#me: not resisting the urge to make ANOTHER merc a dog

[teamfurtress]

chat i dont think thats a sheepdog

[bobathirstaccount]

Hard to Find Someone Like You

Boba x fem!reader, Fennec is your gal pal & boss, slow burn to smut (tomfoolery starts end of ch 2 & sex starts in ch 3, I gotchu), some romance, fair amount of plot, Post-Mando 2 Boba

You are a merc serving under Fennec at Fett’s Palace. It’s business as usual until a certain helmet starts tilting in your direction...

Translations:

Keella - Twi’lek for darling

Daesha - Twi’lek name, means queen

Ayy - Twi’lek name, means star

Numa - Twi’lek name, means sister

***

CHAPTER TWO

You returned from your latest mission, a courier for important information. You had taken data packs to some of Fett’s allies, and were then tasked with shuttling other data packs back. It was boring. You sighed, landing in the hanger next to the Slave 1.

When you went down the gangway of your ship, you noticed that the Slave 1 was open. Curious, you walked to the bottom of the ramp, peering inside.

You whipped around, having sensed someone behind you. Your nasty expression faded and was replaced by utter shock. It was the Great Fett Himself. You stumbled backward, tripping yourself over the edge of the Slave 1’s ramp. You landed with a thump on it. Fett’s helmet tilted down slightly.

You popped up, trying to act normal. You realized you were on the ramp to his ship. You meekly walked down. You tried to keep going, but Fett spoke, “Any more heads?”

You stopped and slowly turned on your heel. Your eyes flicked up to his visor and then down to his chest, “Not this time.”

“Do you often decapitate your bounties?”

“Sometimes.”

He hmmmed softly. “Good night,” he said, turning from you.

“Good night,” you returned, stunned.

***

The next day Slave 1 was gone and Fennec was temporarily in charge. She sat in the throne. Although she was an impressive force, it didn’t quite suit her, you thought. Who could replace Fett up there?

Fennec had called you to the throne room late at night. “I need you to go join up with Fett. They need a second ship.”

You were surprised, “Me?”

“Who else? You’ve done well here. We can almost trust you.”

You went to ask another question, but she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “I’ve already sent the coordinates to your ship. You leave now. Fett will explain when you arrive.” You nodded, and turned to leave.

***

You came out of jump space. Slave 1 was in front of you. You were hailed, “Daesha, prepare to be boarded.” You prepped the airlock and waited. Slave 1 docked with you. Two female Mandalorians appeared in your ship. You stared at them, hand over your blaster.

“We’re taking your ship, go aboard the Slave 1.”

You scoffed.

“Fett said to tell you the message is from him.”

You looked between them. “Kriff. Not another scratch,” you warn. You climbed the ladder into Slave 1 and closed the airlock. You disembarked from your ship. A pang hit your heart. You hoped you would see her again.

You made your way to the cockpit, and sat in one of the crew seats. Fett was piloting. There didn’t appear to be anyone else on board. “This shouldn’t take long,” he said. You weren’t sure if he was talking to you. You held your tongue. Slave 1 entered jump space. Fett stood from his seat, turning towards you. “It will be about 30 minutes.” He brushed past you.

Thirty minutes until what? You didn’t dare ask. Instead you sat in your seat and waited for time to elapse. Fett returned just before the ship came out of jump space. He immediately entered a dog fight. You saw your ship engaged in battle. You watched with interest. They better know what they were doing with your ship. Fett shot away into jump space. Your eyebrows shot up. Did he just abandon your ship? He turned to you, “We will wait until we hear from them.” He settled into his seat.

You sat quietly, wondering what to do. The minutes ticked by. Fett sat stoically, doing something with his flight computer. Finally you realized you had to use the fresher. You squirmed in your seat for a minute before slipping out of it. Surely you could find a fresher on a small ship. You had found the cockpit.

You wandered the ship, having a surprisingly difficult time. You were getting desperate. “What are you doing?” A vocoder voice said behind you. The tone was deadly quiet. You whipped around, startled, eyes narrowed. It was Fett. Of course it was Fett.

“Looking for the fresher,” you manage to get out.

“This way,” Fett took off in a direction you’d already been. You rolled your eyes at yourself and followed him. He slide open a small door you hadn’t noticed. Kriff. “Thank you,” you said, turning to him. He nodded, and turned to leave. You dashed into the fresher, grateful and bursting.

You returned to the cockpit. Fett was back in his seat. You resisted the sudden urge to ask him what this was all about. He sat there, mysterious and silent. Finally a communication came through. Fett put Slave 1 back into jump space. Suddenly your ship was in front of you. It looked small. You smiled to see her intact. Fett turned to you, “We’re docking with your ship. Prepare to board. Return to Tattooine and wait for me. Tell Fennec everything went fine.” You nodded, then realizing he might not have seen it added, “Okay.”

He turned forward again.

***

You had delivered Fett’s message to Fennec and retired to the third floor club area. You had repeated it word for word, and wondered at the phrase “wait for me.” Now that you were sitting it came to you again. It was a strange thing to say. You wondered if Fennec had noticed it as well.

Ayy had sidled up and asked if it was true you went on a mission with Fett. You corrected her, “I just brought them my ship. Then I sat and waited with Fett until it was all over.”

“Wait. You were alone with Fett?” Ayy’s eyes widened.

“Yes. But we just sat there.”

“So he never said anything to you?”

“Well I didn’t say that nece-“

“So what’d you talk about?” She leaned forward expectantly, giving you a naughty look.

You blushed, “Well he had to show me where the kriffing fresher was. And he gave me a message for Fennec. Other than that it was just about docking with the Daesha.”

“Ooooh, but he picked you,” she said conspiratorially. She leaned in even further, annoying you. “He could’ve picked any merc here. Someone more prominent. But he picked you, “ she whispered breathlessly.

You sat back. “Like I said, they wanted my ship, not me.”

She looked at you skeptically. “No. He doesn’t do things by accident. Maybe he wants to fuck you.”

You gawked at her.

“Just saying... you’re one of the more attractive mercs around here... especially considering you’re one of the only women he has contact with regularly.”

“I don’t have ‘regular contact’ with him. Plus who knows if he likes women. Or humans,” you countered.

“Coulda fooled me. First the severed head - which everyone heard about by the way - and now this. Once is chance, twice is coincidence, third time is a pattern. So you got one more time before you can’t deny it anymore.”

“That’s not the actual quote,” you said dryly.

She rolled her eyes, “Whatever, point is he wants something from you, and I’m betting it’s that sweet ass and those bouncy titties.”

You flushed, aggravated and embarrassed, “My tits don’t bounce.”

”Girl,” she raised an eyebrow. “Remember your birthday night? The girls were out on display... I bet he saw.”

“Thought you said he didn’t notice.”

”Well I can admit when I’m wrong.”

You finished your drink. “This conversation is done.”

She sighed in your face, “Fine. I have to get back to work anyway.” She sauntered off, hips swaying with each step. You wondered how you looked when you walked.

***

Fennec called you to the throne room during midday. You tried to saunter down the stairs. When you got to the bottom you felt foolish, and walked normally over to Fennec. She was standing in front of the throne, talking with Fett. You respectfully stopped a few feet away. Fett nodded in your direction. Your throat got dry. Fennec turned, “Ah, there you are.”

You nodded at her.

“We have something special for you to transport. No questions.”

You tried to stop your eyebrow from raising, “Of course.”

She smiled, “Of course. Go to the hanger. Your package is there waiting for you. Coordinates have been sent to your ship.”

You nodded, “Right away.” You glanced up at Fett. He nodded at you. You breath caught for a moment. You turned and retreated up the stairs, shaking slightly. Did this count as Ayy’s third time? You pushed that thought away. You didn’t believe her kark. You made it to the hanger, walking past the Slave 1. You thought about your time alone with Fett. You stopped abruptly when you saw your “package.” It was a young woman with a very small child. You nodded at her, “I’m here to take you.” She nodded, looking at you with soft, sad eyes.

You ushered her onto your ship and into a seat. Then you checked the coordinates. Some backwater world. Whatever. You exited the atmosphere and put Daesha into jump space. You settled into your seat in a similar manner that Fett had settled into his. “It’ll be about 2 hours,” you said, “get comfortable.” You received no reply.

***

Upon your return to Tattooine, you were summoned to the throne room. You walked down the stairs, a bit tired. When you got to the bottom, you glanced up, and stopped short. There was no Fennec. Only Fett. You slowly approached, confused. Were you supposed to be here? He watched you, saying nothing but following you with his helmet. When you were directly in front of him, he leaned slightly forward, “Well?”

“She arrived safely and disembarked.”

“That’s it?”

You were confused, “Yes?”

“Good.” He leaned back. “You have made yourself quite useful lately. It makes up for your killing my guest. That was an awkward situation for me.”

You looked down, “Sorry.”

He laughed softly, a gruff raspy noise made even harsher by his vocoder. You looked up at him. He stared down at you. Fennec walked into the room.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“We were just finishing,” Fett spoke to Fennec but kept his helmet facing you. You bowed awkwardly and retreated.

***

You leaned in to Ayy’s face conspiratorially. “I think he might want to fuck me,” you whisper.

She laughs, “What was the third thing?”

You stare at her in annoyed confusion.

“The third thing that made the pattern.”

You sighed. She had you. “I can’t talk about it but something did happen.”

She rolled her eyes, “Kriff. The most exciting thing to happen around here and you can’t talk about it. At least make up something.”

You considered for a minute. Did you trust her? You eyed her.

“Well,” you spilled your guts, “He summoned me to the throne room alone.”

She raised her eyebrows, “No Shand? Whoa.”

You nodded seriously.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“Huh?”

“When he comes on to you, what you gonna do?” She tickled your inner thigh playfully. You jumped and pushed her hand away, embarrassed. You hadn’t thought about it. You were too wrapped up in the idea that he might want it to happen. “I don’t know.”

“Well you better decide, but I mean can you really say no?” She raised her hands when you glared at her. “Hey, just saying, keella.”

She did have a point. You frowned, unsure how you felt about these realizations. She put her hand on your shoulder and leaned into you, resting her head against her hand. “You’re gonna be fine, keella. You got those bouncy tits.” Despite yourself you laughed. She smiled, “Well, I gotta get back to it. Later, babe.” You nodded at her as she headed back to dance.

You had another drink to think everything over. You realized that you were probably just sucked into Ayy’s conspiracy theory. It wouldn’t be that unusual for you to get those tasks, would it? You were one of Fennec’s go-tos after all. By the time you were done with your drink, you felt much better. You were about to go when a hand touched your back gently. It was a dancer, Numa.

“Fennec told me to tell you to come over to Fett’s table.” Your head snapped up in astonishment.

“He’s here?” She nodded, pointing to the table in the corner where they had been seated before. There he sat. Fennec made eye contact with you and waved you over. You stood up abruptly. Thanking Numa, you tried to confidently walk over to the table. It was a somewhat longer walk than you would’ve liked. When you arrived, Fennec introduced you to the table as ‘one of our favorites.’ Serious faces looked you over. Fennec patted next to her. You slipped into the edge of the booth. Fett’s guests talked business. He mostly listened, occasionally nodding his head or saying a few curt words. After a while, Fennec crawled over you, “I’ll be back.” You leaned back to let her pass.

She returned after a few minutes. Rather than crawl over you, Fennec pushed you further into the booth, closer to Fett. You were somehow trapped between Fennec and Fett. It didn’t feel good. You sat uncomfortably, listening idly to the wheedling guests. Fennec became interested in her drink. The Great Fett shifted in his seat. This caused the table’s chatter to dip momentarily. He stilled and the conversation flowed again. Fennec pushed you over further, “I’m falling out of the booth, girl. Scoot over.” Your skin prickled at being this close to your employer. This close he was terrifying.

You felt pressure on your knee. Confused, you twitched. The pressure decreased momentarily, before returning and running up the inside of your thigh. You slowly realized it was Fett’s hand. You froze, scandalized. His hand reached your groin and slipped between your legs. It stopped there. You sat, frozen, barely able to breathe. Your thoughts flitted back to your conversation with Ayy. You decided that although dangerous and totally insane, this might work in your advantage as well. You spread your legs slightly. His hand stirred, pressing into your pussy through your pants. He pet you slowly under the table, rubbing your clit with his middle finger. You tried to maintain a neutral face, but your breathing was picking up. Maybe this was a mistake. You were out of your depth.

He didn’t do anything further, but it was enough to drive you crazy. He had worked you up to the brink of orgasm. The music in the club grew louder as night came. The guests grew interested in the dancers. Fett broke up the meeting, dispersing the table into the club. During this he had removed his hand from your leg. Denied orgasm, you sat there in despair. Fennec stood up from the booth, “I’m going to sleep.” Fett nodded and she was off. You turned to him. He was staring at you.

“We can continue this elsewhere,” he propositioned you.

[gwynbleiddyn]

14 for James Bond song prompts?

“We know when to kiss / and we know when to kill”

Sometimes it’s Shepard who’s shaking, his lips warm with the taste of alcohol, and Scott becomes a safe harbor in a storm that he knows nothing of. He only knows how to hold, hands finding warm skin, guiding, trying to steer Shepard somewhere safer than his own mind. Those nights, Scott makes quick work of him, learning every line and quiver, every shudder and whisper. Shepard sleeps better, and Scott simply watches, somewhere between sleep of his own and a dream. Those are the nights that Scott wants to keep, and he clutches onto burnished dog-tags like a lifeline, counting down the days he has left with him.

Shepard talks in his sleep. It’s the same words, the same dream, and Scott wonders where he is for a fleeting moment. He wonders if he’s there too. Shepard’s hands twist in the sheets under his pillow, body curling in, and he flinches. Scott frowns, feeling uneasy that this dream might be more of a nightmare. The dogtags fall out of his grip as he moves closer, sheets pooling at his own hips, exposing his back to the cool night air. There’s a chill hanging over them, biting into his skin, but Scott ignores it. He reaches under the pillow to where Shepard’s hands are balled into fists, straining, and gently coaxes his fingers away from the sheets. When Shepard flinches again, Scott freezes, not wanting Shepard to wake suddenly in a panic. Shepard stills once more, and Scott gently runs his hand along Shepard’s arm, following every line and shape, right up until he meets the familiar dip at his shoulder. A muffled noise comes from Shepard, still in the throes of his dream, and Scott drags his fingers lazily over Shepard’s shoulderblade, down over his ribs with feather-light touches. “Scott?” the word is barely coherent, half-mumbled, half-spoken, heady with sleep. It belongs to Shepard’s voice, though, and Scott carries on his mindless exploration, hand running along the hard edges of his stomach as Shepard rolls over with a groan, body aching with exhaustion.“You were dreaming.” Scott says simply, his hand finally coming to rest over Shepard’s heart, and he can feel it pounding. Scott frowns, glancing up at Shepard, who’s been watching in tired reverence. A lazy smile appears on the older man’s face, but it doesn’t answer Scott’s worry.“Nothing you need to worry about–” Shepard murmurs, a yawn catching up with him as his sentence trails off. Scott huffs, scooting back, feeling a little silly for even trying to wake him in the first place. “Hey,” Shepard’s voice follows him, the bed dipping as he shifts over, strong arms slipping around him easily, “Thank you.” Scott regards him for a moment as they lie there, face-to-face, legs already tangled in comfortable familiarity. He wants to ask, wants to know where that same dream keeps taking Shepard, but something tells him it’s a topic best left alone until Shepard breaches it. Scott sighs heavily, sleep catching up with him now that he has Shepard’s warmth back instead of the cold in the room.“Y’welcome.” Scott mumbles, still sheepish, but Shepard only smiles golden as he always does. It’s enough.It always is.

Sometimes it’s Scott who’s shaking, his mouth caught in a grim line where doubt speaks instead of hope, and Shepard becomes a reminder of the hurricane he’s always been. The bodies in the streets don’t hurt Shepard, but Scott makes the mistake of looking at their faces and he feels sick. Those nights, Shepard sits with him, gentle hands and gentler words spilling over Scott’s shoulders. Those are the nights that Shepard will remember, the way his world sits in an orbit that Scott’s own world doesn’t, and he sits there with a heavy heart, head resting on Scott’s back as he holds him from behind.

“Scott.” Shepard presses a kiss to the ridge of his shoulderblade, but Scott just shakes his head, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees kaleidoscope colours. Shepard sighs, his breath hot against Scott’s cold skin, and lifts his head to speak better, a hand moving to rub gentle circles at the small of Scott’s back.

“I can’t. I keep seeing those faces.” Scott’s reply is strangled, mixed up with fear and disgust. Shepard just listens, waits until he finally spits up every choked word and heaves out another breath, trying his best to calm down.

Shepard is fully aware of the merc jobs Scott’s been picking up on Omega. He’d thought nothing of it at first, knowing Scott was more than capable of handling himself, but… Shepard hadn’t expected this. Scott has a moral compass far more black and white than Shepard’s own, and Shepard has no doubt that it’s a shitty byproduct of a dishonest man, which Alec Ryder is. Shepard knows the name, knows the legend, he’s shaken hands with him, and he knows that ‘N7′ comes with its own shade of morality that doesn’t belong anywhere else.

“Scott, listen,” Shepard soothes, but when Scott doesn’t reply, Shepard moves from behind him and off the bed to kneel in front of him instead, “Listen.”

Gently, Shepard pries Scott’s hands away from his eyes, holds them both in one of his own, and his free hand curls around Scott’s neck, thumb brushing his cheek as he coaxes him to look, properly. From here, Shepard has a much better view of those eyes of Scott’s, and he almost wishes he didn’t. Red-rimmed and dull, a dead giveaway. Shepard swallows, uncertain. This was new territory for the both of them.

“Scott, you didn’t hurt those people.” Shepard tries the obvious route: brute force and realization. Scott’s a soldier at heart, Shepard knows that. Sugarcoating things won’t help, and especially not coming from him. God knows he’s done far worse.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re still dead.” Scott sniffs, resisting the urge to close his eyes and ignore the way Shepard is looking right into him, trying to piece together every fraying tear. If anyone could, it would be him.

Shepard hesitates on his chosen route, noticing how Scott dodges it so blatantly. His brow furrows as he thinks, trying to claw some sense from somewhere.

“Look, you could say that about a lot of people. Regret doesn’t bring anyone back, and it’s not about to start now. Hey– look at me, please?” Shepard tries to coax Scott’s wandering gaze back to him, to give him a focus, a starting point. He can’t go anywhere without one. Scott obliges, blue meeting gold in gentle gaze.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with surviving. This galaxy is all kinds of fucked up, and you and I both know it. Pulling the trigger just means you wanted to live. That changes nothing about who you are.”

Shepard is brutally honest in himself, but Scott has always liked that about him. He knows where he stands, knows where he can go, and that fills him with a confidence that he struggles to find elsewhere.

It didn’t stop the faces, not entirely, but he could bear them now. He could understand it, and that was far better than believing in the worst of yourself.

“Thank you.” Scott manages to reply, after a moment of silence. Shepard smiles up at him, quiet and tentative, unsure of his footing, but Scott returns it, despite the watery eyes and sniffling.

“I’m here for you, Scott. Whenever, however you need me. I want you to know that.” Shepard admits candidly as Scott’s hands fall from his grip, easily cradling Shepard’s face instead as he presses their foreheads together with an exhausted sigh. He doesn’t need to speak anymore, he just needs… this.

And Shepard would give him all the time he had.

Every kill is necessary, every casualty measured and drawn up with a bullet in their chest. Shepard is precise, leaves no room for mistakes he can’t afford. Kill the one to save the many has become doctrine, has become his own warped prayer, falling from lips better suited to kindness that he can’t spare.

Every kiss is desperate, fueled by a fear neither can describe. Scott isn’t shy, he knows how to get what he wants out of Shepard, and Shepard always allows it with a wicked smile. They both know it isn’t quite the fear of losing each other as it is the fear of finally having to set their compass and sail, eyes fixed on a horizon that has never belonged to both of them.