#odd but tightly knit

[halfling-myth-lady]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Digimon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions, Pocket Monsters: Scarlet & Violet | Pokemon Scarlet & Violet Versions, Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruka | May/Lutia | Lisia, Haruka | May/Yuuki | Brendan, Lutia | Lisia/Yuuki | Brendan, Haruka | May & Mitsuru | Wally & Yuuki | Brendan, Aoi | Juliana/Nemo | Nemona (Pokemon), Aoi | Juliana & Botan | Penny (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet), Aoi | Juliana & Pepper | Arven Characters: Haruka | May, Lutia | Lisia, Yuuki | Brendan, Mitsuru | Wally, Aoi | Juliana (Pokemon), Teru | Rei, Pepper | Arven, Botan | Penny (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet), Nemo | Nemona (Pokemon), Kaede | Katy (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet), Michael (Pokemon) Additional Tags: digimon AU, time traveling, atempts to build a time machine, Pokémon coliseum is underated so Michael is here, Two different plot lines, Rei is profesor Rowan’s assistant Summary:

Michael didn’t expect much from his life apart from just taking care of cipher.

Really,Michael wasn’t expecting anything else,which was sad,but really not devastating.if anything,it was expected due to the fact that he was know for being good at Pokémon battles.

However,when a green haired boy with a little blob of purple come to his place,it seems to say that the world had other plans.

———

The last that Juliana expected was to have another problem to deal with the treasure hunt right after the one where she needed to say the last eventful thing she did was going to the funeral of a friends dad.

However,went she runs into(literally) the chance of another person being a tamer,she takes this opportunity to the best and decides to find this “rei itsuki”

———

Rei didn’t want to go back to whatever boring life he probably had back in his time.

He said no for a reason.but when god gives you the middle finger and sends you back anyway(two years after too),it’s only fiting to return the favor and give it the middle finger back.

With some unexpected company,of course.

chapter 2 of obtk is out! I don’t really have much else to say but thank the people who supported chapter 1 because really I cannot thank you guys enough.

Now Please enjoy.

[islandheartprincess]

bully!rafe cameron x reader ˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ‎

part 1 ✧ part 2 ✧ part 3

summary: rafe hated you, but he mainly hated how obsessed he was with you. placed during senior year of HS. both are of age

warnings: smut, swearing, masturbation (m), reader catching rafe masturbating, bullying, 18+ mdni

pairing: bully!rafe x reader

rafe cameron made sure to make your life at school a living nightmare. he went out of his way to trouble you, and despite your best efforts to ignore his childish behavior, you just couldn't seem to get him to lay off you. it was odd, the way he found pleasure in making you angry, or uncomfortable.

you never knew why he only treated you like this so consistently. you knew that he was in no means a kind person in general, other than the girls he often hooked up with and led on, but he never hung on to someone the way he did with you.

you weren't some annoying, loud, pogue. you kept to yourself on most occasions and found yourself finding peace alone and reading books, or hanging out with your small but close-knit friend group. you honestly couldn't wait till summer, or just graduation in general.

rafe cameron hated her, or so he wanted to. he hated the way she made him feel, vulnerable, and unlike his usual cocky self.

maybe it was the way she kept her calm, when anyone else would've ran away crying? or maybe it was the way she would look up at him, with her doe eyes, a slight glimmer that just told him how she could read through his arrogant front easily. she knew what he was. he hated, hated, that.

why couldn't he just forget about her? why did he find himself thinking about her at the most unconventional times. and why, when her face came up in his mind, he felt his body grow hot and an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. god, when it would happen, often so, he never felt more embarrassed. he was rafe cameron, he could find any dumb cheerleader at the school to fuck and throw away.

yet he found himself yearning after the girl in the back of the class, quiet, smart, and mature. in all his best efforts to make himself forget about her, he only made his obsession worse, and her hatred for him deeper.

rafe cameron was your worst enemy. you couldn't think of a more emotionally immature person than him. you heard the stories about how he ghosted this girl, or cheated on his girlfriend, or hooked up with his best friends ex.

you found yourself having to remind yourself how much of a horrible person he was. it was just that, when he would make fun of you, you'd look at him. really, look at him. you saw his insecurities, his vulnerability.

gosh, was he good looking though. you understood why so many girls at your school pined after him. when he would make fun of you, you felt a lot of things. you felt upset, mostly at yourself due to the wetness you could feel between your thighs. you didn't like how your brain heard his words, but focused on his distracting eyes, and smooth lips.

you wanted him to stay away from you. mostly, you just wanted the uncontrollable needy thoughts to stay away. you knew he would never, ever, be attracted to a girl like you. of course, that's why he hated you, right? he thought you were ugly, and a bother, that had to be why.

you were at your locker, as unbothered as anyone could be. until your locker slammed shut right in front of you, revealing nonetheless then rafe cameron.

this time, he didn't say anything immediately. his mouth opened, but shut after he eyed you up and down. his eyes trailed over the stockings you had decided to wear today, which you couldn't have regretted more in the moment. you squeezed tightly onto your books, just wanting to hear whatever snarky comment he had to make and get it over with.

"really? nice choice of clothes, you going for a degree in slut?" he laughed, and walked away. you were thankful he quickly left so he didn't see the way your face turned red. if only you knew the reason he left in a hurry was to avoid you seeing his rising boner, on a rush to the bathroom stall.

you knew you had to go neaten up, get yourself together. your panties felt damp, your shamefulness deepening. haven being so deep in embarrassment, you didn't notice the boys restroom sign when you walked into the bathroom.

looking into the mirror, you took a deep breath, brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, until you heard a noise from the end of the bathroom. the bell had rung, so the stalls were all empty, except one. the one all the way on the end of the hall, which you thought you could've heard a small noise from.

taking a step closer with caution, but almost choking on your spit when you heard... a moan? you halted yourself, and your assumptions were true. you wondered who on earth would be jerking off in a bathroom stall, waiting for the next noise to try and recognize the voice.

rafe quickened his pace, feeling himself reaching his climax. he knew the bathroom was empty, but he still tried his best to control his voice. it almost made him mad how desperate he felt thinking about fucking you with those stockings on, or you sucking him off while looking up at him with your gorgeous innocent eyes. it was hard to control his voice thinking about you, so he naturally loudened his moans a little.

oh my god. it all clicked with you. you accidentally walked into the boys bathroom, and rafe cameron was in the stall jerking off. your throat closed up, mind unable to process how this was real. all you were able to do was slap your hand over your mouth to cover your gasp. until you heard- "fuck, y/n." how'd he- oh gosh. correction, rafe Cameron was jerking off, thinking about you. you froze, but knew you had to get out of there before he caught you.

coming down from his high, rafe cleaned himself up, his breathing raggedy. he was ready to get out of this stall, act like it never happened, and go back to class. until, his heart dropped at the sound of the bathroom door shut. no way someone was in here, how'd he not hear them? whatever, they probably didn't even know it was him.

@anitalenia for the borders! ♡

part 2 , part 3- follow for more (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

[just-some-user-hunny]

The Cannibal bonded with a bastard targaryen reader ...

This is heavily inspired by @mangled-parasite writings on their yandere hotd stuff. I wanted to go more in depth about the relationship a bastard princess reader would have with the cannibal, because the dynamics could be so diverse and interesting. The cannibal is a really interesting dragon to me as well, he's not been tames nor shows any interest in it, so I always wonder what he'd be like with a rider!

(fem! Bastard princess reader X the cannibal)

. If you are bonded to him, he would be ruthlessly protective over you. He can feel every flicker of distress and discomfort from you, and he bares his teeth like a guard dog at whoever draws too close. Once he had decided that you were his, and he was yours, his fury when it comes to protecting you rivals hellfire. You will never have to feel fear again, nothing can even dream of touching you- lest they want to experience the nightmarish wrath of the Cannibal. It matters little to him if this threat is human, or dragon. In fact he almost welcomes it. He loves the rush of destroying whatever threatens you, the pride that fills him when he charres their remains and feasts upon them In front you- because look princess. Look how mighty he is, look how well he can fight and protect you. After his gory feast, he'll lower himself close to your little form for his praise- purring till your blood fizzles as he enjoys your pets and attention.

. Cannibal has never been a tame or passive dragon, but around you, he'll make an effort to behave. He'll stave away his urges to salivate when he captures glimpses of the smaller dragons, if it makes you happy. He'll heed your voice, your words, if only to amuse you and keep you content. However, he still has a temper- and although he may not engulf everything with wildfire, he will surely growl and roar to make people bend their knee in your presence. His bond to you is tightly knitted, so he can pick up those who are irking you or upsetting you. He shares your hatred for your father, often bearing his frightening jagged teeth at the pale man who can only endure the monstrosity of his daughter's dragon. It'll take only your word to engulf him in burning emerald flames, so for once, your father will hold his tongue.

. He is not an obedient dog, more like a feral alley cat who's taken a warming to you. There's not a force in heaven or hell that can convince him to confide anywhere near the dragon pits, not to mention his monstrous size cannot even imagine squeezing itself into that little ditch. He'll take to sleeping upon the beach, preferably away from vhager, if he wants to remain close to you. However he is known to fly off and disappear for days on end, returning when you least expect it. He is a wild dragon at heart.

. He may not melt into a big passive puppy, but he will surely let you know he likes the attention you give him. He'll croon with his snarling scarred grin, his eyes glinting as you speak to him and stay close. The attitude he has around you is stark like night and day- with others he glares ferociously and mean, but with you, he's bound by your heels.

When you approach him upon the sand of the tide, he'll lower his head to gaze upon you. he'll feel content as he looks you over, appearing docile and calm in your presence.

Your family find it terrifyingly odd whenever you approach him with so much casualty, and he simply looks at you so fondly. The dragon who has devoured oh so many wannabe dragon tamers is now treating you like a precious little treasure, and it's both awe-inspiring, and frightening. His striking emerald green eyes focus on you as you speak sweetly and softly to him, his purrs can be heard from the dragonstone gates.

. The cannibal is an ancient dragon with many years of experience, so to him, you are little more than a child in his eyes. His child.

If anything, he is more of a loving father to you than Daemon could ever be.

It's puzzling to him, at first. He has never possessed a single maternal bone in his body, having no objection to devouring unhatched eggs and even young hatched dragons to satiate his hunger- but perhaps he sees a part of him in you. That wildness to stray, the desperation to free yourself from the thorns of the targarians that dig deep into you. You may be a little gentle weepy thing, but the fact still stands. You want to be free. He can grant that.

As you claim him as a child, he'll watch you grow. Watch your face and hands become weary from the anxiety and ache of constantly being caged. You'll gradually become more and more beautiful, dripping in gems and jewellery and ornate gowns, but the sadness in your eyes hasn't changed since you were a tearful little child. He sees what they are doing- trying to keep you satiated with material desires, but he understands you deep down that nothing of that matters. You want to be anywhere else but here...

. He is an old dragon, and has a temper to him. His hunger for flesh and fire has not made him weary, and although he is scarred and withered, he is still towering in all his obsideon scaled glory. Emerald flames engulfing the sky as you ride upon his back, soaring above the clouds as pride and glory consumes him. He always despises the idea of being 'claimed' and ridden like some show pony, but he finds himself enjoying the company of his little human experiencing the rush of gliding through the heavens. He can feel your thundering heart, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach as he dips and soars between terrific heights, and he can't help but grin a scarred and twisted smile, egged on by your delight of the views and freedom. Yes! This is freedom, my little princess. Let us not be chained by those targarians, this is what living is!

He certainly likes challenging you, obviously not to the point he puts you in any danger of course- but he'll dive at gut churning speeds to see what'll make you shriek. It's almost like He finds amusement out of it, perhaps getting a little kick out of challenging his rider. Once he has landed however with you safely back on the ground, he'll look at you with his gnarled smirk and expect just a little push from you. Don't take it to heart though, his princess. You'll get gently prodded and nudged by his snout to check on you to make sure you're alright. He is still protective over you, after all. His cruelty will not extend to your pain. Besides, you are more often than not riding him bareback, so he would never fly so recklessly that you'd get bucked off. Most of the time he's holding back, really.

. That is not to say that each time you climb upon his back that you will endure terror, because that is surely not the case. He loves flying with you, loves feeling your awe and wonder. It fills him with unbridled pride and ego. You can both feel freedom, and freedom is all he wants for himself and his rider alike.

. As his rider, you have a good chance of escaping the talons of your family. Who is to stop you? The mad prince, Daemon, and his blood wyrm? Cannibal could laugh at the mere thought of this deranged man challenging him with his little red pest. Even the one eyed prince and his ancient she-dragon, Vhagar, will be a welcomed challenge. When it comes to you, he'd do anything.

[enwoso]

This is kind of angsty but still in the lovie sphere. But how about a one where lovie is afraid to interact with harrison, luca and Gio after what happened at the match and alessia, leah and alessias parents are trying to convince lovie that its ok.

THREADS OF SILENCE | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist | psa: i would maybe recommend reading bound by the past, for this to make sense or just to refresh the memory as it’s been a while:)

the chandeliers ceiling glittered above the function room, soft golden light dancing off polished glassware as balloons and birthday banners filled the room.

it was alessia's birthday, a night she had spent weeks planning — a night she had envisioned to be perfect with no drama. surrounded by family, friends and her loved ones. it was supposed to be an evening of joy and celebration.

but alessia could barely focus on the laughter and chatter which echoed around the the large room around her as her attention was fixed on the far corner of the room, where you sat in a small chair your shoulders hunched forward and your stuffed animal, esme the elephant clutched tightly against your chest.

you hadn't moved much all night. you hadn't spoken to anyone either — not your nonna, nonno or even your beloved uncle gio or uncle luca.

you hadn't looked at your dad, harrison, once.

"she still not talkin' to anyone?" leah's voice broke gently through alessia's thoughts. leah standing beside her a comforting presence as always but alessia couldn't relax.

"not a word," alessia sighed, shaking her head leaning over to place her small wine glass on the table as her gaze remained locked on you.

"not to nonna or nonno. and she won't even look at gio or luca and you know what she's like — she adores them." she bit her lip. "she hasn't said a single word to harrison all night. not even when he first got here and waved at her, she just looked away."

leah frowned, her brows knitting together in concern as she studied your body language. you were usually so vibrant and thrived in environments like these as you loved to be the center of attention, full of life and laughter.

but tonight, you were a shadow of yourself, quiet and withdrawn as you picked at the white icing on a cupcake.

"she's probably still a little scared," leah said softly.

alessia nodded, her chest tightening, "yeah, the argument at the stadium.." her voice trailed off as she exhaled shakily, "she hasn't been the same since."

since the big blowout at the emirates between harrison and her brothers, the tension still hadn't seemed to settle. the day that should have been a moment of pride and joy but it instead had turned into alessia's worst nightmare.

and with you being there from the start, seeing it all kick off, watching with your innocent eyes. seeing your dad, your uncles and the people she loved and trusted, yelling at each other like strangers was bound to confuse and upset you.

"she's scared of them, le." alessia whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "she's scared of her dad, scared of gio and luca. she's been a shell of herself since last weekend and i don't know how to fix it. she won't talk to anyone but me and maybe the odd word to you. she won't even look over in their direction!"

leah rested a gentle hand on alessia's shoulder, her voice calm but firm. "she's little less. she doesn't know how to make sense of it. she just knows it upset her, but she'll come around. she just needs time and needs to see that they're not going to hurt her."

but before alessia could respond, a small voice interrupted them. "mummy?"

alessia's head turning sharply, her heart twisting at the sight of you standing hesitantly by the chair. your esme the elephant dangling from one hand which you hadn't let go off all day.

your big blue eyes darting nervously around the room before landing on alessia's. alessia crouched down immediately, opening her arms wide. "i'm here baby, what's wrong?"

you took a step forward, then stopped your lip trembling as you glanced towards the table where your dad sat, his hands folded tightly in his lap as he sat awkwardly on his own, his face drawn with guilt.

gio and luca were nearby chatting amongst themselves as they every so often glanced over, watching you with worried expressions.

"i don't want daddy to shout again," you whispered your voice so soft that alessia almost didn't hear it.

alessia's heart shattered as your words. pulling you into her arms and holding you close as you clung to your mummy so desperately. "oh, my lovie," she murmured stroking your back comfortingly.

"no one's going to shout tonight. i promise. daddy's not going to shout. uncle gio and uncle luca aren't going to shout. they all love you so much, baby. they just made a mistake. grown-ups do that sometimes."

but you just shook your head, "i don't want to talk to them" you mumbled out, your voice muffled against your mummy's shoulder.

alessia just kissed the top of your head, her chest aching as she tried to think of any way that would comfort you, "that's okay, lovie. you don't have to talk to them if you don't want to."

leah who'd been observing the whole thing, crouched down beside the two of you, her voice gentle and encouraging, "hey angel," she said softly.

"you know, your mummy had been so excited to celebrate her birthday with you and she told me you've been practicing some dance moves. do you want to show me? just me?"

you peeked over at leah, your grip of your elephant teddy tightening, "i don't wanna dance," you whispered shakily.

"that's okay," leah said with a warm smile, "we don't have to dance, how about we just sit together? and you can tell me all about your little friend here and i can tell you about all the desserts i've seen on the table, deal?"

after a long pause, you clearly weighing up your options before you nodded slightly. leah let you slide down reluctantly from your mummy's hold as she encouragingly nodded with a warm smile as leah held out a hand for you to take, as she lead you back to where you'd been sat previously, in the quiet corner of the room.

alessia watched from afar as leah began chatting softly, pointing out the twinkling lights and decorations, you didn't say much but you didn't pull away either and that was just enough to allow your small shoulders to begin to relax.

harrison had been watching you the entire night, he'd been thinking about what to say to you and alessia about the tension and the arguement, knowing that it had shaken you.

harrison standing up when he saw alessia by herself, his movements hesitant but with purpose. his eyes were full of regret as he glanced at alessia. "can i.. i- can i try?" he asked quietly as he looked over his shoulder at you with leah.

alessia's jaw tightened, "she's scared of you, harrison." she said her voice low. "right now she doesn't trust you. and honestly? i don't blame her."

harrison's face fell along with his stomach at alessia's blunt but truthful words. "i-i know," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "but i need to try. i need her to know how sorry i am."

alessia hesitated for a moment not wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt but she could see the guilt in his eyes and the look on his face that told her, his intentions were somewhat pure.

harrison approached the table you were sat at slowly, kneeling a few feet away from you. he didn't reach for you, keeping his hands on his lap. "hey, y/n" he said softly, his voice trembling as leah sat with a face like thunder behind you, watching each and every move he made.

you stiffened but you didn't hide your face as you glanced at him briefly your expression still very much guarded.

"i just.. i want you to know i'm sorry," harrison continued his voice filled with emotion, "sorry for shouting and scaring you. for not being here before now. daddy made a mistake and i've upset you and your mummy. but i love you more than anything"

you studied him for a moment longer, your little face thoughtful and uncertain. but then you took a small step towards him, "you're not gonna shout anymore?" you asked quietly.

"never again," harrison promised, his voice cracking, "i pinky promise."

after a long pause, your linked your tiny pinky with your dads as he let out a shaky breath before pulling you into a careful hug.

from a few feet away, gio and luca who'd been watching the whole interaction from the start, shared a glance with each other before stepping forward hesitantly.

"tiny?" gio began softly, his usual cheeky and confident personality replaced with rare vulnerabilit. "we're sorry too. we didn't mean to upset you."

you turned your head, your expression still unsure, "so, you not gonna fight anymore?"

luca knelt beside your brother, "no more fighting. we promise. we just want you to know how much we love you. you're our favorite person in the whole world, you know that?"

you hesitated before glancing over at your mummy and when she nodded gently as you took a small step towards them. gio's usual cheeky grin appeared, his relief palpable as luca reached out to ruffle your hair gently.

it wasn't the perfect night alessia had imagined. but as she watched you slowly and cautiously reconnect with the people who loved you, she felt a spark of hope.

maybe this was the beginning of healing.

[moonhoures]

Video Games

🕷️ kinktober — day 1: angry / makeup sex 🕸️

pairing: jay (enhypen) + reader (g/n)

genre: non-idol!au, mild angst, smut

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, pet name: ‘baby’ (for reader), unprotected sex, creampie

word count: ~1.9k

synopsis: jay is seemingly put in the doghouse after forgetting to pick you up from work like he promised. but there are some ways he can earn your forgiveness . . .

a/n: this is not as ‘angry’ as you’re probably picturing, but hopefully you guys like it nonetheless 😅 enjoy!

posted: october 1, 2023

kinktober masterlist

One thing. You asked him to remember one thing. “Don’t forget, I need you to pick me up from work at eight!” You told him twice and reminded him once more before you walked out of the apartment to catch a bus. Jay nodded each time, even going as far to say “Seriously, ________, I’m not a kid. I’ll remember” when you reminded him the last time.

Yet, you stood at the front door of your job at 8:17 p.m, looking and feeling stupid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, and your face was stuck in an immovable scowl. You knew you should’ve taken your coworker’s offer to drive you home, but you had put your faith in your boyfriend to do what you asked of him. How silly of you.

You texted and called him multiple times before giving up; he wasn’t answering and he probably wasn’t going to any time soon. I swear if he’s playing those damn video games, you thought with a bite of aggravation. You loved your boyfriend to the moon and back, but if there’s one thing you didn’t like about him it was how attached to his games he got. He was majorly competitive, to the point it was difficult to get him off of the console, especially when he was close to winning whatever dumb game he was playing. And heaven forbid he’s playing with his friends who only encourage his habit even further.

After ten more minutes you went ahead and walked down the street to the bus stop. Your nerves were on edge and your head was on a swivel. You couldn’t help but curse Jay in your head for putting you in this position and making you so anxious. Since your car was in the shop, you had been picking up rides from him and your coworker. You wanted to avoid taking the bus at night at all cost, which is exactly why you nagged your boyfriend to pick you up tonight.

When you finally made it home, the door flung open without care, dinging against the door stopper just in front of the wall. It rattled a bit; you had hoped he would hear it and be startled. But when you walked through the living room, you were even more pissed to see him on the game with his head set on, his phone turned upside down on the table in front of him. Of course he didn’t get my texts and calls, he couldn’t see or hear them.

You scoffed, not giving him a second look as you stormed into your room and slammed the door shut. You vaguely heard him say “Hey, baby” as you got in the hallway.

You decided to run a bath to cool off before you went off on him and said some things you would regret. In the mean time Jay had found it odd you didn’t answer him, his brows knitting together. He wondered why you were in such a weird mood, but figured you might’ve just had a bad day. He shrugged and reached for his phone to check the time. Maybe I’ll have time for one more match, he thought. The screen of his phone lit up when he flipped it over, several missed notifications taking up the entire screen. Some social media notifications were interrupted by five missed texts and seven missed calls from you. Each text asking where he was, how long he would be, had he forgotten? His heart sank into his stomach.

“Shit.”

Jay tore off his headset and quickly logged out of the game, running to your bedroom door. His hand shifted the door knob but was met by resistance when he tried to open it. He closed his eyes in defeat and sighed. His knuckles tapped against the hard surface a few times, “Baby, open the door. I’m so sorry I forgot to pick you up.”

On the other side of the door, you ignored him, turning off the running water in the bath tub before walking back in the room to get some pajamas.

“________, please open the door. I’m really sorry. I know I fucked up,” he continued, voice dripping with sincerity, “I know you told me multiple times, and you don’t have to forgive me. But please just let me apologize to you. I don’t want you to go to bed upset.”

You paused at your dresser. Your determination to stay mad at him was slipping. But your pettiness wasn’t, “Did you win?”

Jay arched an eyebrow in confusion, “Huh?”

“Your game. Did you win? It must’ve been a really important match for you to forget about me.”

Jay let out a groan of annoyance, not so much with you but with himself, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Really, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I’ll do all the chores this weekend. I’ll cook your favorite dinner for you. I won’t play my games tomorrow.”

He heard your scoff from the hallway, practically heard your eye roll, too.

“I won’t play my games for a week,” he corrected himself, “A month even. Whatever it takes to get you to talk to me.”

His heart pounded as it grew uncomfortably quiet. He didn’t even hear your soft footsteps, so his eyes became wide when the door in front of him opened. You stood in front of him in just your robe, your disscontempt etched into your face. If looks could kill, he wondered if he would be six feet under already.

“I told you three times, Jay.”

“I know.”

He frowned, looking more ashamed than you had ever seen him. You secretly wished you didn’t love him so much. It made it harder to be upset with him. You wanted him to feel bad, at least for tonight.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“I deserve that,” he agreed.

“And I’m gonna hold you to those promises,” you continued, “No games for two weeks.”

He was shocked that you had downsized the punishment from the month he suggested, but he didn’t show his surprise in case you took it back, “Okay.”

Your hardened stare lingered on him a little longer, and he grew nervous for what would come out of your mouth next. Little did he know you were actually thinking about how cute he looked. How mad you were at yourself for finding him so attractive at a time like this. Fuck you for being so hot, you thought, as if he could hear your thoughts.

“Are we good now?” he asked timidly. His hand cautiously reached up to cup your cheek in a sign of truce.

“You’ll have to earn your way back into my good graces,” you cracked a small smile.

“I’ll do anything,” he repeated, stepping closer to rest his hands on your waist. Your perfume lingered on your robe, filling his nose with the sweet, familiar fragrance that made his heart skip a beat.

“Anything?”

He nodded at your question, a smirk creeping onto his lips. If this was going in the direction he was thinking, then he was about to be a very happy man. His heartbeat accelerated as your hands found purchase on his chest, your palms flat over his pecs. Your eyes lingered on the small sliver of his collarbone that was exposed by the neckline of his t-shirt. When your gaze met his, there was a clear intention behind them that sent blood rushing to Jay’s loins.

Neither of you said anything as you tugged him into the bedroom and closed the door. In a matter of minutes you were on the bed, legs spread to make room for your boyfriend’s hips. Your robe was untied and thrown open as he slathered wet, sloppy kisses all over your neck and chest. Your hand was buried in his hair, pulling lightly on it to keep him where you wanted him.

“You’re gonna fuck me exactly how I want,” you panted, hips already bucking up against his clothed crotch. He moaned in affirmation, the vibrations tickling your nipple that was in his mouth.

“Gonna give me the best orgasm ever,” you added, looking down to see his eyes closed as he laved at your collarbone. They opened to look you in the eye as he came back face-to-face.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he assured you, nodding as he connected your lips with his once again.

Skin-on-skin contact and heavy breaths filled the room shortly after. Jay’s clothes were quickly discarded and he was pounding into you like his life depended on it. Your fingers gripped his back, loving the way you could feel his muscles flexing with every movement. He tried to hold back low grunts as your ankles locked around his waist, causing him to thrust deeper into you. He felt anchored down, but in the best possible way. This position was as close to paradise as he would probably ever get.

“Faster, Jay,” you breathed out, fingernails digging into his skin. He gritted his teeth and fastened his pace as much as he could.

“Fuck,” you cursed, legs tightening around him even more, “Jay, faster!”

“Baby, I’m trying,” he practically whimpered, his thrusts getting a little quicker, but also sloppier. He was losing stamina. You knew he was trying his best, you could just tell. You thought about giving him some slack, but then you remembered how you two got in this position in the first place. You weren’t going to go easy on him at all; he didn’t deserve it.

“Not trying hard enough,” you sighed in annoyance, moving your hips up against his thrusts for more stimulation, “You’re so annoying.”

“So suddenly?” he scoffed out a small laugh, looking at you incredulously. He knew you well enough to know you weren’t being completely serious. You were just letting out your aggression; he didn’t take it to heart.

“Y-yeah,” you panted, wincing when his cock hit a certain spot inside of you that felt a little too good, “You need to listen to me.”

He nodded, his arms shaking a bit from the energy was exerting trying to please you and keep himself stable, “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

“Promise?”

In that moment his gaze met yours, mere inches apart. Your breaths mingled between you, chests almost pressed against each other. He could tell you were getting close when he felt you growing tight around his dick. You always looked so beautiful like this—unraveling under him, by his own doing.

“Promise,” he sealed his words with a kiss against your lips, a low growl forming in his throat when you arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close to you. Your bodies pressed together like this, he could feel all of you; it drove him insane, “Now, cum for me.”

You were already well on your way when he spoke. Your legs constricted his lower body before growing slack at his sides. Your arms loosely circle him, keeping him close during the aftershocks of your orgasm. He came not long after, keeping slow, shallow thrusts until he came to a halt. He rested his face in the crook of your neck, simply cherishing the proximity to you.

“Can I join you for your bath?” he asked after your breaths had both settled back into their normal inflections.

“Sure, but the water’s probably cold by now. We’ll need to refill it,” your voice was sweet in answering him, as if any other answer would be ridiculous. Your next sentence, however, proved to humble him, “You’re still sleeping on the couch tonight, though.”

Jay cracked a smile, nodding in agreement as he helped you off the bed, “Understood.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedrswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @mrsdacherry @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite

[skeptiql]

A short Guard Ford thing

Time passes differently in the place between time and space as he has so fittingly learned, lowering his head to the cold surface of the desk. A light thunk sounds as skin makes contact with metal, a soft and dampened groan following soon after. Soft pink hair frames either side of his sunken face as he glances to the side to check his work one final time before covering the glaring light of the screens with his arms, wrapping them tightly around his skull.

Stanford Pines is not often one to cry, in fact he’d typically prefer to yell or vent frustrations through wilderness walks. Perhaps he’d find something new or odd on his travels? But options are limited when you’re locked in a room with buzzing screens and no other option but to toil away. “For the good of the multiverse” is the usual justification for this endeavour. It can only work for so long.

Quiet, stifled sobs wrack through his body as his brow tightly knits and eyes screw together to bolster the breaking floodgates of unrelenting tears. Balling his fists up in his scalp, he tugs at the roots to balance out the emotional exhaustion and agony with any form of physical counterpart.

The screen directly facing him broadcasts his younger self. It isn’t him, it’s never truly him, but in some other life this Stanford was the one he remembers being so vividly. Sat on the stained carpet of his childhood room he watches his twin brother as he passionately enacts a tall tale, spinning a long yarn of events about the floorspace while playing every role. Ford laughs, calls his brother a liar and corrects him on the behaviours of the Mothman. Stan complains. They both fight and giggle, the room lit up in a warm orange hue.

It breaks him with constant reminders that he never got to apologise and reconcile with his Stanley. Small reminders of his college best friend, larger reminders of his brother and family. All just taken away by his own hubris. All whittling him down with each passing…

Time passes differently. It all hurts the same. The isolation of what a younger Ford would’ve craved is now killing him and fracturing whatever sense he had left.

Placing his darkened shades to his right, his head raises wearily from the desk as he sniffles back any running snot. Gross and unprofessional. The heel of his shaking palm runs up his cheeks as tears are pushed away from reddened skin as his eyes settle on the screen in front of him.

Static; the signal is lost. Composure must be regained as he chastises himself for ever craving contact. A hug or something. How foolish and impossible of him to want anything more than a task bestowed upon him by a God. He shakes his head of any remaining doubts and like many other Stanfords, this one rejects his emotions and gets straight back to work.

[glitch-but-ya]

The echo of who I once was. III

"Let your memory of me be lost to time" III

TAGS: Platonic!Xavier, fluff and angst, mentions of death and violence, use of weaponry, mentions of alcohol usage. WORD COUNT: 3523 TAG LIST: @withering-dream , @moonlight-inthe-sea @tinyweebsstuff , @vyntheria , @xxfaithlynxx , @just-a-shapeshifter08 , @stxrrielle

PART 1, PART 2 , PART 4

Strings of steam surfaced from the cup, forming swirls as they rose. A hand, yours, hovered over the mug's rim, while the other busied itself with a thin bundle of papers. Your eyes scrutinized and skimmed over the contents of the paper. The presence on the other side of the table watched with unnerving patience as you buried yourself in the confines of your own mind.

You sipped your drink hastily, disregarding the hot sting on your tongue. Xavier scanned your form—knitted eyebrows, peeling foundation, dark circles, and unkempt hair. Was the mission stressing you out that much? He wondered.

"You should take some time to relax. Leave the parts that bother you to me," he managed to squeeze out. But his subtle attempt at consolation backfired when your eyes sharply shifted to his. "Relax? We have two days, Xavier, and no preparation. You want me to relax?"

Your gaze softened when he apologized in response. The subtle look of hurt in his eyes consumed you with guilt. "I'm sorry. I just... two days and no information. We don't even know who or what we're dealing with! It's such an important mission, and yet, we know so little."

Xavier opened his mouth, but you cut him off. "We have no good plan. How am I supposed to create one with nothing to go on?" You slumped back in your chair, exhaling sharply. Your complaints wouldn't make text appear on those documents.

"Have you ever attended an auction, Xavier?"

Xavier only stared at you with eyes a sliver wider than they should be. You took the hint and didn't press further.

The conversation met a brief pause as Xavier surveyed you once more. He noted how you picked at the skin you peeled off from your unusually chapped lips, and how you constantly rubbed at your bloodshot eyes. Something had occurred in your life again—something devastating, this time. And you were hiding it from him. Again.

"Going undercover," Xavier started, "is the safest way to investigate without blowing our cover." He noticed as you wandered off and cleared his throat in an attempt to ground you back to reality.

"Yeah," you replied, repositioning yourself. "But we have no plan."

"We don't need one," he said calmly, which irked you. "Once we're in, opportunities will come to us. Trust me." He gripped your hand with a determination swirling in his eyes. You couldn't deny that you were almost convinced. But, seriously, how could he be so calm?

You gulped down your drink and left no words as a response. Perhaps Xavier was right. You couldn't form a better plan with such a lack of information anyway. The most you could do was infiltrate the auction successfully (which, you were sure, would be a walk in the park, considering his odd connections). From then on, there was no choice but to leave it to fate. Perhaps you'd let Sylus cloud your thoughts too much. You knew you had to let it go, but his words echoed ceaselessly in your mind with every choice you faced.

"She set a standard you couldn't reach."

You clutched your mug.

"I'm sure you have your own unique strengths. You should focus on them instead and forget about trying to mimic her likeness. You and I both know the outcome of your persistence."

For a moment, the world seemed to fade to black. The darkness mocked you, and you had nothing to say to it. No matter how much you yearned to scream, retaliate, or stuff its words back into its mouth, you couldn't. Because a part of you already accepted its words to be true. You were told so before. You've heard it multiple times. Against the world—and especially her—you amount to nothing. You hugged yourself tightly, suppressing your shivers. What is your intelligence compared to the best hunter in all of Linkon?

You looked up as Xavier called out your name, urging for a response. You'd made up your mind already.

"Alright," you said, slurping up the last bits of your drink and swallowing a large lump. "I'll trust you."

When Xavier mentioned a "preparation expedition," a plethora of images and scenes enveloped your mind: the two of you seated together at a corner table in a remote cafe, a large parchment sprawled across your small, circular table, showcasing various notations of a meticulous plan. Or the two of you standing before a tan bulletin board, abundant in length, with pictures pinned onto its surface, all connected by thin red strings, forming an interconnected network of clues. Perhaps even you laid on his bed, legs kicked high as you fished through a pile of documents together. A bit cliché, yes, but certainly not as foolish as what he'd actually meant.

You stared at the building in awe, your mouth agape. As a hunter, you were molded to be unfazed by the most unexpected of surprises. You were always prepared for anything—the best or the worst. But when your eyes met the opulent entrance of one of Linkon's renowned boutiques, your brain began to malfunction. You didn't know whether you wanted to throw a fit or wag your (figurative) tail in excitement. After all, it's not every day one gets to shop here. But then again, how could his mind even dare to wander to dress shopping when you two had a burglary to execute in two days? And the worst concern of all—how were you supposed to afford such luxuries with your meager hunter's salary? Not everyone is a top hunter.

You turned to Xavier, irritation and mirth swirling in your eyes to present a resultant emotion of nothing. He smiled, albeit nervously, about your reaction. "I figured since we're going undercover..." Oh. "We should dress accordingly." Oh. You mentally searched for a wall to bang your head on. Of course, he had a reasonable reasoning in mind. How could you assume otherwise? You were glad you hadn't voiced your thoughts by now.

As if his words had cleared the storm in your brain, your expression morphed (at an alarming rate) into glee. "Yeah, good idea."

A row of clothes lined the walls. Some stood in circles in the middle of the boutique. Others sat in displays adorned with superior lighting and glass casings. The whole store smelled of fabric. From its scent alone, one could determine the high quality of the outfits. Several lamps dotted the ceiling above, casting a warm, off-white glow on the store. Cars fleeted by outside were observed through the large windows. Your gaze flicked from gown to suit, back to the gowns, and then to the decorations again. The interior of the store was as grand as the attires on display.

"I heard that the owner of this boutique is one of the greatest fashion designers of our time," Xavier's voice interrupted your daze. To his voice, you crossed your arms and masked your glee. "And I’m sure her prices live up to her name."

You knew all about the owner. She was a remarkable seamstress, unprecedented in her line of work. It didn’t take long for her to surpass even her master, swiftly climbing the ranks of her craft. Eventually, she chose to open only one boutique—to preserve the originality of her work. She was infamous for her hatred of mass production. Each design she stitched was unique, and you could never find her work being resold after it had gone out of stock. You wouldn't have known if you hadn't formed a deep adoration for her work after Sylus had gifted you one of the gowns she'd produced. You'd returned it eventually, although it hurt to do so.

He drooped his head and hummed. "If it's too expensive, we can split your sum."

You couldn't deny it; your heart melted at his words. What did you do to deserve him? Despite your appreciation, you shook your head. "No, that's alright. I've got some savings I can scrape together." You prayed he didn't catch on to your lie.

The two of you soon parted ways, each drawn to displays that caught your eyes. You found yourself spellbound, shamelessly gawking at her work as admiration spilled from your gaze. Oblivious to you, Xavier silently chuckled to himself at the sight.

Before long, you found yourself drawn to the hues of black and navy draped across a lone mannequin. The gown was made of silk, with white tulle folds bedded atop the torso. The detail on the top was exquisite, but what attracted you was the rest of the gown. Stitched upon the skirt was a paradisical display of a night sky dotted with countless twinkling stars.

"At a fashion show the other day, I saw a dress with the night sky stitched across a river," he looked down at you. "I ordered one for you. It'll be sent once the measurements are correct."

You bit the inside of your cheek to dodge your smile. "Really?" You tilted your head. "Why would you do such a thing for me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Is it a crime to pamper your partner once in a while? Besides, even Mephisto can agree that you'll pull it off lavishly."

Your lips quivered as you eyed the dress. Was it all a lie? You wondered.

Although the dress wasn't the same, the design bore a nostalgic charm, reminiscent of the one you were gifted long ago. You were quite fond of that gift, not just for the emotions it stirred. You couldn't forget how the conversation unfolded—the abrupt confession of its purchase, the unexpected sincerity in his voice. Even months later, butterflies flitted in your stomach as a consequence that lingered on with the memory of that day. Needless to say, that gift was a treasured one. You hated having to return it, but you assumed it was only fair. They were not directed to you, after all.

You closed your eyes and let the strands of the gown fall from your hands. Owning what anchors you down to your past will only obstruct your flight. Although uncertain, the future was the only thing you could look forward to. You couldn't escape Sylus's influence, that he stated himself. But you could run until you reached a place that remains unconquered.

"Do you like that one?" A mellow voice made you jolt. You whipped your head around to face Xavier, who'd just caught you in a trance. Forcing a smile on your face, you shook your head. "No, no. I mean, yes, I do. But, I mean—"

The warmth of his steady hand on your shoulder cut you off. "It's okay. Were you thinking about something?" He leaned in to inspect your eyes, but you were quick to face away. "Nothing to worry about! I was just reminiscing the sight of a starry sky under a river."

Xavier hummed thoughtfully, turning his head to catch your gaze. "Things that remind us of pleasant times in our past should be treasured." His curved lips dropped as he noticed the tension in your jaw.

"Let's say, hypothetically, that the river I so dearly admired drowned a dozen men, and that I am reminded of its sins every time I think back on my time with it." You folded your arms over your chest. "What then? Is it still worth remembering?"

Xavier placed a hand under his chin and looked away, dodging the opportunity to press you further for your reasoning. "In that case, you can learn a thing or two from the past."

"But afterward," he shifted one of his arms to his hips and faced you, "You must let go and learn to forgive and forget." You figured he'd say something like that, and you knew he was right. You considered the option—forgiving and forgetting is a decision that bears no consequences. But, truth be told, you could forgive and forget Sylus, but you couldn't forgive the main perpetrator—you couldn't forgive yourself.

"Anyways, come." You pulled Xavier off to another aisle, dragging him until the two of you were standing before a gorgeous navy garment. You skipped over and positioned yourself behind the mannequin with your head poking out from behind. Your lips welcomed a smile. "What do you think?"

Xavier could sense a sinister presence lurking behind your mask. It peeked out from time to time, baring its teeth menacingly before slipping back into its hole. Amidst the lone aisles of the opulent boutique and within its intricate walls, the wails of your anxiety stood out most hauntingly. Your mind screamed and raced under the guise of your empty visage. Perhaps the noise fell deaf to unsuspecting passers-by, but to Xavier, who’d studied you for so long, it struck his ears with piercing volume. He could spot when you were unhappy a mile away, sense something’s bothering you through a screen. The watchful eye of a hunter leaves no stone unturned.

Your pain did not go unnoticed. Beneath the veil of steam that rose from your cup, he could discern the look of devastation and hurt. As if you’d been trampled on, forced to your knees by a masked culprit, and then shot twice in the heart. Your signs were all too reminiscent of when you’d been abandoned in the past—in the darkest moments of your life. Except, this time, you hid. He could only assume the worst had happened.

Xavier had known of your fondness for Miss Eleanor’s dressmaking and needlework for a while now. He picked up on it as his eyes momentarily flicked over your computer screen, which happened to be displaying the tabs on which you’d scoured through her gallery of outfits. You were far too embarrassed, and perhaps even proud, to exhibit such affection outwardly. He was bound to find out through illegitimate means.

He figured that if there was something that would cheer you up, it would be a visit to her workshop. And miraculously, not only did it help brighten your mood significantly, but it also revealed to him a misgiving of yours you’d never have exposed otherwise.

"Let’s say, hypothetically, that the river I so dearly admired drowned a dozen men, and that I am reminded of its sins every time I think back on my time with it."

Every syllable you uttered carried meaning. It was something Xavier had learned only after spending enough time near you. In moments like these, you never spoke without reason. Your words held a purpose—sometimes more than one. It only gave him enough reason to break it down. Although he knew it was none of his business, he couldn’t deny that he cared for you more than he let on.

Xavier didn’t want to pry into your personal life. He knew he shouldn’t have baited you into revealing things you wished to keep hidden, but he couldn’t leave a dying woman to fend for herself. In due time, he believed, the truth would reveal itself. So for now, he’d observe you from a distance. That was why he requested for you to aid him in this mission, after all.

"25 billion! Going once... going twice... and, SOLD!" Sylus absentmindedly eyed the crimson liquid in his glass with a bored expression. One of his hands was positioned under his left cheek, and the other held the delicate wine glass with three fingers. He had not the slightest interest in the dealings of such useless protocores. They were merely extravagant pieces of decor destined to be locked away in a glass case and flaunted for the remainder of their time there. Why burden oneself with things they cannot put to good use? Even he knew that squandering had its bounds, and profligates certainly did not amuse him in the slightest.

Besides, it’s not like Sylus had much reason left to overspend.

He swirled the wine in the glass again, not once taking a sip out of it. He wasn’t bothered enough to. His target was clear now, with no hindrances of emotion left to stop his march. He had nothing to cling to, nothing to soften for. Perhaps there was merit in losing a loved one after all. Though it hurts, at least he has nothing to be bound to his humanity. A monster will always be a monster, and in the end, it will meet its destiny. Just like he had all those years ago.

Sylus didn’t expect the supposed ‘aether core’ to be up for auction, real or not. Neither did he expect it to be placed here. His presence served merely as bait, and if there were no further obstructions, his plans would proceed smoothly. If he could only get his hands on another half of an aether core, he would be complete.

"Um, excuse me." Sylus’s head immediately snapped toward the source of the voice, his eyes sharpening instinctively. Could that be...

"Sorry," he watched from afar as you offered a curt bow to a passer-by. You’d probably bumped into them by accident. Though, he couldn’t deny—you bore your own unique charm, although that was not how he’d dress you if he had the choice. Setting the glass down, Sylus wasted no time in blending into the crowd. Had you not promised to steer clear of him a few days ago?

His eyes narrowed, landing on the countenance of another white-haired man. You held his hand, latching on as if a single wind could blow you away. Sylus could recall you mentioning him briefly. Xavier, was it? Your hunter partner. He’d popped up in a couple of your conversations with him. That could only mean you were here on business, and strictly business only. Either way, your presence was no good for his plan. If there was something you were after, it was most likely the aether core. Your paths were bound to collide. There was a new hindrance in his plan—one he could not bear to get rid of.

"We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Sylus." The woman seated on a sumptuous leather couch extended her hand and offered a handshake. The dim lights of the private lounge buzzed above their heads, leaving spots of darkness untouched. Sylus merely eyed the hand with no intention of taking it. "I’ve heard of your recent acquisition, Miss Liora. I wish to congratulate you in person," he barely smiled. "Ah," she replied with a full grin, "You’re too kind. I hoped to serve as your host in a better setting." "That won’t be necessary. I’m rather busy, you see." Liora placed her hand under her chin and bore her eyes into his with a penetrating gaze. "A pity," she hummed. "Truly."

Liora unseated herself from her leather couch, the heel of her shoes clicking as she made her way to a glass casing cloaked with red satin. She lazily placed a hand on the glass and peeled the cloth off. A small, yellow stone sparkled, seated atop a large, steel fork. On the surface, it looked like an aether core. "This," disgraceful greed glimmered in her eyes, "Is my key to the greatest success man can accomplish." She crouched down and pressed both palms against the case. "With its help, I can climb the ranks faster than any human could comprehend. Its power will complete me."

A pathetic and naive young woman was how Sylus viewed her. Liora was young and audacious. Although she possessed great potential and wealth, she was still a newcomer in the world of business and crime. That explained why she would fall for such a simple trick. Her dialectics had been consumed by greed and a childlike thirst for power. If only she had held on to reason, she would not have to meet such a face. Her unusually swift rise to power had become her inevitable downfall. Fate rendered her blind and pathetic.

"And now," she cranked her head with a wicked smirk, "The only impediment in my evolution is you." Her hand traveled to a hidden strap on her thigh. Sylus’s gaze remained unfazed as she whipped out a gun and pointed it at him. He let out a disinterested hum. "Do you think it’ll all be over once you’ve taken my life?" "Oh," she laughed. "I’ve made the necessary preparations. I’ll ensure that your legacy ends here, oh revered leader of Onychinus." She cocked the gun. "Everything, from your actions at the auction to our humble conversation here, were a part of a methodically thought-out scheme. Sylus, you’ve walked straight into my trap."

Sylus shook his head. "Your actions have disappointed me. You had so much potential." His overwhelming gaze locked onto Liora’s. "I assume you know the consequences of your failure." "Oh, trust me. I know. But I don’t intend to fail." Her grip had begun to tighten around the trigger. "Your supreme reign ends here."

A gun clicked from behind. Liora froze, and the slightest hint of surprise crossed Sylus’s face. From the darkness, two shadowy figures emerged.

"Miss," you called out, your gun leveled with her head, "Please stand down."

End-of-chapter notes: OKAY IM SOOO SORRY FOR THE WAIT!! I've been so busy with life, I barely got time to write. Thanks for staying patient, though! Comment to be added to the taglist, btw!

[milksuu]

Hey hey heyyyy!!! It's me, the one that keeps stalking your page! 💙🧚‍♀️

I wanna say that OML I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! AAAAHHH! And I'm so so so happy to see that

anyways, this is a request for how the heartsteel boys would react to a lover with big bazoinkers who usually wears baggy clothes suddenly wearing something tight fitted??? Heheehehehe.

Also, how would the react if you were hit on by someone else due to their lover having big personalities?? (You don't have to do this one if you're uncomfortable ofc!!)

Also, keep up what you're doing, feeding my unhealthy obsession with these fictional (but very attractive) men. I hope you have an amazing day/night!!!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

❥ prompt: So, you got the big boinkers. The huge bagonzos. The gigantic bonobos. Whatever guys called boobs these days. You're super self-conscious about them, ever since you hit puberty. You've tried to hide them. But with the upcoming red-carpet event for the music awards, you can't wear baggy clothes next to your Heartsteel boyfirend. You had to look your best. Or as some would say, your breast. ❥ content/warnings: mild suggestive themes, possessive boyfriend energy, over protective boyfriend energy ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel (aphelios, ezreal, kayne) / f!reader

APHELIOS

Aphelio's thought you always looked cute and comfortable in your hoodies. In casual form, it was his aesthetic as well. Until the time came for a special event.

Aphelio's hadn't imagined exactly what you would wear. But surely, it might be a long-sleeve and turtleneck to match your conservative style. He understood how you felt about your particular assets. He would never suggest you to wear anything that didn't make you feel secure.

He was absolutely wrong. So, so, so wrong. (Wait. Did he actually like being wrong?) He got the long-sleeves part right. But the black mini-dress you sported hugged all the curves you possessed. With just a bit of thigh fat squeezed at the hem. If Aphelio's could ever speak again, he'd beg to be immediately silenced between those thighs. And at the top, there was a glorious boob-window that any e-girl would go absolutely rabid to have.

He had to look away a few times. Thankful to have a mask covering most of his flustered features. Maintaining a semblance of composure, he led you by the hand, speaking to you through squeezes between your hands.

Down the red-carpet, with flashing lights, the two of you posed. One camera man took a picture a little too angled for his liking. Your hand trembled in his. Blushing and holding your breath. Embarrassed tears pricked the corner of your eyes. Afraid of the possible lewdness that would be plastered in magazines. You didn't want to even imagine the headliners. And what would they say about Aphelio's? That he was dating some sort of 'all-boobs-no brains' bimbo? You wanted nothing like that for him.

Aphelio's sensed all of your emotions and didn't hesitate his next move. He dragged a discreet foot against the carpet, folding it in a manner that caused the paparazzo to trip. When the shady-cameraman fell, his camera smashed to pieces against the ground. The man dramatically fell to his knees, holding his head and weeping in buckets.

You gasped. Aphelio's merely rolled his eyes dismissively, tugging you way. He knitted his brows, and squeezed your hand tightly. You knew exactly what he did. You smiled, condensing your chest against his arm.

Feeling his face heat up again, he looked away. After acting so cool, and looking so cool, there's no way he'd let you see him blush like a high-school boy.

EZREAL

Ezreal never minded you wearing baggy clothes. He thought it was fun—for him! He loved diving underneath your oversized hoodie, and poke his head out the other side. Like you two were some odd circus attraction. That, or pretend he was a sailor drowning in a sea of boobies. He liked wearing the stylish hat.

He wasn't exactly sure what you would wear to the event, but he wished it was something he could fit inside later. He was joking. That was a total joke. So long as you were comfortable in it, he didn't mind.

When he saw you step out of the limo, his jaw completely dropped. He felt like one of those cool male-lead movie stars. Taking off his glasses in iconic slow-mo fashion, mouthing the words "Oh, Baby."

He spared zero time to lead you by the arm. Ready for from some press worthy photos he knew you two were going to absolutely rock.

Making it to the concessions room, where the liquor and horderves were plenty, it was prime time for music stars to socialize.

One young rapper approached, way too drunk off his drink, slurred with a smirk at your general direction. Commenting on whether or not Ezreal paid for you to have boob job in order to please him.

The giddy-boyish-sunshine smile turned utterly dark. The laugh he forced was ear grating. It chilled you to the bone. There was a flash of yellow. And briefly, you felt your arm empty of his presence. Then the scene unfolded. The man's drink completely spilled all over him. Another flash. He was pushed, stumbling to the ground.

Ezreal merely snickered into his suit sleeve when bouncers in the room dragged the drunk man away by the collar. Deeming him too drunk and unfit for the show, and subsequently tossed out.

Ezreal tugged you off to a far, secluded corner. He took you into his arms, squeezing tightly. Apologizing into your ear. You smiled softly, and rubbed his the back. Reassuring him you weren't hurt by the comment. And gave him a grateful kiss into his hair for sticking up for you.

KAYN

Kayn 'Big ol' Tiddle Bitties'. If he could change his middle name to that, he would. It'd be his other rap persona, in ode to your breasts. Rhaast approved. And sure, you may be insecure about them, but Kayn fucking hell wasn't. He swore, one day, he would scream in praise at the rooftops. (Thankfully that hasn't happened...yet.)

He prayed to every demon, anti-christ, Eldritch God on this forsaken plane of existence for you to bless his presence with those huge knockers. And holy shit, did you ever at the event.

From the outfit alone, if he leashed himself for you, and placed a crop in your hand, he'd be on all fours. This wouldn't be a classy event anymore. It'd be an all-out fetish party.

Sadly. Reality kept it to a red-carpeted event. Where he had to act professional. Lead you accordingly, and restrain himself on every level possible. It took all his effort to not just call an Uber and take you in nearest love-hotel.

After mingling before the show, it was time for the awards. You took your seat next to each other. As the event played on, with various performances, you felt something being thrown into your cleavage. You looked down, spotting popcorn. Turning a cheek, you saw a group of young men laughing. Making comments about your breasts, and high-fiving one another when they 'made the shot'.

Kayn noticed. And boy, was he about to lose his shit during a performance speech. You placed a hand against his chest, whispering for him not to make a scene, and not allow the clowns to hurt his reputation. Fine—he wouldn't commit a crime. But he would show them who they were fucking with.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling any lewd noises. Kayn planted his face in your cleavage, biting and licking your chest. He took up all the popcorn, and spat it out the guys like buttered bullets. They jumped with looks of disgust, cursing under their breaths about how damn crazy he was. With a final growl, they scurried away.

Kayn cackled, and you had to shush him when Yone leaned back in his chair and gave a look.

an: holy shiii tysvm for this req. @ccraccz! you're a genius. pls keep stalking my page *smooches you* sadly i have to break this up into two parts, since I wasn't expecting to make it so long??? lmfao??? pls stay tuned for part 2

[amorgansgal]

Healing Touch - Part 1

I've started writing my idea that I brought up in the Halsinners community featuring Halsin taking care of a sick female reader who has a son. I've decided to split it into two as it was getting very long, so hopefully I'll post part 2 later this week.

@halsinsgate, @thepickledmermaid, @thoughts-of-bear and @embrulee just tagging you all in case you're interested in reading.

Your son clung tightly to you as you hurried through the smouldering wreck of the city, it took you twice as long to reach Basilisk Gate just because of how many streets are blocked with the smashed remains of buildings. Not to mention, you had to carry a sack of your belongings on your back and hold tightly onto your child as he gripped onto your dress with his fists. But at long last you could see the line of wagons and you let out a shaky breath of relief. 

The elf in charge, the hero of the Gate, the one so many have whispered about reverently, Archdruid Halsin was helping to pack the last few boxes and you called out, fearing even now that you might not make it in time and would be left behind. ‘Master Halsin! Master Halsin, please I am here! Please don’t leave without us!’

He turned to look at you and then quickly put down the box he was holding, and made his way over. ‘We had no intention of leaving until everyone was here,’ he said comfortingly. ‘Can I help with your bag or find a place for your son to sit?’

He smiled gently at your son, who eyed Halsin warily and then hid his face in your chest. ‘It’s alright, Seth,’ you murmured to him softly. ‘This is Master Halsin, the defender of Baldur’s Gate, a hero like one from the old ages.’

Seth peeked up a little, curious, though he still apprehensively clung to you. Halsin chuckled. ‘Well, I don’t know about that, and Halsin will do just fine.’ He helped to remove the bag from your shoulder and securely packed it in the wagon. ‘Is this all you brought with you?’ he asked, his brow furrowed a little with worry.

‘Well once we came out of hiding in our cellar, there wasn’t a good deal left. It’s mostly clothes, Seth’s toys, a few odds and ends…’ your cheeks warmed with embarrassment. It was not like you had wanted to take so little with you, but given you hadn’t had much to begin with and had to consider carrying a child, you hoped you would not be considered a burden. ‘I mean to make myself useful, I can sew and knit and weave well, and we won’t want for much…’

Halsin nodded reassuringly. ‘I am sure you will. I was just concerned that you had brought so little with you, but we will not leave people to the wayside if they need something and you need not worry about proving yourself useful.’ 

He offered you a hand, helping you up into the wagon and you gratefully took it, wobbling a little as you climbed up. His hand was rough, callused, but warm and so large in comparison to your own. It would dwarf Seth’s and you gave it a little squeeze to silently thank him.

As Halsin resumed his work on packing the wagons, you watched him easily picking up boxes and bags. ‘Is he really a hero, mama?’ Seth’s little voice interrupted your reverie and you cuddled him close.

‘Yes, he defeated the Netherbrain, the mindflyers and the shadow curse that gripped the land where we’re going now.’

Your son’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and he peeped around the canvas covering of the wagon to look at Halsin. You smile as he did, your son is already overawed by the idea of such a hero being amongst your midst.  

‘Can you tell me a story about him on the way there?’ Seth asked, as he settled back beside you.

‘Of course. Once upon a time, there was a noble druid called Halsin-’

‘And his friend Seth,’ your son insisted.

‘And his good friend Seth…’

You had been fortunate that there had already been houses enough in Reithwin for you to have a little home with your son, but given how so many of them were made from the naturally abundant stone there it was a cold place. Like so many others in the village you had fallen ill with a nasty flu. You had doubtless caught it from Seth, whom you had nursed for a week or two, but now it was your turn! 

Halsin had done everything to ensure everyone’s comfort and wellbeing, especially during the colder winter months and had provided plenty of herbal remedies to help with the worse of the flu’s symptoms. But as you struggled up from your bed, your head swimming, your skin prickling with heat, the deep seated painful exhaustion that made even just a few steps from the bed feel impossible, you knew there was no chance you would be able to make your way outside, trek along the deep drifts of snow and make your way to find him in order to beg a cure. 

You curled back into bed, only managing to lift your head on hearing the little patter of feet across the floor as Seth made his way to your side.

‘Mama,’ your son said. ‘It’s time to get up.’

‘I know,’ your raspy voice sounded so pathetically weak. ‘But mama isn’t well, can you go next door to Helga and ask her to go to Halsin for a cure? And ask her if you can stay and play with Johan?’

‘I can get Halsin, mama!’ your son said eagerly and he began to pull on his little boots.

‘No, Seth, do as I say, go and get-’

‘Don’t worry, mama, I’ll get Halsin!’ he said, giving your forehead a kiss.

‘Seth!’ you cried out, but he had already run out the room, tugging his cloak off the back of a chair. You heard the front door bang loudly. You groaned at the sound, it made your head ache and throb. You attempted to get up again, but even sitting upright made your head swim. ‘Seth!’ you called again, but evidently he was too far away to hear you. You took a moment to rest against the bedframe and even that was enough for you to drift off to sleep, only startling awake when you heard the door open once more, the howling gusts of wind sent a flurry of snowflakes across the central room. You could hear your son’s light pattering of feet across the threshold, followed by a heavier tread.

‘See, papa Halsin, mama is not well,’ your son’s piping voice could be heard outside your bedroom and you did your best to open your eyes and pull your shawl around your shoulders as the two entered your room.

‘Seth,’ you rasped. ‘I told you to go next door to Helga and have her fetch Master Halsin.’

‘But mama, she’s old and takes forever! Look mama, this is what she’s like!’ Seth said, then mimicked poor Helga with her walking stick, hobbling across the room. Which was quite unfair given the woman, despite her age, was rather sprightly and quick and you were sure she would’ve hot footed it to Halsin’s hut.

‘Seth, don’t be rude, she’s not that old or infirm.’

‘What does infirm mean?’ Seth asked.

Halsin chuckled and placed a soothing hand on your forehead. You shouldn’t have done so, but you found yourself leaning into his touch. Many a time you had dreamed about him touching you. During the last warmth of the early autumn months you had seen him working with the others, forgoing his tunic, his chest bare and with a thin sheen of sweat that made your mouth water at the sight of him. The veins that corded his arms and hands made your mind swirl at the thought of him laying his hands on you, firmly gripping your waist, your hips, your thighs. 

‘Infirm means someone who is not strong and Helga is a very strong woman, despite her age,’ Halsin said. 

‘Oh! Well you are not imfirm, papa Halsin,’ Seth mused.

Halsin laughed quietly. ‘Hopefully not just yet!’ He moved his hand to the back of your neck and hummed in thought. ‘It certainly seems like you have caught that flu going round and I’m afraid what I can give you will only lessen the symptoms and help you sleep, I do not have a cure.’

You gave a weak nod. ‘Well, perhaps if you’d be so kind to fetch Helga, I can see if she can look after Seth and I’ll think about a way to pay her back.’

The druid frowned. ‘You should not have to worry about such matters and this flu can last a while. Who will care for you?’

‘Perhaps Helga can look in on me…’ you said, but you doubted if that would be such a good idea, you didn’t want to pass the illness on to her or her grandson Johan.

‘I think it best if I stay and look after you both, that way you needn’t worry about Seth passing on the illness to anyone and I can ensure you have plenty of tea and broth to keep your strength up.’

It was silly that such an offer of kindness made you feel weepy, but you bit back your tears and weakly coughed. ‘But what about the work that has to be done in Reithwin? Aren’t you busy? People look to you as our leader and I don’t want to take you away from all that with a silly little illness.’

‘You know as well as I that we are waiting for the warmer months to resume the building and farming work. And I would make for a poor leader if I did not care for everyone here, though I do only see myself as one among many leaders, I can find someone else to care for my duties in the meantime.’

‘Halsin,’ you whispered hoarsely. ‘That would not be fair, I do not want to take you away from your duties.’

He looked at you so sincerely and sweetly that you felt the little lump rise in your sore throat once more and said, ‘You are my duty. Now, please rest and sleep, and do not allow yourself to fret any further upon the matter.’

His tone boded no argument and you rested back on the pillows, the last thing you saw before sleep took you was Seth taking Halsin’s hand as the druid said, ‘Come Seth, let’s see if we can make you and your mother some supper.’ The image warmed your heart and you burrowed further into the blankets, glad that Halsin was here to care for your son. Before you drifted off, you allowed yourself to imagine the pretty fantasy that this was always the case, that Halsin was your son’s father and he cared for you more deeply and sweetly.

[halfling-myth-lady]

Wip Wednesday and it’s obtk.

This is from the first scene but I’m on the last scene right now.this is what happens when I decide to be productive.

[topherwrites]

FIC RECS: TOP GUN: MAVERICK - 2!

Okay, so there was shit I forgot in my year in review rec list. I posted it and a minimum of about 10 other fics immediately came to mind. so, part 2! I also didn't put many WIPs on the first one, but I think currently in progress fics should get some love too. I'll be marking them with an asterisk.

If I made a little comment about every single fic or series here, it would be inhumanely long, so I've refrained from doing so and have just put the summaries for each.

I hope that anyone who reads this list finds something that they love on it just as much as I do! Happy reading!

P.S. If I missed anyone, I'm sorry, there was a lot to sort through!

(P.S.S. reblog the fics you like, it makes writers happy.)

part 1, if you missed it.

SOME OF THESE ARE 18+, PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS!

JAKE SERESIN

Parking Lots and Matcha Lattes by @withahappyrefrain

In an attempt to get coffee, you meet a grade A asshole whose head you want to rip off. Meanwhile, Jake Seresin is pretty certain he just met his future wife in the parking lot of a coffee shop. AKA Jake Seresin likes mean women, pass it on.

The Hangman Special by @hangmanssunnies

On a night out with your friends at a fancy cocktail bar, you are just trying to keep your head down and ignore the girl that your ex cheated on you with. The night only seems like it's going to get worse when you are dared to kiss a stranger at the bar. However, it seems like the odds might finally be in your favor when you notice a familiar set of broad shoulders. If you can be convincing, you think you might just be able to get your brother's friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin to help you out with your little problem.

*she is both hellfire and holy water by @chemistryread

you should take it as a compliment, that I'm talking to everyone here but you.

Birds Away by @wombtotombx

You’d known Jake since you were kids, bonding over the shared experience of being military brats overseas. You were the perfect pair - he was reckless, you followed the rules; he didn’t care what others thought, you were a people-pleaser. You both became the best of the best in your field - he through sheer talent and skill, you from demonstrated grit and determination. For over two decades, everyone around you - parents, friends, even teachers - had assumed you’d both end up together, despite the fact that somehow, you never did. The Navy always had its way of keeping you two apart. Whatever possibilities there might have been, it was just never in the cards. Until you got to Fallon.

*The Backup by @ereardon

No strings attached sex never works, right? You and Jake Seresin have fallen into a bad pattern of seeking each other out for sex after dates go awry, but a year of being friends with benefits with Jake hasn’t been good for your dating life. Especially when the two of you are hiding your antics from your lifelong best friend Coyote and the rest of your tightly knit friend group. But what happens when you decide to take a step back and end the cycle with Jake to focus on your dating life? And why is it that all of the sudden Jake looks more irresistible than ever when you know he’s off limits? 

Take Care of Business by @honkytonk-hangman

The last time you met Lieutenant Jake Seresin, the war was still ongoing and you’d been in a floundering engagement. Back then you’d seen the possibility for more in his eyes, and now? Well, now you could explore it.

When Jake Met Polly by @/honkytonk-hangman

Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller or Jake Seresin has never seen When Harry Met Sally.

How It's Done (Oneshot Version) by @/honkytonk-hangman

“Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean. “Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–” “–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by.

Twenty-Five Going on Forty-Seven by @sehnsuchts-trunken

Flirting with the guy who fixed your car turns out to lead to much, much more when you find out he’s actually not just some random guy, but your new neighbour and father’s new best friend, Jake Seresin.

BRADLEY BRADSHAW

*fever pitch by @greenorangevioletgrass

Arsenal and USMNT captain Bradley Bradshaw attends the mononymous music sensation Y/N's concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream. Little did he know that they soon embark on an epic love story fit for pop royalty...

This Love Came Back to Me by @beyondthesefourwalls

You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it.

I Like Your Cinema by @sometimesanalice

Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

‘cause no one breaks my heart like you by @heartsofminds

“Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.” or Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though it’s hard to see).

the periphery by @youvebeenlivingfictional

You’d met Bradley a few times before the happy couple had announced their nuptials, and you’d always gotten a pretty good vibe from him. He was sweet, he was easy to talk to—and it helped that he was easy on the eyes. In fact, as soon as you’d been told that Bradley Bradshaw was going to be the Best Man, you were well on your way to having a crush on the guy.

*Hotter Than Texas by @tongue-like-a-razor

Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin’s baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley’s dream girl worst nightmare.

*flight risk by @ofstoriesandstardust

In which you and Rooster got married while at UVA for the military benefits. What started out as a mutually beneficial deal between friends years ago turns into a point of interest for Maverick, causing Rooster to have to haul you out to Fightertown to get him to shut up. While Maverick’s fussing over a marriage he didn’t know existed, Rooster’s focused on getting the ball rolling on divorce papers because really, the Navy does not need to be calling some poor girl from his college that he’s died in a horrendous accident. It’s proving to be more difficult than he expected, especially when Hangman and Phoenix take it upon themselves to encourage a friendship to become more. 

How You Play the Game by @roosterforme

Bradley always loved October because of the World Series. He never expected a mix-up with the ticket he won to bring something as spectacular as you into his life. But time is fleeting, and now baseball is the last thing on his mind.

*The Intern by @/roosterforme

You barely have a minute to yourself after graduating at the top of your Ivy League class before your father insists you find an internship. Your days of lounging by the pool and partying are numbered as he has an endless parade of his colleagues visiting the house. But one of them is familiar to you in a way that warms your skin just like the San Diego sun. And it turns out, Bradley Bradshaw may just have the answers to all your problems. And those answers might be waiting for you on a yacht in the Mediterranean Sea.

there was something 'bout you by @bussyslayer333

bradley bradshaw didn’t fall in love, especially not with uptight girls in his english lit class and especially not the ones being forced into tutoring him.

*Ultraviolence by @babyonboard

You and Bradley loved each other, and Jake was just your old friend from high school who you tried to pay no mind to. At least that's how it used to be.

All Too Well by @bradleyfuckingbradshaw

You’re at dinner with your boyfriend and some of his colleagues at a restaurant he chose when you look over the menu and realize there’s no vegetarian option, but he’s too busy with his friends to realize that. Bradley isn’t.

October 3rd Promptober by @familyvideostevie

you go to a tailgate with your friend bradley.

If You Met Me First by @tip-top-cloud-surfer

Rooster confessed to Echo that he was in love with her before the mission. One minor problem: she has a boyfriend.

Home for the Holidays by @mothdruid

Bradley might have lied about having a girlfriend. His best friend, you, decide to help him out and go home for the holidays with him. As the trip unfolds, so does your and Bradley’s feelings for one another.

BOB FLOYD

*I bet this would look beautiful on film by @coridotmp3

Honey desperately needs a photographer, and Bob desperately needs a break.

Robert from Next Door by @attapullman

You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?

If Only the Neighbors Knew by @/attapullman

A month of stolen kisses culminates in Robert hosting the HOA meeting and getting you on his couch. The ladies of the neighborhood may make him blush, but only you can make your sweet neighbor weak in the knees.

*Golden Hour by @/ereardon

Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Ruin the Friendship by @withahappyrefrain

The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he’s learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He’s determined to fix that.

International Bob Floyd Fucks Month Masterlist

a january writing event hosted by @/attapullman

Bob from Stats by @/attapullman

College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

[trulybetty]

choices.

pairing: joel x reader word count: 628 warnings: none, just a itty bitty ficlet that we're yeeting out with no edit estimated reading time: 3 minutes summary: I'm procrastinating and Joel is Christmas shopping. ao3: linked

Joel was defeated before he'd even stepped foot in the department store.

The piped in Christmas music was too loud, the place too damn hot and he was staring at the two options in his hands, his brow knit together so tightly you'd think he was trying to solve the mathematical complexity of undoing one of Tommy's equations resulting in an odd number of cuts on a kitchen renovation.

To him, there wasn't a damn thing different between the two dolls—same wide eyes, same ridiculously sparkly dress—but he knew better, he knew his kid. Sarah was seven years old, the kind of seven that noticed everything. She'd never say it, but he'd know it. He just wished he'd paid more attention when she'd been chatting his ear off on the way home from school the other week. His free time was limited and that meant this was his last chance to finish shopping for Sarah.

Joel exhaled through his nose, he shifted the box edges in the palm of his hands, like maybe holding them a little differently might give him the goddamn answer.

You drifted by the aisle again, Ellie's list clutched in your hand. Extensive, and punctuated with her trademark illustrations including doodles of aliens and guitars. You were still scanning for the Lego set she had not stopped talking about for weeks. The kid already had the cunning of a detective. You were starting to suspect the actual set did not exist, just a ruse to suss out whether Santa was truly real or not.

But, as you scanned the shelves, looking for what could be the impossible, you noticed Joel Miller stood still in the same spot you'd noticed him in earlier.

"You're still here?" you asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Joel didn't look up from the dolls in his hands, "What's the difference between Deluxe and Ultimate Edition?"

You stepped in next to him and looked over the options in his hands, they truly were identical dolls and you weren't entirely sure why this had kept him rooted to his spot.

"That one has a red scarf and that one has a blue scarf?" you proposed after a moment of contemplation, "sorry."

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he nodded to the crumpled note in your hand, "At least yours gave you a list. Sarah just mentioned this in passing on the way to school: 'Dad, the Snowflake Doll is the best one, and the other one is lame'." He held both boxes up for inspection, "Now we've got Snowflake Deluxe and Snowflake Ultimate."

He gave a quiet sigh and slipped the 'Deluxe Edition' under his arm and returned the other to the shelf. Maybe Deluxe was better than Ultimate, at least sounded better. He knew Sarah would say nothing if it were the wrong one, she was that kind of kid. But he had to pick something, time was not on his side.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure Ellie has made up this Lego set as a means to find out if Santa is real."

Joel snorted, he was familiar with the young girl, Sarah and Ellie becoming thick as thieves despite their polar differences since you and your niece had moved to town during the summer.

"Well," he said, checking his watch, he was running late, "good luck with your Lego search. If it doesn't show up, just tell Ellie Santa got stuck in customs."

You smirked at the idea, knowing Ellie would love this plot twist, "Might just do that, thanks Miller," you said, taking off to scour the aisle once more, missing the beat or two Joel took to watch you before he set off for the checkouts.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PLEASE GIVE US MORE NEIL LEWIS!

i don’t have anything long for neil but i do have this smutty little dom!neil blurb 😄 this is 100% inspired by that dark!neil incel drabble @mypoisonedvine wrote!!!

warnings. swearing, public sex, fingering, degradation/insults, dubcon/darkish neil

“Oh, c’mon, Neil,” you pleaded, tears practically welling in your eyes, tugging at the sleeve of his 3/4 shirt. “Can we go? I—“

“Shh,” he said softly, too focussed on the movie playing in front of him to noticed how you clenched your thighs together, how flushed your cheeks were, how you would melt right in his hands if they would just fucking find you.

You sighed dejectedly, reaching the point of your last resort: you grabbed his hand, which had been enclasped tightly in yours as he grew more and more enchanted by the random indie film you guys saw was playing at the theatre tonight, and led it between your legs.

You pulled up your skirt, pushing your panties to the side and pressing him between your soaking wet folds, your brows knitted and desperate for relief.

“Jesus, christ,” Neil murmured, his gaze finally tearing away from the theatre screen and onto you. “Baby, you’re soaking. What’s got you all bothered, huh?”

You nipped your lips between your teeth, “We’re in the theatre… alone. The movie’s not too interesting, and - and, Neil, this is the perfect place for… y’know!”

By “y’know”, you meant you and Neil’s shared little fantasy: fucking in the theatre, his hand clasped on your throat to muffle your whines, any moment being one where you could get caught.

You saw Neil about to protest your comment about the movie being not too interesting, and you quickly plunged his thick fingers into your cunt, hoping the feeling of your soft walls clenching around him would shut him the fuck up.

It did, his sentence trailing off as you started to grind down on two of his fingers, pumping them in and out of you. Neil’s attention completely pulled away from the movie, his breathing growing heavier as you continued, pornographic moans leaving your mouth.

“God,” Neil whispered, voice raspy, “you’re getting so wet… just on my fingers, huh?”

You nodded vehemently, shutting your eyes, a faint gasp sounding out of you when Neil began moving his fingers, pushing deeper into your cunt and spreading wide.

“Take three, sweetheart?” he hummed, voice odd and low so you couldn’t really tell his tone.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Three?” you asked weakly.

Sure, in theory you could take three and it’d work just fine: you’d taken Neil’s cock plenty, which was much larger than three of his long fingers, but in reality? Neil always said your cunt felt brand fucking new each time, so you shook your head lightly, continuing to rut against him. You couldn’t take three, especially not so quickly, without any foreplay or anything.

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your cheek and whispering in your ear. “M’not asking.” he said, before slipping a third finger into your cunt.

You winced - both at the sudden stinging intrusion and the embarrassment you felt from his words, plowing over your worries like you were just some needy little slut that should take what he gave.

“Pretty girls like you, baby - fuck - always think they can do whatever they want,” he growled, taking control and curling his fingers into your spongy core, “get whatever they want, when they want it. You wanted me to touch you, so fucking take me.”

“Neil, its- its too much,” you whimpered, but couldn’t help the arch in your back, mind growing fuzzy at how deliciously he fucked you despite the burn.

“You don’t know what too much is, sweetheart,” he said, demeanour flipping like a switch from your adoring nerdy boyfriend to your commanding, degrading, owner. “Too fuckin’ stupid for that.”

You let out a loud whine as he started moving his fingers faster, his thumb ghosting around your clit. When a fourth finger pried lightly at your hole, thumb now eagerly pressing and toying at your button, you choked, and stuttered through a rough climax, your hips bucking forward in the velvet seats.

Your features screwed together, the orgasm almost painful at how full you were, and your walls tightened around him. When your high washed away, Neil slipped his fingers out of your abused cunt, making you hiss.

“Look how easy you are,” he mocked, examining his hand in the dim light the movie screen gave off, seeing the wet squirt you left on them.

Then, he grabbed your jaw and shoved the fingers in your mouth. “Suck,” he demanded darkly. “Now shut the fuck up, I missed half the damn movie because of you.”

You pouted, but did as he asked, and you spent the rest of the movie sitting on your own wetness, which had seeped into the seats, and Neil’s hand wrapped around your face, making you watch the movie and stop distracting him.

[frownyalfred]

will dan the alpha be in the ninth wave? there is no OC tag but there are mentions of him in some of your coral posts. i got around to reading the side stories and i like him! dan is chill and wouldn't restrict lex from being himself (active menace to society) but assertive enough that he wouldn't let lex get lost in the worst of his self destructive tendencies.

the discrepancy between sleezy omega billionaire, ex arkham asylum inmate, domestic terrorist who made a machiavellian plan to kill superman using batman and A Normal Guy is so funny to me. when dan found out he knotted lex goddamn luther in the woods he probably experienced emotions previously only felt by shrimp. sorry king your life is going to get so much more complicated.

imagine being the only normal guy in a pack with bruce wayne who moonlights as Batman, an alien with godlike abilities whose secret identity is a pair of glasses and a slouch, the former robin who came from the dead with anger issues, lex luther who thinks treason is a fun friday night out, and alfred. also you live in gotham. someone hand him a drink.

Funny you should mention that! I was just working on a few scenes where I had the possibility of slotting Dan the Alpha in, but I keep going back and forth on if he should be in the ninth wave or not. I think he should, and it would add some complexity to later on in the plot (mwahahaha) but I know people are a little wary of OCs, especially if they didn't read the side story with Dan in it.

But yeah, poor Dan. I'm not even sure he fully realizes what he's gotten into, since he doesn't know who his client is (he only talks to Alfred, after all) and he didn't even recognize Lex's name. He just knows they're an odd, tightly-knit pack who are a little (lot) reclusive and have some strong dynamics at play. The more he learns/realizes, the more he just shakes his head and tries to be useful.

I agree with you that he's well-matched to Lex, in that he isn't going to get in Lex's way but he will still be a moderating influence in the craziness. I don't think Lex could be with any alpha who wasn't like that, or wasn't deferential like Clark and Dan both are.

[nottivagos]

erm so hello! first fic ive EVER written, actually! sorry if it doesn't make much sense, it was a drabble i wrote with a friend which turned into a fic! enjoy:) - lee

f!pov? i think & vampire!carlos sainz

tw: blood mentions, briefly.

word count: 1.1k

playlist i made which inspired the au:

The Man Next Door.

Synopsis: There's a new man in your neighbourhood. The atmosphere surrounding the residential area now colder as you witness the new man next door returning to his house at ungodly hours with blood dripping down his lips.

The air around your neighborhood had become eerie. Colder— lifeless, in fact. Darkness encased the sun in the heavens, leaves quickly dropping like dead flies from the once fruitful trees. It was quiet. Oh, too quiet. All because of him.

It didn't help that there was a supposed serial murderer on the loose in the city. Numerous cases of ladies being sucked dry of their lives, two stark bite wounds around their necks so oddly fang-like, meticulously plastered on the front pages flooded the headlines, dominated the news stories, and overall became morally suffocating on the public, causing a mad panic across the country.

Despite the press, you knew it was a vampire. The bites were a familiar sight. A fictional phenomenon. Who knew that they existed in the mortal world? But where they were now? Well, that was a question for another day. It was when he moved into the neighbourhood you knew something was up. The man, who coolly— a little too coolly in fact, made himself known to his neighbours, was Carlos Sainz. Mr Sainz was an odd addition to the tightly-knit community, you saw him once on his arrival to the house beside your own and then never heard of him again.

You barely saw Carlos in the day. It was as if he was a ghost. Black-out blinds covered his small house's large windows, a flicker of light easily blocked and uninvited into his personal space. It was a bit odd, well to the other people at least, but they just got on with it. His presence physically in your little street was nothing, but the tension that loomed inside those four walls was intensely overflowing. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help but fantasise what happened behind those thick curtains he used to shelter himself.

Maybe he wasn't a people person? No, that was too much of a simplistic conclusion. It would explain the physical 'anti-social nature' of the Spaniard, but it just couldn't explain the existence of the blinds binding the light away from the interior of his house. It had to be something else. If he didn't like people, he wouldn't have moved into a pretty sociable neighborhood where everyone knew each other. You just knew it. And you just couldn't shake that feeling.

The days moved slowly, your sluggish routine droned on, but your thoughts raced in your mind. It was like Carlos was there. With you always. You didn't even know the man personally, he was just your neighbour who ceased to exist. Stalking your thoughts, subconsciously present in a pool of your own fantasies and theories. His presence in your mind became intoxicating, and you felt your heartbeat quicken even at the mere thought of him. Overly indulging in the feeling when you spaced out, dreaming about what the anonymous man was like. Who he really was behind closed doors.

Theories turned into obsessions– infatuations forming in your raging mind, until the news flared up again breaking your line of thought. A new murder case published glowed on the television in front of you, obviously committed by the same murderer. Another lady, around the age of twenty five, lifeless and pale white in an alleyway. You groaned softly, a soft pang in your heart for the newest lost life.

It was recent, an hour ago, in fact, you noticed. It was an unearthly hour, around midnight on a rainy night, the mist forming as the water poured from the cold sky onto the scorching pavement. The whole scenario couldn’t have been more thought-out like a Hollywood movie scene, you thought, quickly flicking off your television.

Stretching out of your original perked position on the sofa, you walked cautiously over to your kitchen, taking a slight glance out of the window as you stalked in front of the sink. Unluckily for you, the soft glow of the headlamps outside illuminated the street into an amber, creating a fuzzy image of the darkness outside.

A mere squint at your neighbour's growing rubbish collection beside his blackened, lifeless house was what piqued your interest though. A faint plastic, definitely medical looking, was popping out of the side of the Spaniard’s bin. However, it was the rather thick, tar-like substance that was oozing out of the bag that made your stomach curdle. Breathing hitched, your brain tirelessly tried to fathom and identify what the liquid was, until it hit you like a wave.

Blood. Human blood.

Drawing a glass from the draining board, you hastily filled the glass with water, the gushing of the tap washing away the looming silence encasing your house. Eyes widened, gulping down the cold liquid so much that it burnt the back of your throat. In that moment, the pieces of the puzzle you were working so hard to complete just became one, large, messed-up picture in your mind. The women, the bites, the secrecy, the silence— it was all of Carlos’s doing. The man next door.

Breathing hitched, you truly believed you were living in a nightmare, your pounding heart praying it was all fiction and you’d wake up as soon as possible. Cold beads of sweat formed on your brow as the faint taps of footsteps trailed up your now newly found-out vampire neighbour’s drive. There was a content spring to it, you identified, by the fact that he was licking his bloodied, messy and dark red lips. Wait. Bloodied lips? You blinked in disbelief as you watched Carlos wipe away the bloodied remnants of his victim with the back of his hand, a cold shiver jolting through your spine.

It was an oddly beautiful sight, really. The well-looking man, happily fed by another one of his undeserving victims, basking in the shadows. His soft steps hushed in the darkness encasing him, protecting him— his own safe haven as he became alive at night, the only witnesses of his ‘crimes’ directly being the stars peppered in the inky black sky. The glistening moonlight, shining bright rays on his newly growing greys– you felt yourself being entranced by the vampire striding in your vision, walking closer, and closer, and closer to his desired residence ready for the hunt tomorrow. It was an abnormal clock, but it probably worked out just fine for the man.

Without any motion, Carlos’s head snapped to up, his intense brown-eyed gaze matching your wide eyes. A sour lump formed in your throat, eyes trailing down to the man’s— if you could even call him a man anymore— blood-stained lips and edges of his mouth.

You’d been caught.

if you got to the end of this, i want to thank you for reading it! i'm a multi-fandom writer, who will be most likely writing f1 fics & CoD fics :) as well as drabbles here and there! i wish you all a very happy new year and see you whenever i post a new fic :)

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING - CH. 6

Chapter Six: Show Me Where To Find The Silver Lining

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, Awkward, Plot Holes, Flying, Lava, Character Death, Jetpacks, Canon-Typical violence,

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: I know… I know… I took so long to update this PLS– I went through several revisions for this… idk this episode just gave me insane writers block for some reason??? Like help???

Song: Home by Good Neighbours

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NEVARRO CANTINA, 9ABY – NOON

You find yourself caught in a tense balance between desperation and determination, surrounded by stormtroopers. Gripping your lightsaber hilt tightly, you stand ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. However, with no backup in sight, the odds of fighting your way out seem insurmountable.

"Is there another way out?" Cara queries Greef Karga, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any possible escape routes.

Greef gestures toward the outside, where stormtroopers are closing in. "No, that's it," he replies grimly.

Din interjects with a suggestion. "What about the sewers?"

Greef Karga's brows knit in confusion. "Sewers?"

"The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape," Din explains, seeking a potential exit strategy.

"Yeah, sewers are good," Cara agrees, nodding in approval.

You observe as Din manipulates a few buttons on his left armor bracer, causing it to emit a low hum as his visor begins scanning for access points. After a moment, he announces, "Checking for access points."

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara mutters, peering outside once more. Through the broken windows, you catch sight of stormtroopers assembling a heavy repeating blaster. Cara's breath catches, "Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web."

"It's over," Greef Karga remarks, a hint of fear evident in his voice.

Din's visor chimes, and he declares, "I found the sewer vent."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Cara urges, moving swiftly. You follow closely behind as she and Din begin tearing apart the furniture, revealing the sewer vent hidden beneath a seat.

The three of you struggle to pry open the sewer vent's panel, emitting frustrated groans as each attempt proves futile.

"It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?" Greef Karga's urgency fills the air.

"Blow it," Cara directs Din, her tone commanding.

"I'm out of charges," Din responds, prompting Cara to gesture towards him while she retrieves her heavy blaster. "Get out of the way!" she orders, attempting to blast open the sewer vent without success. Frustration mounts as she hits the unyielding metal gate.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation," the voice from outside remarks ominously. "I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration."

"Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model," the Imperial Officer adds with malice.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin," the Imperial Officer's voice resonates with a tone of menace as he utters Din's name. Din takes a subtle step closer to you, his presence offering a silent reassurance amidst the tension. The officer continues, recounting the horrors of the Siege of Mandalore, where gunships armed with devastating ordnance wreaked havoc upon fields of Mandalorian recruits during the Night of a Thousand Tears.

"Or your Force-sensitive medic who wields a lightsaber," the officer's voice takes on a sinister edge as he delves into your past, revealing the painful truth of your master's abandonment. "Her Master had abandoned her, deeming her too dangerous for her own good. Betrayed by false promises of danger, she was cast aside, left to navigate the galaxy alone, while her Master chose another apprentice." The words cut deep, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you, shame mingling with the ache of betrayal.

You avert your gaze from Din, Cara, and Greef Karga, unable to bear the heaviness of their curious stares. Shame grips your heart, its tendrils clawing at your soul, as the truth of your past is laid bare for all to see.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to heed the wisdom of his years," the officer's voice echoes through the tense silence, urging surrender. "Lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed shortly, and your storied lives will meet an unceremonious end."

"What do you propose?" Greef Karga's voice holds a hint of skepticism as he humors the Imperial Officer.

"Reasonable negotiation," the officer replies, his tone dripping with calculated confidence. Greef scoffs loudly at the notion, prompting him to question, "What assurance do you offer?"

The officer's response is chillingly blunt. "If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." With those words, he turns and departs, leaving behind a tense silence.

You release a small sigh of relief, though you know it won't last long. There's the ominous menace of the E-Web cannon lingering over you, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you are.

"I say we hear him out," Greef Karga suggests, his tone cautious yet open to the possibility. Cara, meanwhile, shakes her head as she gathers blasters from the fallen stormtroopers scattered across the floor. "The minute we open that door, we're dead," she asserts firmly.

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot," Greef counters, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of advantage.

Cara remains resolute. "That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer."

Greef dismisses her concern with a hint of skepticism. "Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda."

"I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here," Cara declares, determination etched in her features.

Turning to you and Din, Greef seeks your input. "What about you two, Mando?"

"I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon," Din asserts, his voice carrying a sound of certainty. You furrow your brow in concern at the mention of the name. Cara freezes in disbelief. "No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name," Din explains, his expression grave.

"So? What does that prove?" Greef queries, searching for clarity amidst the confusion.

Your frown deepens as unsettling memories resurface. "I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child," Din reflects, his tone distant as if retracing fragments of his past.

"On Mandalore?" Greef probes, seeking to understand.

"I was not born on Mandalore," Din reveals, his words tinged with a sense of identity and purpose.

"But you're a Mandalorian," Greef counters, puzzled by the revelation.

"Mandalorian isn't a race," you interject, offering clarification. Din echoes your sentiment. "It's a Creed."

You turn to Din, who stands motionless, his emotions noticeable even without words. Through the Force, you sense the silver streaks of his emotions deepening into a darker shade of grey. His sadness is tangible, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. Every ounce of anger and resentment he harbors towards the Empire, towards the droids that razed his village, his home, and his family, is laid bare. You feel the pressure of his baggage and brokenness, the scaffolding of his inner strength straining to support his weary frame.

Blinking, you find yourself immersed in his memories, transported to the horrors of Din's past. The air is thick with the acrid scent of blaster fire and the piercing screams of civilians. You witness the onslaught of battle droids affiliated with the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars, their relentless assault claiming innocent lives. Amidst the chaos, Din's parents shield him in a small bunker before succumbing to the explosion that engulfs them.

Tears stream down your face as you watch the young Din, his fear palpable as he braces for the end, only to be saved by a Mandalorian Clan.

"I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps," Din's voice breaks through the haze of memories, bringing you back to the present. "I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are," Din explains.

Standing there, frozen in place, a myriad of questions race through your mind. How did you manage to delve into Din's memories? Every detail felt so vivid, so real. Tears continue to cascade down your face, overwhelmed by both his emotions and your own.

“Cyar’ika?” Din's voice breaks through the haze, distant yet urgent as your head throbs with pain.

A sob escapes your lips, tears welling in your eyes. "You were just a child,” you manage to choke out in your turmoil.

Din approaches, his hands gentle as they settle on your shoulders. You gasp for breath, hyperventilating as sobs wrack your body. "You were a child, scared and alone," you ramble, the words tumbling out incoherently. "I felt it all—your fear, your anger. It consumed you like wildfire, and—”

Din speaks your name softly, his gloved hand lifting your chin to meet his gaze through the visor. Tear-stained and with puffy eyes, you sob as your eyes meet his. He tenderly wipes away your tears, his touch comforting as you lean into it, placing your hand atop his.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out amidst the tears.

"It's not…" Din reassures you gently.

You sniffle, "I'm sorry you were alone. That you had to endure all of that by yourself."

His stomach tightens, a knot forming as he observes your distress. Underneath his helmet, his jaw clenches, a familiar frown settling on his face underneath his helmet. He's realized that he dislikes seeing you cry, feeling powerless to solve the problems that cause your tears.

Pulling you close, he envelops you in his arms as you tremble, offering a gentle shushing sound to soothe you. "It was like you were there in my mind and memories—" he begins, his voice soft.

You sniffle, attempting to regain your composure. "Yeah... I… I’m not sure what that was," you admit, shaking your head. "Never mind. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we should focus on getting out of here."

Din reluctantly releases you and takes a step back, addressing the group. "He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely," he informs them. "I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

Cara nods and says to Din, “Hail them again.”

"Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?" Din's voice echoes into the comlink, but there's no response. He shakes his head in frustration. "Nothing."

"They might have jammed the signal," Cara suggests, retrieving her heavy repeating blaster from across the room. Meanwhile, Greef Karga takes a swig from a blue drink.

Suddenly, the comlink beeps, and the sound of the Child cooing fills the room. Then, the mechanical voice of IG-11 follows. "Kuiil has been terminated."

Din's voice grows stern and accusing as he speaks into the comlink. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my primary function," IG-11 responds calmly.

"And what is that?" Din demands.

"To nurse and protect," IG-11 declares with unwavering resoluteness.

A few moments later, the distant sounds of troopers screaming and blaster fire fill the air. "Look!" Cara exclaims, prompting you to peek out through the window. Outside, you witness IG-11 riding through the streets of the settlement, swiftly taking down stormtroopers with his twin blasters. Even a pair of troopers haggling with a local Jawa are not spared from his onslaught. With precision and speed, IG-11 fights his way through Gideon's troops, throwing a speeder bike at them and causing a massive explosion.

"Cover me," Din commands Cara, who responds by shooting through the broken window, taking out more stormtroopers with her repeating blaster. Chaos unfolds all around you, the cacophony of heavy blaster fire echoing throughout Nevarro.

Following Din out of the cantina's door as it hisses open, you find yourself amid the action. Din swiftly disarms a nearby stormtrooper, taking him down with a precise shot through the helmet. You trail closely behind him, activating your lightsaber. Its purple glow commands attention, causing some stormtroopers to hesitate in shock, which you seize upon.

You and Greef Karga join the fray, swiftly dispatching several death troopers. Despite sustaining a hit to his leg, IG-11 valiantly protects the Child and guides it to safety. Meanwhile, Din skillfully operates the E-web heavy repeater blaster cannon, eliminating multiple stormtroopers with deadly accuracy.

A death trooper detonates an explosive, blowing open the cantina's door. Swarms of death troopers flood in, but Cara skillfully guns them down, buying precious moments.

Your attention is drawn to Moff Gideon cornering the Mandalorian, firing a shot that grazes his shoulder. You cry out, "Din!"

Before you can reach him, Moff Gideon aims at a nearby box of ammunition, setting off a powerful explosion. The blast sends you flying backward, your ears ringing from the force. With a shriek, you scramble to your feet, dodging blaster fire with your lightsaber as you rush to the Mandalorian's side. He lies motionless, wounded and vulnerable.

Cara lends you a hand as you haul Din's injured form into the cantina, seeking refuge. With a determined tone, she reassures him, "Stay with me, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Together, you carefully lay him down in a safe spot, your heart heavy with worry. "Din, please... Hang on," you plead softly, fighting back tears.

Din lets out a weak whimper, and you clutch his gloved hand tightly, offering what comfort you can. "We'll get you out of here, I promise," you vow, hearing Greef persuade IG-11 to aid in their escape by unsealing the grate.

Despite his pain, Din shifts his helmeted gaze to you, his voice strained as he says, "I won't make it. Go."

Tears blur your vision as you shake your head, refusing to accept the inevitable. "No, you'll be fine. We'll get through this," you sob out, your voice quivering with emotion.

Din's voice is strained as he insists, "Leave me." The warmth of his blood seeps through his helmet as you pull back your trembling hand, stained red. But you refuse to give up, determined to save him.

With shaky hands, you reach for the sides of his helmet. "I need to take your helmet off," you say, your voice heavy with urgency.

Din's grip tightens on your wrists as he protests, "No. Leave me. Keep the child safe, Cyar'ika."

Desperation fills your voice as you try to reason with him, "Din, I—" But he cuts you off, his tone firm and resolute.

"No. I don't… want this to be how you see me for the first time," he murmurs, his words strained with pain.

You don't care about appearances; all you want is to keep him alive. "I don't care. I just need you," you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Din reaches for his mythosaur necklace and hands it to you. "Take this," he says weakly. "Show it to the Mandalorian covert. Tell them it's from Din Djarin. You and the foundling were under my protection. They'll help you."

"We can make it. We have to make it… you can't leave me too… please… Din… Let me heal you," you sobbed out, your voice choked with emotion as you held onto him, your frame trembling.

Suddenly, a red-striped incinerator trooper, armed with a flamethrower, approaches the cantina, setting the furniture ablaze through the broken window. With determination, you throw yourself atop Din, shielding him from the flames, before turning back to look at him.

"Oh, Ner cyar'ika," Din murmurs, cupping your face with his gloved hand. You lean into his touch, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I'm not gonna make it, and you know it," Din admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death."

The finality of his words sends a pang of sorrow through you. "I won't leave you," you protest, your voice wavering.

"This is the Way," Din asserts, his gaze steady behind his visor. You meet his eyes, unable to find the right words to express your emotions. Pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet, you hold onto his gloved hand, which caresses the side of your cheek.

You kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his wrist, feeling the gravity of the moment. Din takes a shaky breath before saying, "Ner cyar'ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

Before you could even ask what he was saying, the incinerator trooper strides into the cantina, but the Child reacts swiftly, harnessing the Force to deflect the flames back at the trooper, forcing him to retreat. You witness the surge of power emanating from the Child, and instinctively extend your own hand, aiding in redirecting the flames away from your group.

As the trooper is driven back, the Child's tiny form slumps in exhaustion, overwhelmed by the effort. Just then, IG-11 kicks open the grate, signaling an opportunity for escape as the flames around you is all consuming and melting.

“Come on! It's open, let's go!” Greef Karga's urgent voice echoes through the chaos.

“Go. Cy’are, go,” Din insists, his tone heavy with resolve.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef Karga urges, as IG-11 helps clear the way, lifting the Child with care.

You remain rooted in place, torn between staying with Din and fleeing to safety. The metallic footsteps of IG-11 approach, and the droid's voice breaks through the turmoil. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” it declares, passing the sleeping Child into your arms.

Meeting the droid's gaze, you plead, “Promise me you'll bring him. Please.”

“You have my word,” IG-11 assures you, and you exchange a final glance with Din. With a heavy heart, you press your forehead to his helmet and whisper, “I need you. Maker, I want you, please… come back to me.”

Before he can respond, Cara pulls you away, guiding you into the tunnels below alongside Greef Karga, the force of uncertainty settling heavily upon you.

Din's mind drifts, overwhelmed by the scorching heat and his own exhaustion. In his haze, he sees IG-11 approaching, a stark reminder of his past and the deep-rooted trauma it carries. Through the chaos, thoughts of you, his beloved Cyar'ika, provide a fleeting sense of solace. Objects tumble in the inferno's blaze, a testament to the chaos engulfing them.

“Do it,” Din gruffly commands, his head throbbing from the impact, blood trickling down his neck.

“Do what?” IG-11 inquires, its mechanical voice cutting through the loud burning flames surrounding them.

“Just get it over with. I'd rather you kill me than some Imp,” Din asserts, his words tinged with bitter honesty. Once, he would have faced this without hesitation. But you changed everything, and now his only regret is not kissing you, not feeling the warmth of your lips against his.

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid,” IG-11 states.

“IGs are all hunters,” Din grumbles, his frustration evident.

The droid pauses before responding, “Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”

Din's grip tightens on his blaster, his voice dripping with threat, “Try it and I'll end you.” He struggles to breathe, teeth clenched, “It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.”

"I am not a living thing," IG-11 states plainly, the truth evident in his words.

With a hiss and a click, the mechanical hands of the IG-11 droid lift Din's helmet. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits what comes next.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours," IG-11 explains as it sprays the upper part of Din's head. "You have suffered damage to your central processing unit."

"You mean my brain?" Din quips.

IG-11 tilts its head. "That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

Din stifles a chuckle. In that moment, he realizes he still has hope. Despite his weariness and desire to depart, he closes his eyes briefly, thinking of you. The thought of needing you pushes him forward. Determined, he knows no grave can hold his body down; he'll find a way back to you, whatever it takes.

There is so much love in your body that you can't hold it in; it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin. As you cradle the Child closer to your chest, muffled explosions echo from above.

An ache settles between your ribs—a yearning for a different destiny and the resilience to keep hoping for a better outcome. You cling to the hope that Din will be alright.

A louder explosion echoes through the tunnels, causing you, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune to spin around. Cara’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing the source of the noise. The heavy footsteps draw closer, and soon, you spot IG-11’s silhouette—along with the glimmer of silver beskar you’ve come to cherish so deeply.

Without thinking, you rush forward, your heart pounding as you reach Din. He’s still unsteady, clearly feeling the effects of his concussion, but he’s alive. Relief floods your chest as you pass the Child to IG-11, and you throw your arms around Din’s neck, tears streaming down your face. 

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms wrap around your waist, his leather gloves squeezing you tightly as if grounding himself in your presence. You slide one arm over your shoulder, determined to help him walk.

“I got you,” you murmur, holding him close as you guide him through the dimly lit tunnels.

As you continue down the darkened tunnels, Din leans heavily against you, each step a struggle against the pain that wracks his body. Greef Karga glances around, uncertainty evident in his voice as he asks, "Do you know which way to go?"

Din grunts in response, his voice strained. "No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar." His words are clipped, every syllable laced with discomfort.

Greef Karga presses on, trying to find a solution. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows."

Din's voice cuts through the dark, gruff and insistent. "And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."

Your group presses on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels with each step. The air grows thicker, and the walls seem to close in as the tension between you mounts.

"Ugh, this place is a maze," Cara groans, her voice filled with frustration as she surveys the endless twists and turns.

"Stop. I can stand," Din says, his voice firm despite the strain. He removes his arm from your shoulder, and you give him a hopeful look, noticing the determination in his voice. IG-11 assesses his condition and confirms, "The bacta infusion is working."

Din nods, his determination solidifying. "I'll try to find tracks." He moves forward, the beam of light from his helmet cutting through the darkness. His gaze is focused, scanning the ground carefully. Then, he spots something and points to the left, leading the group as he says, "We're close. Turn here."

The group follows Din's lead, the tunnel narrowing as the beam of light from the flashlights dances across the walls. As you round the corner, a chilling dread settles deep in your bones. The covert lies ahead, but instead of the safety you hoped for, you’re greeted by a harrowing sight—helmets and armor, scattered and lifeless, marking the final resting place of countless fallen Mandalorians.

Din’s steps falter as he enters the covert, his helmet’s light switching off with a click. The darkness seems heavier here, pressing in on him from all sides. Slowly, warily, he moves forward, his exhaustion evident in every sluggish step. Kneeling beside the fallen, his head bows in silent mourning.

He reaches out, picking up one of the broken helmets, its once-proud beskar now marred and empty. You see it in waves of dark grey and sharp silver, a storm of anger and grief brews within him, coiling tightly in his stomach, a heavy silence hanging in the air around him.

You kneel beside him, your presence a tentative but necessary comfort. Din grasps your hand, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the void. His fingers tighten around yours, the touch grounding him, allowing him to feel something—anything—beyond the pain and loss.

Cara steps forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We should go."

Din's response is immediate, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with grief and fury. "You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." His head snaps to the side, anger flaring as he locks eyes with Greef Karga through his vizor. "Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?"

Greef Karga scoffs, shaking his head. "No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."

Din grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The emotions rolling off him are palpable, a storm barely contained. He pulls away from you, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold fury radiating from him as he steps forward, shoving a finger into Greef Karga’s chest. "Did you do this? Did you?"

Before Greef can respond, a new voice cuts through the tension, calm and authoritative. "No. It was not his fault."

All of you turn toward the source of the voice, a female Mandalorian stepping out from the shadows. She is clad in red armor, her gold helmet adorned with a series of horns that curve across the top. This must be the Armorer, the one who forged Din's beskar. The way she carries herself, with quiet strength and wisdom, leaves no doubt.

You rise to your feet, your eyes widening as you sense a powerful aura emanating from her, a blend of gold and red. Through the Force, you glimpse her true nature—patient, wise, and unwaveringly strong.

The Armorer surveys the fallen armor strewn across the covert, her voice measured and steady. "We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted." She lifts a piece of beskar armor from the pile, her tone resigned, as though she is stating a simple fact.

Din’s voice is strained as he asks, "Did any survive?"

The Armorer places the piece of armor onto a cart already laden with salvaged beskar. "I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

"Come with us," Din urges, but the Armorer shakes her head, picking up another helmet and adding it to her cart.

"No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains," she replies firmly, her choice unshakable.

You watch as she begins to push the hovering cart away, and without hesitation, Din follows her, leaving the rest of you to trail behind. The path leads you to the heart of the covert—the Armorer's forge, a place of deep significance. The air here is thick with the importance of history and tradition, the forge itself a symbol of the Mandalorians' resilience and strength.

You take in your surroundings, noting the tools neatly arranged, the forge at the center, glowing faintly with embers, the table where beskar is shaped and molded, and the computer panel displaying holographic schematics of Mandalorian armor. Every detail speaks of the care and precision that goes into crafting the armor that defines a Mandalorian, a testament to their way of life.

The cryo-furnace burns brightly in the center of the forge, casting flickering shadows across the room. You watch as the Armorer, with practiced precision, uses a pair of magnetic tongs to lift a beskar chest plate. The metal sizzles and hisses as she dips it into the molten pool of the furnace, transforming solid beskar into liquid. Her voice is calm, yet it carries the tone of command. “Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

IG-11 steps forward, the Child sitting quietly in the brown backpack strapped to the droid’s chest. Din speaks, his voice steady, though tinged with reverence. “This is the one.”

The Armorer steps closer, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

Din nods, his response curt but sincere. “Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer tilts her helmet slightly as she continues, “From the mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din confirms, his voice clipped as he remembers the near-fatal encounter.

“It looks helpless,” she observes, her tone more curious than judgmental.

The Child coos softly in response, its large ears folding back as if understanding the conversation. Din shifts slightly, protective instincts kicking in as he explains, “It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

The Armorer nods thoughtfully, her tone reverent as she recalls ancient lore. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi, who wielded such powers.”

You stiffen at the mention of the Jedi, memories of old texts and scrolls you once studied flashing through your mind. Din instinctively steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, a subtle yet protective gesture. You can't help but ask, your voice shaky with uncertainty, “Is it an enemy?”

The Armorer regards the Child, then turns her attention to you, her gaze thoughtful beneath the gold helmet. “No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with a depth that makes your heart race. “Including her.”

“I… How…” you stammer, the words tangled in your throat as you struggle to comprehend her meaning.

The Armorer’s voice is patient, her words measured. “You are different. The Force flows through you as well, though not as it does through the Child. But you are not our enemy.”

Din glances at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern and confusion.  The importance of this information is nearly too much for you to take, even while you strain to find your words. Even while you know that everything has shifted in this instant, the armorer carries on with her task, undisturbed, as if she has spoken nothing unusual.

Din watches as the Armorer opens a cabinet, her movements precise and deliberate. The flickering light from the cryo-furnace casts long shadows on the walls, the heat radiating from the molten beskar filling the room. "What is it?" Din asks, his voice low and gravelly, filled with the sudden push of responsibility he’s not yet ready to accept.

The Armorer doesn’t look up from her work as she replies, her tone measured and authoritative. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."

The Child, nestled safely in the brown backpack, gurgles softly, its wide eyes shifting between you and Din, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Din glances down at the Child, confusion and uncertainty lacing his words as he gestures towards the small creature. "You wish me to train this thing?"

The Armorer continues her work, her focus unbroken as she dips the simmering ladle with the liquid beskar, pouring it with precision onto her workbench. "It is too weak," she states plainly. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."

Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, his mind racing with the implications of her words. You stand beside him, feeling the sudden new responsibility settle over both of you. The Child stares up at you both with innocent eyes, unaware of the storm brewing within the Mandalorian’s heart.

"Where?" Din asks, his voice strained with the weariness of the unknown.

The Armorer hums thoughtfully, her focus never wavering from her task. "This, you must determine."

Din feels frustration bubbling up inside him. He gestures helplessly at the Child. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?" His words rush out, sharp and biting, and you can’t help but wince, though you know the remark wasn’t directed at you.

The Armorer remains unfazed, her hammer striking the beskar with rhythmic precision. "This is the Way," she remarks, her tone calm and resolute, as if the creed alone should be enough to calm his doubts.

Din’s eyes soften under his helmet, realizing the harshness of his words. He turns to you, taking your hand gently in his. "I apologize, Cy’are," he mumbles, his voice laden with regret.

You offer him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "I know," you reply softly, understanding his distress. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The Armorer, ever observant, takes note of your interaction as she continues her work. The clang of metal against metal fills the silence until Cara speaks up, her tone practical and urgent. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."

The Armorer pauses her hammering, then turns slightly toward the group. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."

Greef Karga looks to Din, concern creasing his brow. "I think we should go," he suggests, the tension evident in his voice.

Din, however, remains resolute. "I'm staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

You meet his determination with your own. "I’m not leaving you," you state with unwavering conviction. 

The Armorer picks up her magnetic tongs and a circular pan, her voice steady as she addresses you both. "You must go. Your Riduur and the foundling are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."

The Child coos softly, sensing the affection and bond between you, Din, and itself. The Armorer, acknowledging this bond, turns to Din with a quiet reverence. "This is the Way."

The Armorer steps forward with quiet precision, affixing a signet to Din's pauldron. The emblem gleams in the dim light of the forge, its magnitude both physical and symbolic as it signifies the new identity bestowed upon him. She pauses for a moment, allowing the significance to settle in before she speaks, her voice steady and authoritative.

"You have earned your Signet. For now… you are a clan of two," she declares, her tone interim, as though the value of the galaxy itself rests on this moment.

The words barely register in your mind, their meaning lost as you stand beside Din. Your gaze is fixed on him, watching the way his posture straightens slightly, the way his head dips just a fraction in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Din says, his voice rough with emotion but steady. "I will wear this with honor."

The forge's flames flicker, casting warm, wavering light on the scene, as Din steps back, the signet glinting on his pauldron—a mark of pride, responsibility, and the bond that ties the two of you together in this perilous galaxy.

The rumble of muffled explosions grows louder, each one sending vibrations through the walls of the covert. Instinctively, your group turns toward the source of the sound, tension tightening in your chest. Greef Karga’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with urgency. “We should go,” he insists, his eyes darting between the shadows of the tunnel.

The Armorer, however, remains unflinching. She turns to IG-11 and then to you, her voice calm but commanding. “IG and the Jedi,” she begins, and before you can correct her misunderstanding, she continues, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Without hesitation, the IG unit steps forward. It moves to Cara, gently handing the Child over to her. The soldier, caught off guard, stammers, “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

The Child coos softly, and you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Cara, a slight shrug of your shoulders conveying that there’s little choice in the matter. Without another word, you follow the IG unit as it strides purposefully towards the outer hallway. The air grows colder, and the sound of your footsteps echoes against the narrow walls as you leave the others behind.

Just before you’re out of earshot, you hear the Armorer's voice, calm and steady as ever. “I have a few more gifts for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

Din looks down at the gleaming silver beskar Z-6 Jetpack in his hands, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “When I was a boy,” he says, his voice thick with the load of memories. “Yes.”

The Armorer’s voice is calm, almost reverent as she holds the jetpack. “Then this will make you complete,” she declares, a solemnity in her tone that acknowledges the significance of the moment.

Din’s voice wavers as he accepts the gift. “Thank you.”

She steps behind him, carefully attaching the Z-6 Jetpack to his back, her movements precise and steady. “When you have healed,” she instructs, “you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

Din feels the weight of the jetpack settle onto his shoulders, its presence both reassuring and daunting. He nods, his determination hardening, his voice steady as he replies, "I understand." The words are a quiet promise, a vow to honor the gift he has been given.

The Armorer pauses for a moment, her gaze steady on him. "One other thing," she begins, her tone shifting slightly, "your Riduur… I assume you’re courting her."

The question hits Din like a bolt, and he feels a flush rise beneath his helmet, heat spreading across his skin. He’s never been one for public confrontations, especially not about something so deeply personal. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken emotions, as he struggles for a response.

But the Armorer doesn’t need words to understand. She reads the tension in his posture, the hesitation in his voice, and she nods, accepting his silence as confirmation. Without another word, she turns to her cabinet, her movements measured and precise. From within, she retrieves a smaller version of the Mudhorn signet, its surface polished to a gleaming finish. She hands it to him with the same solemnity that she had with the jetpack.

"You are aware of the customs?" she asks, her voice carrying the value of tradition.

Din takes the signet, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth flooding his chest. He slips it into his pocket, the significance of the gesture not lost on him. 

"Yes," he replies, his voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion he rarely lets slip.

The Armorer inclines her head, satisfied with his answer. "This is the Way," she intones, her words both a reminder and a benediction.

Din nods, the phrase echoing in his mind. "This is the Way," he repeats, the words a binding promise, not just to himself, but to you as well. 

Meanwhile, in the outer hallway, you and the IG-11 unit stand alert. The sound of approaching stormtroopers reverberates through the tunnels, a familiar and unwelcome echo. Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your lightsaber, and with a flick, it ignites, casting a purple glow across the darkened corridor. The Force flows through you, heightening your senses as you prepare for the oncoming assault.

Blaster fire erupts, red bolts streaking toward you, but you remain calm, centered. Your lightsaber hums as you deflect each shot with precision, the bolts ricocheting back at the stormtroopers, sending them sprawling—some injured, others unconscious.

Beside you, IG-11 methodically takes down those that remain standing. The droid’s movements are efficient, calculated. As the last of the stormtroopers fall, you and IG-11 exchange a glance. The droid peers around the corner, scanning for further threats, then turns to you and states matter-of-factly, “You are protected.”

"More will come. You must go," the Armorer states with quiet authority as you and IG-11 reenter the forge. The heat from the cryo-furnace pulses through the room, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Din turns to her, his voice firm with concern. “Come with us.”

The Armorer shakes her head with a firm tenacity. “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” she instructs, her voice steady as she gestures toward the scattered supplies.

She turns to the IG unit, handing Din’s newly earned jetpack into its mechanical grasp. “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

The droid nods in silent compliance, securing the jetpack carefully within its arms. Din methodically restocks his ammunition, his focus sharp despite the tension humming through the air.

“Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey,” the Armorer commands, her voice carrying the weight of finality.

Din takes your hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. There’s a moment of unspoken understanding between you, the bond you share more palpable than ever in the face of the unknown. He turns to the tunnels, not dropping your hand, and with a quiet nod to the Armorer, he says, “Thank you.”

The two of you head into the darkness, leaving the forge and its fierce protector behind, every step forward a testament to the resilience that binds you.

You emerge from one of the tunnels and are immediately greeted by the sight of a large, bubbling river of hot lava, its fiery surface sending waves of heat toward you. The glow casts an eerie, red light on everyone’s faces, highlighting the tension in the air.

“This is the lava river,” Greef Karga announces, his voice filled with a mix of awe and urgency.

You and Din move closer to the boat docked on the riverbank, its hull crewed by a battered and seemingly inoperative ferry droid. Din assesses the damage, his gaze narrowing as he comments, “The ferry droid is fried.”

Greef Karga steps forward, his practical mind already formulating a plan. “Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream. Come on,” he says, placing his hands on the boat’s edge and beginning to shove.

Din continues his inspection of the boat, noticing its age and the wear that time has inflicted. “Looks old. Will it take the heat?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.

“You got a better idea?” Greef Karga shoots back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Din shrugs, resigning himself to the situation. “Guess not.”

With a shared grunt of effort, the two men push against the boat, muscles straining as they try to dislodge it from the platform. But the boat stubbornly remains stuck, the dried lava around it acting as an anchor. Frustration mounts as Din groans and gives the boat a frustrated kick, before grabbing a metal paddle to try and pry it free—still to no avail.

Cara Dune watches their struggle with a growing sense of impatience, finally rolling her eyes before stepping forward. “You guys mind getting out of the way?” she says, her tone dripping with exasperation.

Din and Greef Karga step aside as Cara levels her blaster at the boat. With a few well-aimed shots, she blasts away the dried lava, freeing the boat from its fiery mooring. 

“Oh! Good job,” Greef Karga praises, a hint of relief in his voice as the boat begins to shift and move.

Without hesitation, the group clambers aboard the small ferry, the heat of the molten lava almost unbearable as IG-11 issues a warning, “Watch your feet. It's molten lava.”

“No kidding,” Cara mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she settles into the boat.

A tense silence falls over the group, broken only by the sudden electrical humming coming from the droid. Instinctively, Din, Cara, and Greef Karga draw their blasters, aiming them at the ferry droid as it begins to come to life. You stand back, watching as the droid chirps at you, its mechanical sounds echoing in the small space.

Din breaks the silence, his voice wary. “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?”

IG-11 steps in, his tone calm as he translates, “I believe he is asking where we would like to go.”

Greef Karga, still eyeing the droid with skepticism, eventually responds, “Downriver. To the lava flat.”

The ferry droid chirps rhythmically, as if in agreement, and with a mechanical whir, it begins to row the boat down the river. Your group holsters their blasters as the ferry glides smoothly over the molten surface, the droid content to fulfill its purpose, and the group can’t help but share a moment of quiet relief as they continue their journey downstream.

You quietly move next to Din, the tension in the air thick enough to feel, but neither of you speaks. Your eyes are fixed on the faint light at the end of the tunnel, the only sign of hope in this dark, foreboding place. You can feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on you, yet you hold on to the flicker of hope that you’ll find a way out of this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at Din. The Force gently tugs at your senses, and you’re drawn to the swirl of emotions radiating from him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Where once there were dark, muted grays of pain and uncertainty, you now see lighter tones beginning to emerge, a sign that he’s slowly regaining his center after the injury that had shaken him so deeply.

Din turns his head to look at you, and you meet his gaze, staring back at him through the dark visor of his helmet. Though his face is hidden, you’ve always had a way of seeing through that thick, impenetrable black visor, straight to the heart of the man underneath. It’s a connection that runs deeper than words, a silent understanding that passes between you. 

A shiver runs up Din’s spine, the feeling of being so deeply understood and seen by you, even through the beskar, is both grounding and unsettling in its intimacy. He’s never quite sure how you do it, how you manage to see him so clearly despite the layers of armor he wears.

Neither of you speaks, the silence stretching on as the moment lingers between you. Eventually, you’re the first to break the gaze, taking a small step closer to him. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the cool metal of his beskar pauldron pressing against your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, but one filled with a depth of comfort and connection that words could never convey.

Maker. The thought flickers through Din’s mind, almost as a prayer. He wonders what he ever did to deserve you, to be within your orbit. He’s lived his life in the shadows, never expecting to find someone who could see him so completely. And yet, here you are. He holds out a silent prayer to the universe, hoping for the strength to keep you with him, to protect you, to not let this fragile connection slip through his fingers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows closer, but for now, you both find solace in this small, shared moment.

As the droid methodically rows the hoverboat down the molten lava river, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone echoes softly through the tunnel. The eerie glow of the lava illuminates the cavernous space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Occasionally, small, skittish mammals dart along the riverbanks, their eyes glowing in the dim light before they disappear into the darkness.

The boat glides steadily toward the mouth of the tunnel, where a faint light shines like a beacon of hope. The group remains tense, but as you approach the entrance, Greef Karga’s voice breaks through the tension with a burst of optimism. He points eagerly at the light, his voice filled with relief. “That’s it! We’re free!”

But Din doesn’t share Karga’s optimism. His instincts prickling, he taps a button on the side of his helmet, switching to thermal imaging. The world around him shifts into shades of red and blue, revealing what the naked eye cannot see.

“No,” Din’s voice cuts through the brief moment of hope, a grim tone to his words. “No, we’re not.” His gaze remains fixed on the entrance, his thermal vision picking up the heat signatures of countless figures lying in wait. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel.”

You glance at Din, the unease in his voice sending a chill down your spine. He continues, his voice a low, measured tone as he counts the figures. “It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

The tension in the air thickens as the boat continues to drift closer to the tunnel’s exit, the light growing brighter but more ominous with every passing second.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders sharply, turning toward the ferry droid. “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat.”

The droid only responds with a series of unintelligible chirps, its programming unable to process the urgency in her voice. Frustration tightens Cara’s expression, and without hesitation, she unholsters her blaster, her voice rising with authority. “Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!”

A single shot rings out, and the droid’s head is blasted clean off, leaving it a lifeless hunk of metal. The boat continues to drift forward, unaffected by the loss of its pilot. The Child whimpers at the sudden noise, and Cara immediately softens, trying to soothe him with a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay.”

Greef Karga eyes the boat as it glides along the river, still propelled by the momentum it had before the droid was destroyed. “We’re still moving,” he notes grimly.

Cara scans the tunnel ahead, her face hardening as she realizes there’s no stopping now. “Looks like we fight,” she declares, steeling herself for the confrontation.

But Din shakes his head, his voice low and steady. “There are too many.”

Cara’s eyes flash with defiance as she snaps back, “Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.”

Before anyone else can speak, IG-11 interjects, its voice calm and resolute. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

Din scoffs, unable to hide his skepticism. “You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

But IG-11’s response is cold and matter-of-fact. “That is not my objective.”

A heavy silence follows as everyone processes the meaning behind the droid’s words. Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, understanding dawning painfully in his mind.

Cara quickly hands you the Child, her eyes flicking to the tunnel ahead. “We’re getting close. Saddle up,” she says, her tone brisk and focused as she readies her blaster, preparing for the inevitable fight.

The tension is palpable as IG-11’s voice cuts through the air with a calm finality. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Din takes a step forward, disbelief and frustration tightening his voice. “What are you talking about?”

The droid remains composed, its mechanical tone unyielding. “I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

Greef Karga’s voice slices through the conversation, sharp and urgent. “Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

Ignoring the interruption, IG-11 turns and hands the jetpack to Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child.”

Din’s emotions churn beneath his helmet, a mixture of confusion and reluctant attachment rising to the surface. For someone who’s always hated droids for what they did to his planet, this particular one has proven itself different. The words tumble out, almost desperate. “Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to protect the Child.”

Din’s voice softens, a note of pleading seeping in. “That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right? Right?”

There’s a brief pause, as if the droid is processing his question. “This is correct.”

Relief flickers across Din’s features, even if hidden beneath the beskar. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

But IG-11 remains resolute, its next words heavy with certainty. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved, in which I survive.”

Din’s frustration mounts, his mind racing for another solution, any solution. “Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just… come up with a—”

But the droid cuts him off, its tone firm yet gentle. “Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

Din looks up at the droid, his voice low, almost anguished. “But you’ll be destroyed.”

IG-11 responds without hesitation. “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you,” Din insists, his voice growing tighter, a rare crack in his stoic exterior. The droid’s next words hit him harder than any blaster shot. “There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Din, ever defensive, tries to mask his emotions. “I’m not sad.”

But the droid sees through him, as it was programmed to do. “Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

You watch the exchange, your heart heavy with the truth of what’s about to happen. Tears well up in your eyes, the reality sinking in that this droid, one that had grown to mean something to you all, is about to sacrifice itself. It’s a loss none of you are truly ready for, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

The Child coos softly in your arms, its large eyes full of trust as it peers up at you. IG-11 pauses, glancing at the small creature, and then gently pats its ears in a gesture that almost feels… affectionate. A farewell, perhaps. You feel the sting of sorrow as the droid steps away, its purpose clear. 

Without another word, IG-11 hops off the boat and into the bubbling lava, the searing heat beginning to eat away at its metal frame. Greef Karga’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion and a hint of alarm. “IG? What are you doing?”

The droid doesn’t respond, just continues its slow, deliberate march through the molten river, its body gradually melting, limbs faltering as it nears the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond, the light filters through, revealing the stormtroopers waiting, their blasters raised, ready to fire. But they hesitate, unsure of the droid’s intent.

Reaching the river’s end, IG-11 speaks, its voice unwavering, almost serene. “Manufacturer’s protocol dictates I cannot be captured.”

The sound of a pulse begins, low and rhythmic, a countdown to the inevitable. “I must be destroyed,” IG-11 states, its words a final goodbye.

And then, with a blinding flash, the droid detonates, the explosion erupting like a fiery inferno. The stormtroopers don’t even have time to react before they’re consumed by the blast. Their screams echo briefly before being snuffed out, leaving only silence in its wake. The fiery eruption floods the tunnel’s entrance, scattering debris and molten rock, neutralizing the entire platoon in an instant.

As the dust and flames settle, the path ahead clears. The way to the plains is open, and for a moment, all is still. The sacrifice of IG-11 rings heavy in the air, its selflessness ensuring the Child’s safety, and allowing you, Din, and the others to move forward—alive, but forever changed.

You finally emerge from the tunnels, the cool air of the open plains a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the lava river. For a fleeting moment, there's a sense of relief—until you hear the ominous roar of an engine in the distance. Your gaze snaps upward, just as Cara shouts, “Moff Gideon!”

Above, the silhouette of the Outland TIE fighter cuts across the sky, its distinct scream echoing through the air. Gideon’s fighter dives down, strafing your group with blaster fire. Instinctively, you ignite your lightsaber, the purple blade humming to life as you deflect the incoming shots, sending them harmlessly into the dirt. Din, Cara, and Greef Karga return fire with their blasters, but the bolts ricochet off the TIE fighter’s armored hull, doing little to slow its assault.

As the TIE fighter pulls up for another pass, Greef Karga shouts, “He missed!”

Din doesn’t look away from the sky, his voice grim. “He won't next time.”

Cara lowers her blaster, frustration etched on her face. “Our blasters are useless against him.”

Greef Karga, desperation creeping into his tone, glances at the Child in your arms. “Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing!” He turns to the Child, wiggling his fingers as if trying to coax a response. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

The Child stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes, cooing softly, clearly not understanding what Greef Karga is asking. The moment hangs in the air, the absurdity of the situation clashing with the deadly reality of the threat above.

Greef Karga sighs, “I'm out of ideas.”

Din's chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing for a solution. There isn’t much time—Gideon’s TIE fighter is already banking around, preparing for another attack run. The fighter’s engines scream through the air as it turns, ready to strike.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, almost to himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice is quiet but filled with purposefulness.

“Here he comes!” Cara shouts, urgency clear in her voice.

Without another word, Din moves with purpose, strapping the jetpack firmly onto his back. You can see the determination in his movements, each one precise, no hesitation. He checks the pack one last time, then ignites it, the blue flames roaring to life with a sharp hiss. The blast from the jetpack propels him skyward, and you watch as he rockets toward the incoming TIE fighter, becoming a streak of silver against the dusky sky.

The TIE fighter roars closer, and in a daring move, Din launches his grappling cable, the wire streaking through the air with a sharp whizz. The hook latches onto the wing of the TIE, yanking Din with it as it surges forward.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him hold tight to the cable, the wind whipping around him, the ground a blur beneath. The TIE fighter dips and rolls, trying to shake him loose, but Din’s grip is ironclad. With each twist and turn, he inches closer to the cockpit, his movements precise, driven by sheer will.

Unable to force his way into the cockpit with his blaster, Din quickly tries to plant a detonator on the hull of the TIE fighter. But Moff Gideon sees the attempt and executes a sharp maneuver, causing the detonator to slip from its intended position and tumble away. Din barely manages to keep his grip as the ship veers wildly, but he’s not done yet. He moves with quick precision, planting a second detonator on the left wing joint. 

You watch from below, heart pounding, as Din releases his hold on the fighter. For a moment, he’s just a speck in the sky, free-falling as the detonator flashes red. Then, with a brilliant explosion, the TIE’s wing disintegrates, sending the ship spiraling out of control. The wreckage hurtles toward the ground, crashing in a fiery plume on the plains beyond.

Din activates his jetpack just in time, the blue thrusters flaring as he regains control of his descent. He lands hard, stumbling slightly as he adjusts to the new weight on his back. But he’s safe, standing tall, smoke rising in the distance where Gideon’s ship went down.

You disengage your lightsaber, the purple blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and holster it at your side. As you pass the Child to Cara, she cradles him protectively, her expression softening for a brief moment before returning to her usual stout-heartedness.

Without hesitation, you sprint toward Din, your heart racing with relief and something deeper. He sees you coming and barely has time to brace himself before you collide with him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you with steady arms, pulling you close, the firm grip of his gauntlets grounding you both. For a long moment, the world around you fades, and it’s just the two of you—alive, together, and safe.

You pull back slightly, standing on your tiptoes as your hands find the sides of his helmet. Gently, you press your forehead against the cool beskar, closing your eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. It’s a silent gesture, a keldabe kiss that speaks of everything you both feel but can’t yet put into words.

Greef Karga steps forward, a broad grin on his face. "That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive." He pauses, his gaze flicking between Din and you. "Looks like your Guild rates just went up."

You and Din step back from each other, but his hand finds yours, holding on tightly as if to anchor himself. He nods to Greef’s comment, then asks, "Any more stormtroopers?"

Greef shakes his head. "I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of sticking around just to be sure." Cara nods in agreement, her expression firm. She sets the Child down, and it squeals with delight, waddling unsteadily toward you and Din.

Din watches the Child for a moment, then tilts his head toward Cara. "You’re staying here?"

Greef interjects, puffing his chest slightly as he looks around at the scorched streets of Nevarro. "Why not? Nevarro’s a fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s quite respectable."

Din’s voice carries a note of skepticism even through the modulator as he replies, "As a bounty hunter hive?"

Greef chuckles, tapping Din on the shoulder. "Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters." He then shifts his attention to Cara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And maybe this fine specimen of a soldier would consider joining our ranks."

Cara snorts, shaking her head. "I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code."

Greef grins, offering, "And if you’d agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries."

The Child finally reaches Din, gripping his leg with both hands, gazing up with wide, trusting eyes. Din glances down, and even behind the visor, you can sense his heart soften. Greef notices too, then turns his focus back to Din. "But you, my friend—you’ll be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. Go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have your pick of all the quarries."

Greef then shifts his gaze to you, his eyes warm. "And you, my dear, will always have a place at the med center. It’ll be there when you’re ready to come back."

Din adjusts the Child in his arms, his tone steady but resolute. "I’m afraid I have more pressing matters."

Cara reaches out, rubbing one of the Child’s large ears affectionately. The Child gurgles in response, and Cara smiles, looking at Din. "Take care of this little one." She then turns to you, her expression softening. "And her too."

Greef adds with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "Or maybe they’ll be the ones taking care of you."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest as Din nods. He gently passes the Child to you, and as you cradle him, Din wraps an arm securely around your waist. His voice is low, almost tender, as he asks, "You ready?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up at him through your lashes. "I’m terrified. Please don’t drop me."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the beskar. "Never."

With that, the two of you take off into the sky, the jetpack lifting you both. The wind rushes past, tugging at your clothes as your stomach flips. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the Child close to your chest and Din as the ground falls away beneath you. Despite the dizzying height and the roaring wind, you feel a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, no matter what happens, you’re safe in his arms.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is somber, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Together, you and Din wordlessly bury Kuiil beneath the scorched sands of Nevarro. The burial is simple, just the two of you under the vast sky, the only sound the wind whispering through the rocks. Din kneels for a moment, his hand resting on the mound of earth, before rising slowly. Neither of you speak, the silence saying all there is to say.

With the burial complete, Din takes your hand, and together you walk back to the Razor Crest. His grip is firm, grounding you as the reality of the past few days settles in. As you step aboard the ship, the familiar hum of the engines provides a small comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you’re still moving forward.

In the cockpit, you strap in beside Din, watching as he straps the Child into his seat. The little one’s eyes are wide, curious, and full of wonder. Din gently moves a bit of the Child’s shirt as he looks at the mythosaur necklace around the Child’s neck, allowing it to stay with him. The Child coos softly, fingers grasping the pendant as if it holds some great significance.

Din settles into the pilot’s seat, and with a few swift motions, the Razor Crest rumbles to life. The ship lifts off, the ground falling away beneath you as the stars come into view. The vastness of space opens up before you, dark and endless.

You lean back in your seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But as the stars streak past, that sinking feeling in your chest refuses to leave. It gnaws at you, a quiet but insistent reminder that this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning—of something larger, something more dangerous than you could ever have imagined.

The Razor Crest sails deeper into the galaxy, leaving the ashes of Nevarro behind, but the weight of the journey ahead presses down on you. Whatever awaits, you know one thing for certain: it’s far from over.

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