wives tighter once clocking that you were in the room too—a vicious soldier that fought in the Night Courts armies, more skilled and bloodthirsty than any other recruit; more calculated and five times as determined as any other able body in those camps. Rhysand had hand picked you, promising you safety, warmth and a family if you’d accepted a position on his personal guard.

That had been nearly two hundred years ago.

One final group walks through, four men with auburn hair and sun-kissed skin and your body goes ramrod straight, quickly regarding Rhys in your head.

Were they invited?

Baron was.

“I see you’ve taken to collecting strays, Rhysand.” Baron’s eldest son jokes, dark eyes taking you in like a wild animal that had been perpetually starved.

“You should mind your tongue before I let her off her leash.”

Your throat immediately closes at the words—they were innocent; meant to be encouraging but the cruel laugh that pulls from Eris’ chest as he lowers into his seat is anything but comforting and you shift in your seat. “Funny you should say that,” Eris continued, practically vibrating in excitement. Fire burned in those brown eyes when he continued, he seemed to barely notice the others who’d been gathered for the meeting as well—watching, waiting with gazes that ping-ponged back and forth between you.

“Don’t.” You breathe out and for once everyone raises a brow at your tone, shock evident at the cracks beginning to emerge quickly in your fearless facade. The wide eyes, the slight wobble of your chin and that raw scent of genuine fear fills the room.

“I don’t know,” Eris drawls out, one leg crossing over the other and it could just be your vision but you’re certain you notice the lights in the room glowing just a hair brighter but it might as well have been a thousand degrees with the sweat beading at your hairline. “Everyone’s interest is now piqued, I’d be a terrible guest if I left them hanging.”

Your hands are shaking now and the look Rhysand sends you is enough to have your head bowing in embarrassment. His mouth opens to say something, probably to mention how you’d completely shut off access to whatever was going on in your head; how all your High Lord could see was tall, thick walls lined in barbed wire and heavily reinforced guards that remained stationed at every post—nearly impenetrable.

But, somehow, Eris finds a weak spot.

You try to brace yourself, the eerily cool pinprick of anxiety poking holes all over your body until everything felt like you’d gone numb.

“That’s enough,” Rhys spoke, a hand holding yours tightly under the table, shouting through the bond for you to just tell him what was wrong; what the hell was happening?

Trying to stabilize you, to will soothing words and calm feelings through that same connection but nothing works. One of your legs bounce uncontrollably, teeth gnawing at the insides of your cheeks until you can taste the blood and even then you keep on going.

“She ever tell you about her life before you and the Night Court?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, memories beginning to shove their way to the forefront of your mind after centuries of carefully locking it up and sealing it away. A noise pulls from your throat as you try and fail to regain your composure and a thick tear begins to burn trails down your cheek as Eris’ excitement exuded. “Eris.” It comes out choked, a half-plea but you should’ve known better—the Autumn Court never did do mercy.

You’re heart is racing and you’re sure that any of the high fae in the room can hear exactly how frantic your breathing has become yet you can’t bare to look at their horrified faces—eyes wide and mouths agape in astonishment as the Night Courts fearless warrior broke before them like a child who was denied the comfort of their mother. “She was given to me as a gift,” Your eyes clench shut, one hand digging into the roots of your hair when you feel Rhysand’s fingers tightening around your other. “—her old drunk of a father practically begged me to take her off of his hands.”

You could still smell the stale beer of your father’s breath when he’d dragged you through the streets in nothing but your nightgown and presented you to the High Lord and his heirs.

You’d never forget the way the males stared you down from their thrones, eyes raking in your body like it was nothing more than a new recipe their kitchen servants had come up with. “Please.” You beg, vision so blurry you can barely make out the cruel smile he wore, the burning white of his teeth blinding you like the most scalding parts of a fire. “Stop it.”

“I didn’t have much use for her at first,” Eris shrugged casually, retelling the story with such fond remembrance, glancing over to one of his brothers with a finger pointed. “But then my brothers and I were drinking one night and they jokingly asked if I needed a pet.”

Rhysand snarls at the way the word makes you flinch, eyes frantic and foggy like you were right there again—reliving the humiliation, the fear and disgust that brewed within for not being able to protect yourself. It had been part of the reason you’d trained so hard when you had escaped. Promising to never let any male degrade you in such a way again.

Eris rips at hundreds of years worth of healed scars in seconds, teeth thrashing and blood coating his maw while he tore you apart and exposed you for all to see.

You shrink in your chair and Rhysand’s heart clenched at the way he feels you go distant, staring at Eris but not really seeing the room before you; as if the eldest son of the Autumn Court had weaseled his way inside your head like Rhys could. There’s no explaining the way the air had stilled, High Lords exchanging apprehensive glances, murmuring words to Baron to tell his son to stop but Eris refuses to listen—drunk off the power and high off of your pain.

You can feel wetness on your face, your hands; it’s seeping through your pants and you can’t quite understand why. Not when Eris has his claws sunk deep within, waving the red flag bloodied with all of your secrets for all to observe. Like a show in the amphitheater, trapped in your own mind you relive every moment, deep sobs racking your body so badly the table shook with your emotion. Rhysand is beginning to gather you, shaping dark magic around your body so no one can see or hear you but the magic doesn’t hold, you’re too unstable—emotions too high and powers brewing on overdrive as it reacted to your distress. “I can’t breathe.”

Eris ignores your struggle, the way you are clearly drowning and fighting with all your might stay afloat but he keeps dragging you back down and genuine happiness is glowing on his skin at your reaction. “Spent all week mulling it over but I was walking through town and saw this display in a window,” He lets out a little chuckle, leaning in closer with fingers tapping casually against the mahogany wood, preening when you shrink away from him. “—a collar and a leash and it just hits me. My little pet. Come on, tell me you remember me putting it on you for the first time.”

Rhysand takes a more aggressive approach, protective nature on overdrive as you sob so hard you barely have time to suck in more air. Your hands are clawing at your throat, nails digging in, drawing blood and Rhys’ head whips back, double checking that Eris really hadn’t been using a daemati but when he looks into your mind—the towering walls inside are no more.

Rubble and glass is scattered everywhere in thick chunks like it’d been torn apart from the inside out, the plumes of smoke is scratchy in Rhys’ lungs but he keeps forward and right in the middle; covered in rags and bruises, ribs showing and cheeks gaunt, lashes and burns that covered more than it didn’t—was you.

With that damn collar around your throat.

“Don’t be like that, Rhysand,” Eris cackles in the background but it sounds like he’s doing it right in your ear. Your cheeks are red with your own blood and when Rhysand goes to help you stand, you’re putty in his hands. “I hadn’t even gotten to the fun part yet!” There are soft words, a palm cradling the back of your head as the High Lord of the Night Court picked you up and winnowed you away.

—

Azriel is waiting in the foyer when Rhysand returns with you in his arms, still sobbing but he’s calmed you enough to stop the scratching. Thick, angry lines assault your neck, blood pouring free and the moment he’d conjured up and illusion for your mind of you breaking free of that collar and burning it forever, did you stop fighting.

“What happened?” The shadow singer hissed, clearing the space between them and when his hand hovers over you, inches away from touching, another deep cry pulls through. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Rhysand snaps back with equal intensity, violet eyes blazing with anger and deep, unsettling worry as you clutched so tight on his shirt he was sure it’d rip. “Call the madja, right now!”

Rhysand urges away a worried Elaine but eventually stops fighting it when you seem to calm in her presence. Falling into action easily, Elaine followed close beside, dress swishing against the glossy floors while humming some soothing tune that had your sobs settling into broken hiccups and soft whimpers. Mor seems to appear out of nowhere, face firm and gaze hot when she regards her cousin and it takes no more than a second before you’ve been transferred into her hold. Nesta falls in tow, already equipped with thick blankets and steaming tea. “Just go,” Mor huffs out, her hands raking through your hair as she leads you to your room. “We’ve got her.”

[pippin-katz]

Charles VS The Night Nurse

As promised, here is my extensive essay!

I was thinking about how Charles fought off the Night Nurse, and how the others reacted. I have a lot of feelings and thoughts, so strap in for an emotional roller coaster.

All of them were shaken in that moment, but Crystal in particular brings it up several times afterwards. Her real focus is on his anger issues, but she uses the Night Nurse incident as grounds for Charles going too far. She mentions it being "a lot" to watch, and says, "You lost your shit while beating the Night Nurse!"

Here's the thing, Charles reiterates that she was going to send Edwin back to Hell, and take him away to the Afterlife. She also dragged him through all of his most traumatic memories, which the others couldn't see, but it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots that whatever she did was fucked up.

She uses his name, which she shouldn't know, threateningly suggests testing what else she knows about him, then makes a motion with her hand that makes Charles collapse. He falls limp like a ragdoll. I'd be surprised if he was motionless or expressionless in the real world during this process, so he was likely thrashing, struggling, and gasping like he was experiencing a nightmare, which he essentially was. It's like a nightmare on acid; it's not some flashes of bad memories or scary things, he is literally forced to relive his trauma and abuse in explicit detail, while the Night Nurse taunts him for it. When he gets up, something is very visibly wrong.

The Night Nurse then asks Edwin directly what pain he would like to relive. When Charles starts advancing on her, he confirms what she did indirectly: "Good on you, yeah? With your nightmares and your sick smile."

It's not difficult to draw the conclusion that whatever she just did to him involved his most painful memories and trauma. Crystal even briefly saw into the Night Nurse's head, and ended up get pushed to the ground screaming in horror.

So, Charles' emotional state is completely understandable and justified, and his friends should've been able to tell that based on the situation.

The Night Nurse is also a threat. She is not a normal human being, but someone supernatural. She seems very capable of sending Edwin back to Hell, and forcing Charles into his Afterlife.

I don't get the feeling that she wants it to come to that; she seems to see herself as above resorting to force. She talks to them prior to acting all three times she attempts to take them on her own. This allows them to convince her and stall her, but I get the impression that if she really wanted to, she could drag them both off the mortal plane by force. She even tells Kashi that while she doesn't enjoy violence, she's not above it. She would've taken them when they got back from Hell, but Niko finds an actual rule that prevents her from doing so.

Charles got lucky. He catches her completely off guard. She underestimates him. She's confused and stunned as he attacks her. She genuinely doesn't understand why he would want to stay on Earth after everything he went through. They also happen to be by the cliff for this, and there happens to be a very large, hungry sea monster waiting below them.

Charles got very, very lucky, because this woman is a supernatural entity. But the others don't treat the situation that way, and you know why?

Appearance.

Consider for a moment how differently that confrontation would've gone down if the Night Nurse truly looked like a supernatural being. Say she resembled something more like the demon that took Edwin to Hell, humanoid but definitely not human, and scary. Do you think the others would have been so speechless and bothered if Charles had fought off something like that?

The answer is no.

The reason the other three are so shocked and upset is because the Night Nurse looks like a small, middle-aged, white woman, who doesn't fight back. Even though she is clearly unharmed by Charles' hits, they can't stop themselves from seeing the situation as: Charles beating a small woman with a heavy object and kicking her off a cliff.

That is what it looked like, but that is not what happened.

Charles fought off a supernatural being that was threatening to send his best mate back to Hell and force him to go to an Afterlife he didn't want, separating him from Edwin, and taking him away from the new friends he's made. He did not beat up a defenseless woman. She may have been unarmed, but she was not powerless. From Charles' position, the Night Nurse was a monster in human clothing, and he was completely within his right to think that way.

As a matter of fact, the Night Nurse in Doom Patrol looks inhuman/monstrous, and is even referred to as a demon in one of the articles I read about the spin-off show.

I brought this up in my essay about iron burns, and it's very relevant here, so I'll say it again.

The Night Nurse attacks Charles first.

The severity of her attack is hidden from the others; they couldn't even begin to understand how that felt, even if they were fully aware of what happened. Her attack is primarily emotional and mental, but it is also physical. She makes him relive being stoned by his friends and beaten by his father; he could feel that. The Night Nurse does not hit him, but she hurts him, hurts him bad. Despite what the others see, when Charles hits her with that music box, he’s retaliating, not initiating.

The others struggle with disconnecting her appearance from her purpose and personality, even though it should be obvious. All she did during that sequence was be cruel to them.

She uses Crystal's vulnerability as bait, dismissing her emotions with a self-satisfied and condescending smile, literally referring to them as trivial.

She fully intends to send Edwin back to Hell even though he doesn't belong there, purely because it says so on a sheet of paper; she doesn't seem bothered at all by what that actually means for him, despite having a visible reaction of horror to the Spider when it takes Edwin away.

She ignores Charles' statements about staying on Earth, twisting the knife by telling him how much he doesn't belong there. He died as a teenager, robbed of the life he should've had, and rather than showing any empathy for him and his understandable desire to stay, she rubs salt into the wounds with satisfaction.

She forces Charles back into his most painful and traumatic memories, and uses them to emphasize even more how pointless and worthless she sees the idea of him staying on Earth.

She points out how his friends caused his death while laughing, but while she's not laughing, she's reveling in being "right". She doesn't show any sympathy for him, despite pointing out the apathy in his friends.

She sees why his friends turned on him, and she's disappointed by it, like she was expecting something more. She acts like he's being overdramatic that he would stay on Earth all because his friends bullied some kid.

She watches his father viscously beat him, and her only commentary on the matter is that Charles failed to make things better, as if it was somehow his fault that his father abused him.

She condescendingly lectures Charles about how being good didn't, and still doesn't matter, as if he's naive about how awful the world is, and foolish for trying to be positive and helpful.

She toys with Charles, treating him, his experiences, and his feelings like she's got a doll with a remote and wants to press all of the buttons, just because she can and wants to see what happens.

She does all of this with a smug expression.

She turns to do it to Edwin, asking him what pain he wants to relive as if that's a question he could answer when his response is ultimately meaningless. She's going to do it regardless; she's asking him to taunt him.

She begins to ask Charles if he needs more pain to realize that she's right, like he's a toddler throwing a temper tantrum rather than a deeply damaged teenager who is suffering, from her actions.

She scoffs after Charles hits her the first time, seeming unimpressed and bored, as if this isn't a life-or-death equivalent situation for them. Their entire existence is being attacked, but she acts like Charles is lashing out over being grounded or told he doesn't get dessert.

Every single thing about the Night Nurse and her behavior should have had all of them distraught, terrified, furious, or all of the above.

What does Charles say to the jocks at the end of their case? That they were "cruel just for the shits"? How is what she does any different? She humiliates and crushes Charles like it's fun for her to watch. She didn't even need to do that to him; she does it to prove a point, and get him to leave "willingly", even though willingness is clearly not taken into consideration by the Afterlife. Before the Principal sees their case files in the final episode, she was going to send them to their Afterlives. She did not even acknowledge their desires. She tells them she can do whatever she likes, and fully intends to do so until she reads all the cases they've solved and souls they've helped move on. The Night Nurse could've forced them to go from the start.

Even the first time the audience is introduced to her, the Night Nurse is distinctly inhuman. The way she speaks about them, saying "bad boys" in an unnerving tone. The fact that she refers to dying children as a "flood of weak, feeble bodies". In her own words, she is not a living human.

Being swallowed by Angie is the best thing to ever happen to the Night Nurse. Without talking to Kashi, I don't know if she ever would've started to understand; even she seems to not understand why she wants to help Charles and Edwin after she agrees to. She still has quite a lot of work to do, but Kashi made her a more complex and intriguing character than she would've been if she behaved the same way throughout the entire show. That being said, they don't know that she's going to change and grow when they have their first confrontation with her.

The Night Nurse at that point is a monster, and Charles was well within his right to "slay" her as such. I truly think the only reason the others react so poorly is because of her appearance. I can't help but wonder how differently that sequence would've played out if she wasn't a little woman in a pantsuit.

In conclusion, Charles did nothing wrong on that cliff.

(ko-fi)

[aquatic-armageddons]

HAVE A SEAT

MICHAEL MYERS X FEM!READER

[CW]: body dysmorphia, mature/sexual themes, not thoroughly proofread

Planning an eventful evening with close friends was supposed to be fulfilling, something worth looking forward to. That also entailed the anticipation of showing off the sexy, little numbers everyone's got on.

But in this instance, Y/N felt nothing short of a shameful and discouraging body.

Shedding as much weight in quick succession (before the aforementioned event) wasn't something that could be done. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with Y/N, she just had some extra meat on her bones. Though her friends tried to reassure her that weight was just a number and nothing to be shallow about, it still didn't change the fact she felt insecure, and it especially didn't stop her from cancelling last minute.

Y/N continued staring at herself in the mirror, expressionless. As she tried to wrack her brain for a reason to let go of her insecurities, and finally focus on something other than groping her rolls, a large figure slowly approached from behind.

"Jesus Christ, Michael! You scared the mess outta me!" Y/N jumped, turning around with a cute scowl on her face.

Michael tilted his head to the side, as if to ask about her depressed state. Y/N begrudgingly let out a sigh of slight irritation, not wanting to rope him into her superficial dilemma.

"Do I look...fat?" She squeaked, shrinking into herself. God, this was beyond humiliating.

Y/N was greeted with the usual head tilt and blank stare combo. Why had she even bothered to ask?

"Sorry, I guess I'm just being dramatic..."

After what seemed like forever, Michael shuffled past her, laying himself in their shared bed. Pulling his mask over his head, he stares lazily into her e/c eyes.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Although this wasn't her first time seeing his natural features, she'd never get past it. How can such a ruthless, cold-blooded killer be so striking?

"Um, Michael? What are you-"

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. He surely wasn't going to have her do that, right?

"Michael, there's no way I'm trying that kind of thing! I don't wanna be responsible for breaking your neck!" She exclaimed.

Michael huffed in frustration. Leaping from the bed, he clutched the knife sitting on the bedroom drawer. In several swift motions, he cut Y/N's clothes off of her, exposing her every curve, every stretch mark, the whole shabang. Grabbing her bottom jaw, he pulls her towards the bed and lays himself down to his previous position, but with her also straddling his waist.

Grunting, he glared daggers at her, silently not accepting no for an answer. Y/N's face burned with embarrassment, her eyes prickling with tears.

"P-Please, Michael...I don't want to-"

She felt his strong hands grasp her thighs hard, and forcefully pull her towards his face. How does he have the strength for that??

"Hey don't- oh fuuuck!"

Y/N felt a white, hot pleasure envelop her stomach as Michael's tongue breached her lower regions. She tried with all her might to scoot away, but his grip on her legs held her still on his face. Y/N didn't want to allow her moans to escape her mouth, as she knew the slightest sound would only further encourage the bastard.

"Goddammit, Michael...!"

Fighting him was a wasted effort at this point. Y/N shifted and rolled her hips on Michael's lips, prompting him to growl in pleasure, the vibrations sending shock through her pussy. Moans finally escaped her maw, tears streamed down her cheeks and she gave in to her pleasure at last. Trying to chase her high, she continuously grinded on Michael's face, faster and faster. The climax was quickly coming to a head, as a wave of shock ran down her body.

"Ah, Michael~!"

Her hips shook as she came violently in Michael's mouth. His tree trunk arms still held her firmly in place, him not wanting to waste a single drop of her essence. Y/N was spent, head reeling with what just happened.

Michael soon pushed her off of him and laid Y/N to his side, her snuggling his arm on instinct. He may act like he's not the 'cuddle after sex' type of man, but he couldn't help but think she was adorable for doing just that.

Regardless, if this was his way of reassuring Y/N that she is perfect the way she is, who was she to complain?

[clockwork-ashes]

Of Fire and Poison - Part I

Read on Ao3

Summary: Prompted by one of Elain Archeron’s visions, the Night Court decides it’s time to remove Beron Vanserra from Autumn’s throne. Azriel must learn to tolerate being in the presence of his oldest enemy, but he comes to find that spending time with Eris is not what he expected.

Note: My first time writing a multi-chapter azris fic!!! I’m very excited about it, so thank you for reading <3

Tag list: @the-darkestminds / @secret-third-thing /

Azriel’s shadows whirled around him, dancing in time to the low music that seemed to float in an eerie echo from the ballroom. The howl of the string instruments rose and fell like waves against the shore, creating an effect that inspired even the most unwilling of guests to participate in a waltz. 

Azriel had always found it captivating, but even his undivided attention remained on the strained interaction between his brother and the heir to the Autumn Court. 

The High Lord of Night walked with a feline grace, maintaining his carefully crafted role while in the confines of the Hewn City. He offered his spymaster a subtle nod as he approached, stopping just in front of the carved wooden doors of the large room. 

Azriel inched towards him, protecting his brother’s back and using his own body as a way to block the entrance. 

Careful. 

The one word scraped against the iron wards of his mind and Azriel had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

Rhysand ignored Azriel, speaking to Eris just as his hand came up to grip the silver doorknob. He didn’t look back at the other male, but without a doubt, his brow was arched and his chin was tilted in question. “I trust you’ll behave,” he drawled. There was a warning in the tone that only Azriel seemed to recognise. 

Eris shrugged even though Rhysand couldn’t see the gesture. It was a smooth lift of his shoulders, the expensive fabric of his jacket pulling with the movement. “I make no promises,” he said, voice rich as whiskey. 

No more words were exchanged as Rhysand swept through the doors, shutting them behind him with a soft click, the lock falling into place shortly after. Eris scrunched his nose, most likely annoyed at the lack of faith 

Azriel was expressionless, waiting in a silent battle of wills to see if Eris would be the first to break the silence. 

Eris traced the rim of his wine glass with an elegant finger, golden rings flashing. He seemed to wait until Rhysand’s footsteps faded completely and the only sound that lingered between them was the orchestra’s haunting music. A vicious scowl tugged at his full mouth, familiar. 

Azriel watched, observing the way his shadows twisted and spun eagerly at the prince of Autumn’s booted heels. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and his wings tucked close to his back, silently conveying his confusion at their strange behaviour. 

Eris seemed content to pretend that the shadows weren’t even there, treating them as if they were nothing more than a gentle wind. “You have nothing to add?” He asked, snorting in a way that was unbecoming of a male in his position when Azriel didn’t respond. He lifted his glass, the muscles in his throat working as he drained its contents. Red curls kissed at the sharp cut of his jaw, striking against the bone white pallor of his skin. 

Lips stained crimson, Eris licked at the wine. Azriel watched the slow path of the other male’s tongue, forcefully dragging his gaze upwards to meet clever amber eyes. The torches in the small space flared, and his shadows scattered at the brightness. 

Eris raised an auburn brow, a knowing expression falling over his sharp features. Flames flickered, and the scarlet of his hair shifted so that it looked wine dark. “You’re going to help me kill my father.” 

Azriel frowned at the ease with which Eris declared his plans, no remorse in the steadiness of his voice. It was enough to make him uncomfortable, being spoken to so directly. “My High Lady wants Beron to be stripped of his power.” 

Like the woven sounds of streams and breezes, Autumn shifts to Winter. 

Of fire and poison, dry leaves rustle when a king falls.

The cold earth sleeps, and the breath of night flows like death. 

Azriel didn’t add that it was one of Elain’s visions that had prompted the Inner Circle’s urgency. 

“She believes I’ll be a pawn, easy to control?” The way Eris asked his question revealed no bitterness, simply interest. 

It took Azriel a moment to remember they’d been speaking about Feyre. “She believes you have Prythian’s best interests in mind.” 

Eris scoffed, tilting his head like a wolf, predatory. “And so the Night Court only upholds their end of our bargain when it best suits them?” 

“Be grateful, prince.” Azriel couldn’t help the rough growl that escaped along with the words, but Eris didn’t seem too bothered by the obvious disrespect. 

Azriel watched as the other male tilted his glass, glancing into its empty depths briefly. The diamonds along the arch of his ear sparkled like stars in an evening sky as he placed the glass onto the ancient table that separated them. 

Eris dipped at the waist in a mocking bow, holding Azriel’s gaze as he spoke, his words meant to be a taunt. “I expect you’ll be the one coming for me.” 

Azriel nodded once, feeling his face heat at the comment. “I’ll find you so we can work out the specifics.”  

Eris winnowed from the room without answering, nothing but embers remaining in his wake. Shadows whirled in the empty space where the prince had just been, and Azriel was left with the impression that they hoped to see him again.  

[namariko]

Chapter 2: A Quiet Moment

*Chapter 1*

The ride to Garucia was filled with silence. D could sense Y/N’s cautious presence behind him, even though not a word passed between them. Y/N still didn’t hold onto him but let her body move with the horse’s rhythm—another sign that she was used to traveling.

D guided the horse steadily through the dry, cracked landscape as the sun slowly reached its peak. The wind stirred up sand, making his coat and Y/N’s loose strands of hair flutter.

Eventually, Y/N broke the silence.

“Thank you.” Her voice was calm—not overly grateful, but more like someone unaccustomed to accepting help.

D didn’t reply, only giving the slightest nod.

However, Left Hand still made a comment. “Well, that’s different. No flattery, no awe. Guess you’re not the type to be easily impressed.”

Y/N frowned slightly, cast a brief glance at D’s left hand, but said nothing.

Garucia slowly came into view. It wasn’t a large city—more of a gathering point for travelers, merchants, and bounty hunters. The buildings were old and dusty, but they were still standing—which was not a given in these times.

As they reached the city gates, D stopped his horse. Y/N understood immediately, slipping smoothly from the saddle and landing on the ground with slightly bent knees. Then she turned briefly to face him.

“I owe you one.”

D regarded Y/N for a moment, his face as expressionless as ever. Then, he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“No.”

She held his gaze, as if to assess whether he was serious. Finally, she raised an eyebrow slightly, as if not entirely convinced, but she didn’t press further.

“Then we’re even.”

With those words, Y/N turned and walked toward the city.

Left Hand chuckled. “Did you hear that? No fainting, no begging for you to accompany her… Guess you’re not used to someone walking away so quickly, huh?”

D ignored him. But his gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment before she disappeared into the crowd.

He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because Y/N seemed out of place in this setting—she wasn’t like the other hardened travelers or cynical mercenaries. Y/N seemed… different.

And that made her dangerous. Not to him—but perhaps to herself.

__________

Sorry it took so long! I’ve been busy lately or too tired to proofread the chapter until now.

Hope you like it!💐🌸💖