#pyke x reader

[collidescopeeyes]

requesting some viego or pyke HCs with a sick reader who is all like "no i'm fine i swear" but girl CLEARLY ain't. swain bonus if you wanna? love ur work!

Sick!Reader HCs with Viego, Pyke & Swain

Viego isn't gonna let you get away that easy, you aren't fooling him. Will literally pick you up and make you rest, you WILL be going to your nice cosy bed with a cup of tea, a handmade lunch and the best medicine money can buy, you do not get a choice about it. You will also be cuddled until you feel better, it's not like he can get sick, he's your 24/7 nurse and if you ask for literally anything he'll go get it (tbf that's true the rest of the time too). Also, he's so worried the whole time, please cooperate and put him out of his misery, he hates seeing you uncomfortable.

Pyke trusts you to know your limits up to a certain point, and after that point you're going to make good choices if he has to drag you kicking and screaming. You're going to bed and you're drinking plenty of water and he brought you medicine, yes he knows it tastes like salty lemon juice and bile, you're drinking it anyway, this is not a negotiation. He has a lot of weird folk remedies that are inexplicably super effective, are absolutely vile to taste, and somehow always involve fish parts. It's bizarre but it works. He'll stay with you the whole time though, and he has a way of stroking your hair and humming that makes you instantly fall asleep no matter how uncomfortable your symptoms are.

Swain’s getting you daily check ups from the Imperial physician, you're not arguing with him about your health, you're arguing with the person with the ten year medical degree + fifteen years practice and honey you're outclassed. He can't really take time off work to look after you but he makes sure you have everything you need to the highest quality before he leaves, and he actually finishes work on time, which is an act of god with the amount he's got in his plate on any given day. There WILL be a bird following you around the whole time he's gone though so he'll know if you're on your bullshit and you WILL be hearing about it later. And possibly pecked if you're trying to do something you really really shouldn't. He'll read you a book to make up for it though, he has a very soothing reading voice.

[zileans-big-cl0ck]

✦—How do they show that they trust you?✦ (SFW)

✦How do my favourite League men show you that they trust you with their whole hearts.

✧ prompt: ✧ nothing special, just pure stream of words. Fluff.

✧ champions: ✧ Zed, the Master of Shadows; Shen, the Eye of Twilight; Kayn, the Shadow Reaper; Thresh, the Chain Warden; Pyke, the Bloodharbor Ripper.

✧ reader: ✧ gender neutral.

✧ author’s note: ✧ I love grumpy men having soft spot for the reader hshshshs. Please ignore any mistakes.

masterlist

✦Zed, the Master of Shadows; taking his mask off.

Only with you Zed doesn’t mind taking his mask, that usually stays on him, off. In every long and exhausting mission that he participates in, in every training with adepts of the Shadow Order, he prefers to keep his mask on. He does that not only to appear more professional for his students nor to stay quite anonymous, but secretly, deep inside, what only you know, he does not desire to be identified with the majestic yet murderous figure he has created. His armor is both his shield on the bloody battlefield where many dies, but also something distancing him from other people. He is there for them physically, but offers none of his simple humanity. But with you and only you, he - with a lot of effort (a little help with opening up from you was always appreciated by him) - lets his guard down. Though he seldom does that, mostly when all his problems eventually overwhelm him. The moment is always intimate, in his private room, when he takes his mask off, his sharp gaze fixed on you or the floor. That was not the first time you saw his face, but you couldn’t help but admire him. You gently took his face in your hands with a delicate and slow move, as a hidden for so long tear rolled from his eye. Besides his mask, in those rare moments, Zed tends to take off his armor too, so you can see his bare back, sculped with scares and black, sinister-looking tattoos - a painful memory of his past and the power that the unmerciful shadows wield in themselves.

✦Shen, the Eye of Twilight; devoting his time to you.

Shen is a kind man to everybody. With his esteemed reputation as a defender of Ionia, the keeper of balance that everyone lurks for in this land, everyone respects him. He is a patient teacher to every person, his student or not, and he is always there for them. That’s why he is a trustworthy leader that everyone can find comfort in - and you know exactly about this. As much as he is an anchor for his loved ones, you are so, so special for him, that he obviously treats you with a different kind of respect than others. Shen tries to be always by your side, usually sliding a reasurring hand on your back if you are comfortable with it, to make you feel that he is there for you, ready to both protect and give himself fully - either to open up or just comfort each other, rest and appreciate the others’ company. Shen lets his small moves that he only gifts to you slid when you are both alone or when he thinks nobody sees you two - not because he wants to keep your relationship a secret, but he feels like these moments with you are only for you two. Nobody should bother or distract you - that’s the irreplacable time he dedicates to give you his full attention.

✦Kayn, the Shadow Reaper; letting himself be vunerable around you.

As the successor of the Shadow Order and Zed’s mightiest student, Kayn carries on his back expectations of both his surrounding and himself. And, in addittion, the Darkin, a curse that lives in him. But when alone, only you two, disturbed only by Rhaast and his presumptuousness, he lets himself be just him. Gentle and quite lazy, as he tends to lay with his head on your lap while taking almost all the space on his own bed. Kayn secretly enjoys you taking care of him, letting you see his vunerable and sweet side. When far from ubiquitous gazes, where you can get some privacy, the Shadow Reaper feels no longer like being forced to challenge everyone in his sight or proving them that he is worthy of becoming the next Master of Shadows. You put no pressure on him, you understand him as no one else does, and he appreciates your every move, when you show him how comfortable he can be around you. And you, the only person that treats him gently, see him as a normal human being he is. So even when you stroke his silk, dark hair with slow moves and soft hands, that next slide down to hold his face in them, he is not disturbed by Rhaast muttering about Kayn’s weakness. Because he is not weak when with you. He is just himself.

✦Thresh, the Chain Warden; sharing his story with you.

Because how obsessive Thresh is and how he can push himself to manipulate everyone and everything for his beloved one, some might think this man is actually not capable of love, at least not a healthy kind of it. And maybe it is true; maybe the connection between you two is none of an exemplary illustration portrayed by others, but there’s one thing that assures you Thresh’s intentions are clear and, actually, lovely. This man of course would never admit this willingly, maybe only to make you flustrated, but he has showed you his gargantuan collection of souls not only to impress you. He wants you to understand why are they trapped there, where he can toy with them, forcing them to face their merciful owner. They are in here not only because he is a sadistic soulkeeper - which was a surprise for you - but because they heve to suffer like he did. You are the only one, only one alive, who has been priviliged with the knowledge of his past - how the whole Blessed Isles betrayed him and how he has sworn to bring retribution on those who dared opposing him. He shared his story with you while walking past the cages, countless souls screaming inside for justice. Thresh appreciates what a good listener you make and how you seem to not judge him, based on the person he was long way before.

✦Pyke, the Bloodharbor Ripper; assuring you with simple words.

This man knows better than anyone else how is it like to be betrayed by others. Well, he paid his life for understanding that trust is a powerful weapon; that it should not be given so easly to people. Pyke struggles with something that you might call trust issues, though he would never admit that something so trivial might affect him so much. Neverthless, you were the first person after his, well, death, to hear from him that he truly trusts you. As straightforward as he is, Pyke frequently mutters to you something about how much he trusts you and how important it is to him. It would be almost adorable to hear such words from a ruthless killer with a soft spot for you, if it wasn’t just upsetting how a betrayal can break a man. Eventually, nothing says more than simple and particular words which come with honest intencions; he does not hide that he wants you to feel special about being able to read him like a book. You earned this man’s trust and he show that in such simple acts, like just letting you around him, which is not a priviledge every mortal may possess, as Pyke is know for his… strong reputation in Bilgewater.

[vewyscawywriting]

It's Better Down Where It's Wetter

Fandom: League of Legends

Pairing: Pyke x F!Summoner!Reader

Wordcount: 2443 words

Tags: pussy eating, light choking

Summary: Pyke is stalking you, and you are unsure if it's because he wants to kill you or something else altogether...

Lately you felt eyes on you at all times. Again. You were starting to feel a little uncomfortable, not knowing who it was that was eyeing you this time. When you found wet footsteps in your vicinity while you'd seen no one around you slowly started putting two and two together. You had been summoning Pyke quite a bit, and you felt a chill go down your back at the thought that Pyke had been watching you all this time. His reasons for doing so escaped you, but knowing the psychotic revenant it couldn't have been good. 

Was he trying to kill you, despite him not being able to since you were a summoner? It was the wait that honestly frayed your nerves most. Just holding onto your sanity as you questioned every shadow or strange feeling, just waiting for Pyke to pop out and scare the living crap out of you. Maybe he'd found a loophole, and you'd be hurt after all. So far you'd stayed out of harms way, but things had happened that you seriously doubted were as the Institute of War intended. You'd gotten much more intimate with your champions as time progressed, and the thought that what you were doing was probably at the very least frowned upon and at worst downright illegal made you afraid of what the consequences could be. Not only that, it felt like something had shifted in the way your champions behaved around you; they were closer, physically and mentally, and it blurred the lines of you being a summoner coming from a different world. It felt more and more like you belonged here, and the thought of your champions being able to actually harm you became more and more of a possibility to you.

The stress was getting to you, and so, as you were hanging around your Summoner assigned bedroom you decided the wait for Pyke to kill you was going to be the death of you before he likely could be. Eyes were on you, once more, and you decided to just confront him first. 

"I know you're here, Pyke," you said out loud, almost feeling the words ripple through the room until they found him. "Just get it over with already, you're stressing me out. What do you want?"

As you turned around you found him standing in the middle of the room, hunched over, and seemingly ready to turn tail and run again. In all accounts he looked more stressed to be found out than you were with him lurking.

"The list," he muttered, and your heart dropped. You were on the list and he was debating to kill you. You knew it. But his next words were unexpected. "You've never been on my list."

You raised your brows. Wasn't that the natural state of things? Looking at Pyke's weary eyes told you it was not. Apparently he was used to just about everyone being on his list, and somewhere in his clouded mind he realized that it was indeed strange. 

"Well, that's... good, right?"

He was quiet for a second, just looking at you for a little bit, before he replied with a: "...Yes."

"Soooo... why are you in my room, then?"

He was quiet once more, but this time instead of replying he just... went back to the shadows, becoming invisible to you again as you frowned at him avoiding to answer you. The door to your room opened, closed, and you realized you were alone once more.

"Right."

That was an interesting interaction. Totally not a little concerning at all! 

Well, whatever it was, you were going to continue your life like usual. You were... fairly used to eyes on you at this point. A chuckle escaped you. Your champions had strange ways to deal with their interest in you. 

...until you realized at least Fiddlesticks had left you some privacy with his stalking. You were unsure if it was his size, it being too difficult for the scarecrow to follow everywhere, or anything else, but where the others had left you alone at least some times, it seemed Pyke was just... looking. Always. 

At times where you thought you were alone; like when you were in bed, showering... times when you though you didn't feel his eyes on you, you'd find wet footprints afterwards, leading from your room, and you were starting to get a little upset. Just looking was... fine. But not when you were doing private things. You needed your privacy and as such you decided to once again confront him. 

"Pyke, I really need some privacy once in a while. Do you understand that it upsets me when you're just always there watching, even when I'm taking a shower?"

It was quiet, very quiet, and you started doubting he was even there. Was this..? Were you finally alone after all?

Slowly you started walking through your room, checking all corners and places he could possibly be hiding, but for once, you found nothing. Not even the footprints you were now used to finding everywhere when he'd been lurking.

It was almost weird to not have him around, and you were stumped.

"Huh." was all that left you as you continued getting ready for bed. You really should've just decided to sleep at home, always, especially when the lines of your relationships with your champions kept blurring more and more. On the other hand, fun things happened here, and not at home. You'd take some discomfort for the excitement you got in return. Like an idiot.

The moment your head hit the pillow you were out, it seemed you were more tired than you thought. Dreams soon overtook you, but a cold hand touching your leg had you sitting up with a startled yelp. There he was, at the end of you bed, all gloom and darkness as pale eyes regarded your every move. Your throat seemed to constrict, no words able to pass your lips as you held your breath, waiting for what he was going to do now. His hand was still around your ankle, rapidly cooling your skin as your eyes were locked. Your breath was coming heavy, and it seemed his' mirrored yours. He suddenly jolted into motion, pulling you down as you fell back, gripping your sheets as he dragged you towards him. 

He groaned something along the lines of "warm", and you realized the mask he usually covered his lower face with was gone, the sight of a tongue peeking out to lick full lips seared into your brain. 

What was going on-? This seemed to be quite unlike him, but you weren't complaining when your body responded quicker to the implications than your brain. Glowing eyes met yours from between your legs and you realized your legs had wrapped around him already, your night shirt riding up to show him the wet patch that was already forming on your panties. You were turning into such a whore, but if Pyke wanted to have a taste of your seemingly irresistible pussy you weren't complaining. 

The inhale from him was much more audible than it should be and you shivered when he leaned down, licking a wet stripe over the fabric still covering you. "Shit," you gasped out, trying to buck up into him, but he kept your legs down with arms that felt like iron bands. 

"I saw it," he grumbled against your lower lips, and you moaned back at the vibrations it caused. "Every time you were fucked, I saw it."

Well, fuck you sideways. Of course there was someone who saw everything considering you weren't exactly careful of where it happened, and of course it was him. 

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" you said back, cheeky smile playing around your lips. Was he jealous, or did he just decide he'd waited long enough for his turn?

He didn't reply, opening his mouth wide over your lower lips, teeth scraping against covered skin as the touch was a little less than gentle. It had you struggling against his grip to have more of it all the same, chasing his mouth as he retreated again, cool fingers running under the waistband of your soaked panties. 

He pulled at the fabric, revealing yourself to his pale eyes as his cool breath on your wetness made you shiver and moan, hands tangling in the sheets below you. The moment you were fully revealed to him he dove down, devouring you like a man starved and you gasped out his name as your hands went down to grasp at his head instead. Finding no purchase you just decided to grasp at the skin, pushing him down on you for more. 

Your head was spinning, hips trying to buck up into him uncontrollably, but he kept you still. Somewhere in you mind you were unsure if you were dreaming, your brain playing tricks on you, but whatever it was, you were planning on riding this wave and enjoying every second of it. 

His tongue on you was cool, and so were his fingers now thrusting inside of you, and the temperature difference between your warm insides made your toes curl. His attention was on your clit as you felt yourself tumble over the edge, his name falling off your lips like a prayer as you felt yourself throb around his fingers. 

He slowly pulled out, looking at his glistening fingers as if studying them, before sucking them clean of your juices. You couldn't help but blush when you saw how much his lower face glistened with your arousal, his eyes boring into yours when he climbed on top of you, a low growl escaping him as you instantly put your legs around his hips, pulling him close. He was hard as a rock against you, still fully clothed while your lower half was fully nude before him. Your nightshirt had ridden up to around your chest, and he just pulled it up a little more to show your upper body to him too. He leaned down, a grunt escaping him as he rutted against you, pulling one of your nipples in his mouth as he bit down fairly gently. It was as if he was intent on devouring your body whole, and you were unwilling to stop him, shaky arms pulling him closer to you as you grinded against his erection. Sighs and clipped groans escaped him as he pulled at his pants, unable to drag them down while you were holding him so close, so he pushed you down harshly, keeping your hips still as he undressed. 

"Stop struggling." he grunted, as if you weren't actively trying to get him inside of you, "We'll sink together soon enough."

"Yes," you sighed, a shiver running down your back at his usage of the word sinking, instantly remembering who it was on top of you. But he was taking his time. It was like he was too obsessed with tasting you, and you were getting impatient. It was time you took matters into your own hand, gathering your energy to roll both of you over. It went a lot easier than you thought, once again wondering if this was actually real or not, but you didn't spend any time on these thoughts. Your pussy felt empty and needy, throbbing around nothing as you sighed desperately. Only sitting on his already leaking cock would satisfy you now. It twitched against you as you lined him up, hitting your clit as you mewled, back arching while you tried to focus on the task at hand. He slid inside with relative ease, your arousal making you slippery and ready for him, and you wasted no time taking him all the way, sighing and moaning his name as he had a vice grip on your hips. 

"Yessss," he hissed, voice slightly distorted as his fingers dug deeper into your skin. Hips bucking up into yours as you grinded yourself down on him, slowly bringing yourself to your peak again. Now it seemed he was impatient with you, arms straining as he pulled you up only to drop you down on him again. "Move," he grunted, clearly frustrated with you as you let out a breathless chuckle, though you started moving all the same, thighs soon straining as you bounced on him wildly. His hands left your hips, running over your skin as fingernails dug into your soft spots, stopping at a breast where he squeezed, taking in your form as you arched your back, neck on full display for him. You were quickly coming undone when you felt a hand slowly inch around your exposed neck. He wasn't squeezing, yet, just holding you as he sat up slightly, meeting your thrusts harshly as he was chasing his high too. 

"I'm not on your list, remember," you croaked out as the fingers flexed, but no real fear took hold of you when you were so overwhelmed with pleasure. He didn't respond, but thrust up harder, almost throwing you off him as his grip on your neck kept you in place. An alarm bell was going off in your brain, but your body was greedy, chasing your second orgasm that seemed you hit you like a brick, thighs shaking as you were unable to continue. Your arousal dripped down on him, and he quickly reversed your positions again, hands still in place as he quickened the pace, fucking you through your orgasm. At this point you were trying to escape him, but he didn't let up, fingers tightening around you as he grunted your name, dick twitching inside you as his rhythm faltered. 

He came inside a couple of thrusts later, and you were glad that his fingers only tightened for a moment, oxygen quickly returning to your lungs as you gasped out his name. 

An unexpected apology fell from his lips, and you opened your eyes to take him in. If this was a dream it was a good one. He looked good, or... as good as a wraith could look. As he pulled out he slowly shrunk back into the shadows, but you stopped him. 

"Stay a little longer?" you asked, seeing him light up, already patting your belly and legs, fingers running over bruises he had made, apologies once again falling from his lips, but you shushed him. You felt yourself drifting off as he tried to clean you, shaking hands betraying his awkwardness with the situation. 

Despite the fact that you were falling asleep again, you were unsure if everything was still just a dream. He didn't help your confusion when you heard a sweet whisper fall from his lips: "You almost make me feel alive again, summoner."

[freakassfemme]

[QueerFic's] NSFW Alphabet: Yara Greyjoy

A/N: Hello!!! Yes, this has been done before, but I wanted to give my own personal spin on Yara's NSFW alphabet:)

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

In my mind, Yara is quite the chatterbox. She's not really up for extensive aftercare, though she certainly wouldn't refuse a bath together, but I feel like aftercare for Yara resides in conversation or physical touch. Did you enjoy yourself? What did you like? How do you feel? She wants to hold you and draw out those last fleeting sparks from the skin to skin contact.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Yara is an ass woman. Everyone's got an ass, man or woman, and she loves them all. Having something soft to grab on to, and the way that it extends into your hips, your thighs, she adores it.

On herself, I think Yara probably likes her hands or her shoulders. She likes something that makes her feel strong, and her arms bare the most of the physical labor and fighting she does, so they remind her of her capability and strength, and it kind of turns her on a little bit. She likes to be intimidating.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Especially with women, Yara is a swallower. It's symbolic of her hard work, and I think she views it as a reward rather than an end goal, and something for you to both enjoy. I think Yara has a bit of an oral fixation, so I'm sure she loves to have her face covered in it in all honesty, or to ride her partner's face and have it on theirs.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Yara loves to seduce any woman on the ship. Crewmate, passenger, prisoner, it's her little game of cat and mouse, and she plans on winning.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I don't remember if this is canonical or just fandom stuff, but I heard/read somewhere Yara has fucked a woman from each of the seven kingdoms? Yeah I believe that. She's probably aiming for 20 from each about now.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Yara loves to ride, Yara loves to be ridden. It's a must for her. I feel like she would also love having someone in her lap, or missionary or a mating press. Anything that commands power, eye contact, and complete openness or vulnerability,

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

She'll definitely crack a joke or two, especially in aftercare. We all love Yara for her smart mouth, boldness and outright attitude, and I don't think that's something that simply slips away when she's horny.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I don't think she cares, and tbh I don't think she cares about other people's grooming either. Definition of "baby call me Moses cause I'm gonna part the Red Sea" or "the wilderness must be explored" or something LMFAO

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Intimacy is key for her! And being a little silly or sarcastic doesn't ruin that intimacy. She needs to feel a connection to the person, and she thrives on that moment when she "syncs" with someone and it turns into more of a dance or rhythm. Eye contact is crucial.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

In some ways I feel like Yara is a 5 minutes and go girl, or she's just too busy and just waits to find a partner, but I also like to think about her late at night in her bed, full of her own fingers, without a care in the world.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

VOYEUR oh my GOD I am a devout believer in voyeur Yara. YES she would fuck you in front of her whole crew, in ANY throne room, on ANY ship, in ANY dining room, for fun or to prove a point. She herself might not get naked, but she loves that anyways, it makes her feel so powerful to be fully dressed while her partner is bare and vulnerable.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

I feel like Yara loves to fuck in public, like on the deck late at night or giving head on a balcony somewhere, but I feel like she also holds a special place for her own large bedroom, perhaps a secluded tower, where she can really lean into her deepest desires and do whatever she pleases, even if it involves getting a little sadistic.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When is she not ready to go???? I feel like she's always ready ngl, but I feel like if she saw you fight someone off or help with manual labor, she'd go nuts. Or like sitting on her lap in front of the crew, making any bold comments or attitude.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Yara is up for a threesome, foursome or orgy on occasion, but she isn't going to do an open relationship in a committed relationship or marriage. If you were just a hookup buddy, it wouldn't bother her, but if you're serious, she doesn't like the idea of you being intimate without her being involved.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Head is Yara's expertise. When she gives, she usually likes to be completely in charge. When she receives, it's 50/50. Maybe she's sat up and playing head pusher, or maybe she's tied up and growling and whining.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Yara is typically large and in charge lmao. I feel like she can definitely both, but given her tendency to intimacy, multiple rounds, and basking in pleasure, I feel like she leans more towards slow and sensual, but still fairly rough, to really draw it out.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Oh she 100% would. She'd fuck you until you cum on her face then wipe her mouth and walk out on deck like nothing happened. Better a quick fuck than none at all I guess.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Absolutely. Yara loves creativity. She sleeps around because she loves new experiences, so she'll take experimentation anywhere she can get it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Yara can definitely go for a while, especially when receiving, she's an absolute soul-sucking demon.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

YARA WITH A STRAP SUPREMACY! Yara will give that strap to anyone who asks for it, and I'm sure she'd love to ride one or get stuffed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

We're talking about the same woman right? Yara's whole thing is teasing and banter. She's grabbing you in front of anyone and everyone, saying the nastiest things over the dinner table where anyone could hear, reaching under the table and grabbing at you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

I feel like Yara is definitely expressive. She'll grunt and groan and let out soft moans, but she's not exceptionally loud. She moreso leans into dirty talk, but she'll get on her knees for a partner who will scream her name.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Yara has got to be a scissoring LEGEND. No strap? No problem. She's meat-to-meating that pussy like it's her dying fucking wish.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Scissoring legend is till on my mind so I'm fingers crossed for big clit Yara :') Like she has big dick energy but no dick so I'm hoping that translates.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Yara has "it's five o'clock somewhere" energy when it comes to sex, but I feel like she's definitely crazy about morning sex, or middle of the night, wake-up fucks.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think Yara fucks in the daytime honestly more at night time, and it probably reinvigorates and energizes her because of that, so I wouldn't be surprised if it actually kept her awake and that's why she has such insane stamina.

[popawritter12]

I am curious can I request this scenario. What if all the darlings in the blood moon au meet.

Author's notes: Don't ask, I explain the reason for so much absence in another publication.

Dreams

The world of dreams; so deep, lost, and even confused in their own essence, they were lost, searching for something specific. Something that should never have been seen in itself.

The clash between claws and flesh along with the terror reflected in the faces of others; Is this ostentatious, at the same time disgusting dream, a simple memory of the group's misery?

—So… he's the new one, right? —The question escaped from the one who arrived second —, it doesn't look very… Good.

—I heard that the one who was chasing him was the same one who brought the demons to this world.

—Poor man. —The second hunter mentioned, observing the first, distant memories of his childhood take him back to the day when his demon condemned him.

—He had the worst fate of all. —-The dancer whispered, taking the porcelain cup between his delicate fingers.

—Who would have thought that he would have to become that demon? — Whispered the second arrived, before taking the plate in his hands.

The inveterate fight, stained by the strong emotion suffered by the first hunter, caused, in part, a great surprise on the part of the first.

—Seriously, you're a damn bastard… —The first one whispered, the edge of the blade barely managing to collide with the demon's skin—, not even Talon was as savage as you in fights.

The demon growled, a mitigating memory crashing into his delicate, corrupt mind.

Talon…that name, that nickname, that demon. Why was the hunter mentioning it?

—It seems you recognize his name, huh? —The hunter pushed the demon with a thrust, finally managing to cut his cheek, causing the demon to recoil—you must know a lot about the cult to recognize it.

The demon screamed something unintelligible, before taking his head; wounded, he remembered the countless books he read, the sleepless nights turning each page and researching with as much passion as that of an expert butcher tracing newly arrived calf meat.

—That… damn motherfucker. —his own demonic voice reminded him of what Pyke did to him, causing a scream to escape his lips.

—He's already remembering what he did to him.

—It must hurts him a lot. —the dancer whispered, sighing.

—Especially when someone he trusted ended up doing that to him. —The second hunter mentioned, his gaze traveling over the detailed outline of the demon's body, a grotesque vision for his eyes and a coarse memory of what today was the perpetrator of it.

Was this a simple punishment for them for their previous life or for the sins they had committed? They are not going to know, Or at least none of them know it and much less will the demon who was still committing with claws and teeth looking for an answer looking for a result to what he foolishly thought will end well to what some once he called a friend, now it turned out to be a super nightmare, it turned out to be the person who condemned him to this horrible life and now even in his dreams, which were the only moments in which he could remember his life as a traveling salesman who was guided by singing, it turned out to be a memory. more than what he now was: a demon, a creature that lost all connection with his human side and desperately searches for some trace to become himself again to find that lost side that was taken from him and cruelly killed by that demon.

—I guess we all make the same mistake, —the second whispered, before sighing with some pain, nostalgic, so to speak.

—Don't make me into your mistakes —the first one shouted, before managing to take the chain in his hands, with subtle preparation, he managed to tie the demon, although receiving a scratch on his left eye —, Talon chased me because he's a selfish bastard, if he decided to trust a Blood Moon demon, then he must have paid the price.

The dancer looked at him, a hint of disgust appeared on his face.

—How great did the price have to be, that took even his humanity with it? —The young man questioned, before lowering his gaze. The loneliness he felt throughout his life was such that it forced him to invoke a demon, to look for some humanity behind the superficial life of the stage. The dancer turned around when he saw the hunter, and only had that brave look that few others had. times in his life — and you know well that none of us thought that a demon could fall in love.

—You dealt with cultists —the first hunter complained, before kicking the body of the bound demon —, both he and I dealt with fucking demons.

—And that's why I thought you had a little more empathy —the third whispered, before continuing to drink the tea —, but I was wrong."

—Brave of you to assume that I will have empathy for a moron. —the hunter responded abruptly.

—What did we say about saying bad words?

—Talon lets me say them.

—We are not demons.

—AND?

As the argument between the first hunter and the dancer intensifies, the second hunter approaches the demon, who, in pain, tr

He tries to push him away by growling, but the second hunter settles down in front of him, ready to speak.

—Don't tell me you're going to try to talk to him.

—Stop being unbearable.

—Only when you stop acting like a mother.

—Shut up —the second hunter complained, before seeing the demon again—, hello, you must be the singer of that religion.

The demon growled, showing its pointed teeth, yellowish and with traces of fresh blood.

—I saw you once, you were known as “the angel of the Andes,” right? —The second hunter asked, his serene voice invading the mind of the corrupted singer —. Truth be told, it seemed like every place you went in Runeterra was unique because of your presence alone.

The second hunter brought back bitter memories for the poor singer, from the first places where people first heard his voice, to the last place he had visited. Bitter smiles on his face countless times, tears from the emotion of each visit, even anger at seeing the state of the people whose leaders were as selfish as that demon, like that son of a bitch who ruined his life.

The more he mentioned it, the more he elaborated or his way of telling what it was like for the hunter to listen to the jugs of pure love for music brings to life the bitter return to the past; knowing that he couldn't come back. And his soul begged to return, to return even for a small second to that place that had brought him so much happiness.

But he only managed to sob; His voice seemed to return slowly, but the clock in the distance announced the time of his farewell; the mental break was over, and now they all had to return to that comic tragedy of life.

And yet, in the distance, a man with a leather backpack on his back and a smile of happiness spread in his eyes as he hummed songs from his childhood, looks at the clock, a rustic shape reminds him of his home, of his city. , but, even more importantly, it reminds him that his search for his destiny was still in the midst of development,

And the farewell began; with a look of some anger, but a certain affection —which the few present there knew how to differentiate—was reflected in that look. They still remember how comforting it was to know that even for a second of their lives, they could rest, they could give their tormented souls a little break from their stressful and painful lives.

While the perpetrators slowly approach their victims again, misnamed "loves", they do not even manage to give words to the poor humans who woke up again.

While the dancer returned to see the burly man with a serene but at the same time always annoyingly calm face, a bitter but resigned grimace spreads across his face full of dark circles. The first hunter wakes up violently because he feels an extra weight on his chest; The demon had jumped like a puppy towards his owner, and when his cursed laughter reached the hunter's ears, he only clicked his tongue, annoyed, but helpless. And the second hunter observed the swordsman, the question of his dream comforts him a little; He knew that of all of them, he had gotten the least invasive of all.

And the last of all, the poor last of all, only woke up to see that, once again, the mysterious demon that had caused him so much pain was almost on top of him, asking again and again how he was doing, or why he was asleep.

It was strange, especially knowing that the dream seemed to revive the human side of him like he had never seen before.

And in a fit of forceful rage, the singer leaped again at the demon, his claws appearing again. And the cooker, the only one who didn't seem to understand the reason for the dream, woke up with a letter next to him; blood stains giving the shape of a heart while a smell of excellent quality perfume adorned with a bouquet of well-cared-for flowers send a chill down your spine.

Who would have put that there?

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ Colder than snow ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Robb Stark x Greyjoy!Bsf!Reader

A/N: Lost the ask so can't tag the person who requested it. Also I love Catelyn but in this fic she is a little mean.

Request: Yes

Summary: Growing up in Winterfell as a hostage was difficult, luckily Robb took you in but years later your friendship threatens to break when tensions rise and you have been planned to send away.

Warnings: Fluff and Angst. Heated arguments. Making out and angry Robb.

Word count: 1.8k

Growing up in Winterfell with your half brother Theon was hard on a little girl’s mind. Being a year younger than Theon meant he always told you what to do, you had a close bond with him, despite him acting like a cunt sometimes but he cared for you. As the bastard daughter of Balon Greyjoy you were captured along with Theon by the Starks. Sadly both Sansa and Arya wanted nothing to do with you. 

But when you first met Robb he was kind, well mannered and handsome. He took you and Theon in and made sure you were treated well. This obviously made you develop certain affections for him. Of course you knew he was to marry a high born lady, as he was to inherit Winterfell. You always thought he had no interest in you, oh how wrong you were. Most people of Winterfell still didn’t see you as part of them but Robb saw you differently. You were the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and an even more courageous and humorous personality. He had always felt captivated by you. 

Born from salt and sea even though your mother was a servant at Pyke he still thought highly of you. For years you had to prove your worth, so you trained with the sword, practised bow and arrow and rode a horse like no other man in Winterfell. As time passed the two of you grew very close, attached at the hip and unable to separate, you were the best of friends. 

Snowflakes cluttered your hair, boots cracked the snow underneath your feet as you made your way to the godswood. Lately Theon had been acting even worse than usual and he started to get on your nerves. Sometimes you could strangle him. Not only that, but Catelyn Stark had been colder to you than ever. You could relate to Jon on that matter but he never really wanted to talk to you about it, preferring you as a sparring partner and keeping to polite greetings. You heard the whispers around Winterfell, Catelyn Stark was seeking to marry you off. 

She had never liked you, or Theon, but at least he served purpose as squire and could become a knight one day. But what purpose did you have? In truth she was afraid, afraid of the way Robb, her favourite son, looked at you. She needed you to leave, so she could find a proper match for the future Warden of the North. A Greyjoy as the Lady of Winterfell? The very daughter of the man who rebelled against her family? She couldn’t think of anything worse. But whispers travelled by wind and anyone who went outside could catch them.

You stared up at the bright red leaves of the tree, your people, or former people, might’ve believed in the Drowned God but you were pulled in as a little girl by the Old Gods. You found solace in them, and in the Godswood. It was always so peaceful, so quiet. You didn’t feel like a burden here. You felt annoyed and angry at everyone. Robb has been busy lately, leaving with his father to visit other houses in the north. Or visiting the Wall. Loneliness wasn’t a thing you were used to. And missed Yara, she always defended you, spoke up for you. The big sister you needed. But you hadn’t seen her in years.

And lately, loneliness was the only thing you felt.  Deep in thought, the cracking of snow didn’t reach your ears until he stood right behind you. “You weren’t in the training yard, or at the gates to greet me like usual.” Robb’s low and honeyed voice spoke up. He was honestly the last person you wanted to see right now. You felt overstimulated and stuck in a routine of worrying, anxiety and more worrying. “What are you trying to say?” You didn’t even face him while answering. “That something is off about you, we have been off.” He said as he walked in front of you. If you weren’t going to turn to him, he would turn to you.

“You look upset. What’s wrong?” Robb continued. Although you were clearly not in the mood to talk. “I wish you had never befriended me.” The words left your mouth before you could stop yourself. “I’m sorry?” Robb asked, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. He was very confused. Clearly he had no clue about his mother’s plans. “Are you really this thick? You have no clue what is happening do you?” You finally looked him in the eye. Tears welling as you took in his beautiful face. He had been growing his beard lately and he looked even more handsome, more grown, more suited to be married off to anyone but you. 

“I- No what? I just came back from Karhold. My father wanted to speak personally to Rickard Karstark about the renovations there I- I don’t know what is happening.” He sounded so confused and so worried. “Well maybe ask your mother, since she is behind all this.” You snapped. Did he just not care? Of course not, you were just a friend, nothing more. “My mother? What the fuck are you talking about?” He was growing more upset by the minute. “She wants me gone, I don’t know why. Maybe she just doesn’t like me. She probably never has.” You looked back at the huge tree in front of you. 

Robb stepped closer, grabbing your arm. You pulled away. If you had to leave, you would leave as distant as possible from him. It would hurt less, hopefully. “I didn’t have to take you in, I didn’t have to befriend you but it just happened. How could you possibly hate me for that? After all I’ve done for you!” His voice got louder each word he spoke, he grew angry at your behaviour. How was this his fault?

“Well you shouldn’t have! It would make leaving less painful!” You yelled back. “Don’t do this, don’t rush into goodbyes when I haven’t even spoken to my mother yet. Let alone my father. He would never just turn you away! You know he has a soft spot for you. Please, don’t give up.” He begged, Robb Stark never begged. But he would beg for you, he would do anything to keep you at his side. You didn’t say anything. Robb sighed and left you to your thoughts. Apparently the first thing he would be doing back at Winterfell would be picking a fight with his mother.

Lady Stark was sowing a beautiful red leaf pattern on one of Rickon’s shirts. Arya and Sansa at both her sides, trying to mimic her movements on their own pieces of fabric. Since tensions had risen at Winterfell, Catelyn thought it would be good to spend some time with her daughters to distract her from all the ruckus. But the peace was soon disturbed when her eldest son burst open the door. She knew why he was here, and she dreaded the conversation to come. 

“Leave. Both of you.” His voice was cold and demanding. He sounded like his father. Both the girls dumped the fabric on the table and hurriedly left the room. When the door closed behind them only then did he speak again. “What is this I hear about marrying her off.” Catelyn sighed and put the shirt down on her lap. “Robb. Please, it would be best for the girl. She is getting older and has no place here.” She began but got cut off by Robb’s booming voice. “She has a place! By my side! The place where she has always been and where she always will be!” Catelyn knew she would get a reaction from him, but him starting to admit that he wanted her to be by his side? Always? Was new. “I might not have seen before but you have woken me up from this woolly dream. It is her. It always has been her. And she will stay by my side.” Robb didn’t even give his mother a chance to speak when he already turned on his heel and left the room. 

Hours went by but Robb could not find you. He had now even sent men out and spoke to his father about his worries. He needed to speak to you, to confess his love. Before it was too late. Panic grew as the men returned at the hour of the bat, still no sign of you. Where could you have gone? Where could you have so easily disappeared? Where the fuck where y- Of course, how did he not think of it. When you were children you found this little shed, overgrown by nature and well hidden but he still knew the markings on the trees to follow. It was the only place where you could’ve gone.

Leaving with just Grey Wind and a lantern. Holding one of your tunics, Grey Wind followed the exact path you took as children to your secret hide out. He was right. He could see the place had been disturbed but still well hidden and unbeknownst to his men. Grey Wind sat outside as he stepped foot into the shed. There you were, sat in the corner with some books stolen from Winterfell’s library. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Robb smiled. You couldn’t help but smile back, deep down it felt good, comforting, that he would still look for you. Even after your fight. He walked over and sat down next to you. 

Robb tapped his foot awkwardly on the floor, he knew the words. He knew exactly what he wanted to tell you but he was scared. Deep down he knew you loved him but he couldn’t be sure. “I really don’t want to lose you.” You started, closing the book and putting it on the pile next to you. “You won’t, I’ll make sure of that.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you and smiled. Noticing all the little details that made you so beautiful. “It’s you. It's always been you.” You turned to him, lips slightly parted. Is he- confessing right now? “I love you. I won't let anyone take you away from me and you are-” He rambled but got cut off. You pressed your lips to his. The realisation of what you had done settled in and you quickly pulled back.

But Robb gave you no time to answer as he pulled you back in by your jaw. Your lips started moving back against him. Hands on his face and his arms around your waist. The kiss grew hungry and desperate. The cabin got hot as your lips moved hungrily against each other. His tongue softly grazed your bottom lip, allowing him in, he moved his tongue against yours. Both your short breaths and kissing sounds filling the cabin. He pulled back suddenly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” He grinned. You pressed your face in his neck, holding him close. “Me too.”

[motherroam-rs]

Sleep Deprivation

Relationship: Hunter x Reader

Summary: In the search for Omega, Hunter struggles to sleep and needs a push to get some rest.

Warnings/Tags: Sleep Deprivation, Angst, Comfort, uhhh I think that’s everything

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: The first 3 episodes have me in a chokehold, I wanna see Hunter happy again - Here’s a super short angsty lil comfort fic for Hunter set just before the beginning of episode 2 🫶🫶 Apologies for any grammatical errors!

Every noise in the Marauder seemed louder with just the three of you in it. Any hum, beep, and sigh seems to be amplified, even Gonkys small movements seemed to echo through the empty space just as loud as Wreckers snores.

Though, it’s not the only change. The ship seems too big now, and it’s hard to remember a time where it was so over-occupied that you would all fight over who got to sleep in a bunk for the night, and who had to use a sleep mat on the floor. Durasteel walls that previously made you all feel like fish packed together in a can, now seemed to stretch out impossibly, making it seem that you were planets away from the ships other two occupants.

Currently you’re sat in the co-pilot chair, preoccupied with your glitchy datapad, attempting to send an encrypted message to Echo for any updates from the clone network. You’re biting down on a sigh at how you wished Tech were here to fix it for you when Wrecker nudges your foot with his own.

You look up, puzzled at the man but your silent question is answered by the attempted jerk of his head. Behind you both sits Hunter, staring abysmally at the control board of flashing lights with his fist tightened around a horn from Roland Durand. The lights cast a harsh shadow on his features and your lips can’t help but work themselves into a frown at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

It had been well over 24 hours since he last slept.

Glitchy datapad now abandoned, you give a quick nod in thanks to Wrecker, before leaving the cockpit to approach Hunter. His chair doesn’t turn, and despite his enhanced senses and the lack of noise in the ship to cover your steps in any way, he gives no indication that he’s heard you. You follow his line of sight to both Tech’s goggles and Lula, both of the items bringing a pain to your chest.

“Hunter?” You press your hand to his armored shoulder, and he finally turns to look at you, slightly startled and you can’t even recall a time that you’ve ever caught him so off guard. Now that he’s facing you, the exhaustion is evident in more than just the dark circles under his eyes, his body seems to slump against the support of the chair in some sort of emotional defeat.

He’s been running himself into the ground over the last few days in pursuit of the Pyke needed in order to get the lead you had all been after, but at least you and Wrecker still managed to somewhat take care of your basic needs of sleep and rations.

Before you can speak, he turns back towards the controls, as if sensing what you were going to say about the neglect to his sleep schedule.

“Tech made this all seem… easy.” Gloved hands gesture to the console of flashing lights, his throat bobbing with a dry swallow as he shakes his head. “All of it takes me twice as long as it took him.”

Hunters hand pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way he does when he has an oncoming headache and your hand presses to the unarmoured section between his shoulder and neck, an area that is usually covered by his scarf. At the touch, his eyes close and lips part with a soft release of breath.

He needs to sleep.

“Come to bed, Hunter.” The whisper echoes through the too-quiet ship, amplified like every other noise, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to refuse. He doesn’t speak, but gives a slight nod of his head, and brushes your hand away to stand and begin removing his armor as he follows you on the way to your shared bunk.

After so long of racing to be the first one on the Marauder after a mission to secure your own bunk for a night, there was some sad irony in the fact that you now couldn’t sleep alone. Following the loss of Tech, and the painful absences of Omega and Echo, all attempts to adjust to the atmosphere of loneliness on the ship were almost painful.

At the start, you think you barely managed a standard 8 hours across 3 full day cycles, let alone in one night, and your restlessness didn’t go unnoticed by Hunter, who had probably slept even less than you. On the fourth night of staring at the ceiling and trying to muffle your quiet crying in the too-silent ship, he had abandoned his bunk beneath you and climbed into your own. His arms allowed you the comfort of not grieving alone that night, and almost every night since.

At some point, it delved into more than simply finding comfort in each other so you could both sleep, sending you far enough past the line of friends for Wrecker to tease you both in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere in the Marauder.

Now only wearing the lower half of his blacks, Hunter lifts himself into the shared top bunk, and offers you a hand up, immediately pulling you into him once you’re safely up. In the small confines of the bunk, you’re entirely pressed to his firm body, yet he still holds you tightly against his bare chest as if fearing you’d slip away the moment his eyes closed.

He’s pulled the thin blanket over you both, but with the heat of his body it’s more than enough to keep you warm. “We’ll get her back.” You murmur against Hunters chest in assurance as one of his hands pulls your leg across his own, entangling the two of you together.

You feel his hand twitch against you, “It’s been a long time, and we still don’t know where she is, the only lead we can get right now is by handing over a Pyke to the Durand family.” His voice is heavy with exhaustion and you crane your neck up, lifting yourself from his chest to place your hand on his stubble covered jaw, forcing him to look at you.

“We’ll get her back, Hunter, but you need to sleep.” You lean in to press a kiss to the lips that seem to have set themselves into an ever present frown since that day on Ord Mantell.

Hunters hand presses to your face to mirror your own, his other arm tightening around your waist protectively as he kisses you back. Even when you pull away and rest your head back on his chest, his fingers continue to trace slow patterns on your waist, still refusing to let you go as he gives in to his tiredness.

You wait for his breathing to slow, ensuring he’s asleep before you allow yourself to close your eyes and follow him. In the night, you dream of living together in a house on Pabu, where the only echoing noise is Omegas laugh, where there are no empty spaces to make you feel lonely, and where Hunter can finally rest.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Hello. I left a request with Crosshair the other day, but seeing the down state of my boy Hunter in this new season I had to come here to leave another one. So the idea is Hunter x F! Reader (with established relationship?) where on the mission to capture the Pike, she gets hurt and has to stay in Pabu. So when he and Wrecker come back with the cadets, they have a moment of comfort together, you know? It's clear that Wrecker is trying hard to keep Hunter sane, so maybe the reader is too? Xx

Hello lovely! Thank you for the request. I had a lot of fun with this one - he looked so tired and sad in that episode 😔 x

Whispers of Home's Embrace

Hunter has always been calm and strategic, but with Omega's prolonged absence, he's unraveling at the seams, working himself into the ground. It's a good thing you're there to slow him down, and remind him that neglecting himself in the process isn't healthy.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: slight spoilers for S3E02, fluff, sweetness, comfort, pet names.

Translations: ri’vod - sibling in law

A light breeze wafted in through the open window, the late afternoon sun flooding the kitchen as you hummed along to the music from the small radio on the window ledge, adding the final touches of icing to the cupcakes you’d baked.

Capturing the Pyke who’d brought dishonour to Roland wasn’t easy, and you’d paid a small price for it. Whereas Hunter and Wrecker had their old armour to keep them safe, you didn’t, preferring the manoeuvrability you had with softer protection.

Unfortunately, that had meant the blow the Pyke had struck to your side while you’d been wrestling him into submission had cracked a rib. Hunter’s fist had met his face seconds later, rendering him unconscious. Still, the boys had insisted on returning you to Pabu before they took him to Roland and collected the information you all desperately needed.

With nothing but time, you’d turned your focus to more domestic tasks to drown out your worry. Hunter and Wrecker were more than capable, but it felt wrong for them to be without you. You’d been with them since the very beginning.

Lost in a haze of icing, you almost missed the sound of the front door opening. Quietly, you placed down the piping bag, fingers sliding around the hilt of the knife you’d left on the counter. You weren’t expecting guests.

Moving silently across the kitchen, you pressed your back against the wall beside the door, hiding yourself from view. As the footsteps drew nearer, you held your breath, tension coiling in your muscles. The familiar creak of the floorboards announced the intruder’s approach. Your grip tightened on the knife, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, a soft voice broke the silence, dispelling the tension like a gentle breeze dispersing fog.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Came Hunter’s familiar voice, concern evident in his tone. Relief flooded through you, and you released a shaky breath, lowering the knife as you stepped out of your hiding spot. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Hunter chuckled, his expression softening as he took in the scene before him - the cupcakes, the radio playing softly in the background, and you, with a hint of flour dusting your cheek.

You shook your head, dismissing his apology with a wave. “No worries, it’s…”

“You live here!?” An unfamiliar voice interrupted your apology, and you watched Hunter step aside, revealing three young boys who were decidedly dirty and a little malnourished.

Wrecker barreled into the kitchen behind them, a giant grin on his face. “Smells good in here, ri’vod!”

Confused, you look at the three young boys and then back to Hunter. “Who are they?” You ask, wafting your knife in their direction.

“Regs. We found a bombed-out Imperial base. They escaped and were fending for themselves in the jungle.” Hunter gives you the short version, watching as you quirk an eyebrow.

Not wanting to be impolite, especially after brandishing a knife, you set the utensil down on the counter and introduce yourself.

“I’m Mox.” In return, the tallest of the three boys introduces himself before gesturing towards the other two boys. “This is Deke and Stak.”

“You’re pretty. Are all girls as pretty as you?” Deke pipes up, wide brown eyes focused on your face.

Amused by Deke’s straightforward question, you chuckle softly before replying. “Well, thank you, Deke. But trust me, plenty of girls out there are much prettier.” Your words earn a shy smile from the young boy.

“That’s a lie.” Hunter retorts, leaning against the nearest wall, arms folded across his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you offer him an amused smile. “You’re biased.” You fire back, holding his gaze for a moment. The simple action conveys a thousand words, and you can’t help but spot how much more tired he looks compared to the other week when you were dropped off. He’s been neglecting himself again.

“Well, if you’re done hitting on my wife, we can show you around.” Hunter breaks the moment, turning his focus to the three young boys.

“Wife? Aw, hell.” Deke mutters, earning laughter from Stak and Wrecker.

“Thought we weren’t allowed to get married?” Mox probes, narrowed eyes darting between you and Hunter.

“Technically, no,” Hunter answers him straight. “But things are a bit different here on Pabu. We’re treated like equals. We have the same rights as anyone else.” He clarifies, head tilting to look at you for a moment.

You smile fondly, remembering the quiet little ceremony you’d had right before everything had gone to hell. Echo, Wrecker, Tech, and Omega had been the only ones present for the union. Getting married had been an impromptu decision – during the war, neither of you had dared hope it would ever be possible - but you didn’t regret it for one second.

Sensing that you and Hunter might need some time, Wrecker offers the kids a grin. “C’mon, lemme show ya around.” He starts ushering them out of the kitchen. “We can get ya cleaned up, too.”

Pushing off the wall, Hunter goes to follow, but Wrecker holds a hand up. “I got this, Hunter. Don’t worry.” He offers his brother a smile before leading the boys away.

Gratitude curls through Hunter. He knows you and his brother have been going the extra mile for him lately, and he hates the burden that is placed on you both.

“Omega?” You ask quietly, stepping towards your husband, sliding into the warmth of his arms as he draws you into an embrace.

Hunter shakes his head and sighs. “Roland’s intel led us to the facility where we found the regs. Deke downloaded some intel from a panel – not much to go on, but we have a sector as a lead.”

Heaviness weaves through your body, and the hope that had been building dims into a small flicker. You’d keep hold of it, though. You weren’t about to give up. As you step back, you take Hunter’s hand, leading him out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. “They’ll be safe here. That’s something.” You insist, guiding Hunter upstairs and into your shared bedroom. He was in desperate need of a wash, some sleep, and a good meal in the morning.

Hunter makes a slight noise of agreement. It wasn’t the outcome he hoped for, but it still counted as a win. Inhaling deeply as you enter the bedroom, his shoulders sag as your comforting scent fills his nose.

Easing him down onto the bed, you kneel at his feet to remove his boots, wincing a little at the ache in your ribs as you set them aside. “I’ll start looking at the maps for that sector in the morning.” You vow. “Echo or Rex might be able to fill in some blanks for us too.”

Impatience rolls through Hunter. There was no time. It couldn’t be left until the morning. What if something happened and Omega was moved again? They wouldn’t have any leads anymore. “It can’t wait until then.” Hunter insists, attempting to stand up.

Unwilling to take any of his nonsense, you press a hand to his abdomen and shove him back down. “Yes, it can.” You insist, your tone catching Hunter by surprise. “I know Omega’s been gone a long time. I want our girl back as desperately as you. But what good are you exhausted?” You question, prying off the limited armour that covers his legs, stacking it nearly at the foot of the bed. “Finding her and Crosshair is of the utmost importance. But you cannot neglect yourself in the process.”

Hunter grumbles, but he knows you’re right. He sinks back into the mattress, allowing exhaustion to finally catch up. Your hands move with practised care, stripping away the layers of armour and padding. As you work, he watches you, a mixture of gratitude and worry in his eyes. You’ve always been the anchor, the one who keeps him grounded when everything else threatens to spiral out of control. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He admits softly, his voice heavy with emotion.

You pause, meeting his gaze with warmth and determination. “You won’t have to find out.” You assure him, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently. “We’ll find Omega and Crosshair. Together.” You vow. “Now, let’s get you a bath.” You rise to your feet, pointing at his undersuit. “Off.” You instruct, leaving him to follow your order as you move into the fresher. Plugging the tub, you turn on the taps. While a shower would be more efficient, it wouldn’t help him relax.

As the water fills the tub, you add a few drops of essential oil, knowing its calming properties will help ease Hunter’s tension. Returning to the bedroom, you find him obediently removing his undersuit, looking worn but determined. His commitment to the mission is unwavering, but you understand the toll it takes on him physically and emotionally.

Silently, you help him into the warm water, watching as the tension gradually melts from his muscles. Hunter leans back, closing his eyes, a rare moment of peace enveloping him. Sitting beside the tub, you run a wet cloth over his shoulders, gently washing away the grime, offering him a moment of respite from the chaos of the galaxy.

As you work, your mind drifts to Omega and Crosshair, wondering what trials they’re enduring and how you can help bring them home safely. The weight of responsibility sits heavy on your shoulders, but you refuse to let it crush you. You’ll do whatever it takes to reunite your family.

After a while, Hunter opens his eyes, meeting your gaze with a soft smile of gratitude. “Thank you.” He murmurs, his voice laced with exhaustion and affection.

���Anytime, my heart.” You whisper back, abandoning the washcloth to instead pry the filthy bandanna from around his head. With his hair free, your hand finds its way into it, fingernails scratching across his scalp.

A low moan slips from Hunter’s lips at the sensation, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. The warmth of the water soothes his tired muscles, and the gentle rhythm of your fingers through his hair lulls him into a state of relaxation he hasn’t felt in ages. As you continue to massage his scalp, he lets his mind empty. “You were right.” He admits quietly.

“Happens sometimes. Rare as it may be.” You drag your nails down the side of his head until your fingers skim the shell of his ear, changing gear to stroke down the plane of his cheekbone.

A small huff of amusement leaves him, and Hunter’s eyes open to meet your own. “Don’t undersell yourself, riduur.” 

Warmth sweeps through you at the title. It would still take some getting used to. “No promises.” You tease, earning a tired smile from him. “Also, does this mean we’re starting up an orphanage?” You tease.

Hunter chuckles softly, his fatigue momentarily forgotten as he enjoys your playful banter. “Maybe we should. Seems like we’ve already got a few residents.” He remarks.

“Well, if those kids are anything like you and Wrecker, they’ll fit right in.” You reply, fondness in your voice as you reach for a small bowl sitting on the tub’s edge. Dipping it into the water to fill it, you lift it as Hunter tilts his head back, letting you pour the warm water over his hair. You take your time washing away the grime until the water cools before helping Hunter out of the tub, handing him a fluffy towel to dry off.

“You staying for a nap?” Hunter asks, giving his wet hair a rub with the towel.

“Of course.” You reply with a smile, reaching for another towel to hand to him. “Just let me clean up here first.”

Hunter nods understandingly, wrapping the second towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom. You quickly drain the tub and wipe down the surfaces, ensuring everything is tidy before joining him in the bedroom.

When you enter the room, Hunter is slipping into a clean pair of sleep pants. He looks more refreshed, the exhaustion still evident in his eyes but less pronounced than before. You can’t help but admire the strength and resilience he carries, even in the face of adversity.

Settling into bed beside him, you pull the covers over yourselves, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you both in comfort. Hunter turns to face you, his gaze softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You smile, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. “Get some rest, love.” You whisper, leaning in to kiss his lips tenderly. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

[romerona]

Stellar Veil

In which a star falls in Westeros.

Cregan Stark x reader????

Words 1.7k

The night draped Westeros in its customary shroud, stars flickering like cold diamonds against the dark tapestry of the sky. And yet, amidst this celestial dance, a singular brilliance unfolded—a comet, resplendent in its fiery tail, streaked boldly across the heavens.

In King's Landing, where ambition and conspiracy brewed as thick as the city's smog, the Red Keep stood sentinel against the cosmic display. Nobles and commoners alike were drawn to its battlements and gardens, their faces upturned in wonder and trepidation. The comet's golden glow suffused the city, casting shadows that danced across cobblestones and whispered secrets into the night.

Far to the west, where the Iron Islands gripped the tempestuous seas, sailors paused in their dance with the waves. From the deck of every longship, weathered faces turned skyward, witnessing the comet's passage mirrored in the restless waters below. Above them, the ancient castle of Pyke seemed to hold its breath, its jagged silhouette outlined against the blaze.

Across the tumultuous waters of the Narrow Sea, the comet's brilliance reflected off the prow of Braavosi merchant ships and the galleys of the Free Cities. Sailors, traders and slaves hardened by salt and sea, paused in their endless voyages to witness this divine occurrence.

In the Reach, where the verdant fields of Highgarden stretched beneath a canopy of stars, peasants and nobles alike paused. They gazed heavenward, their hearts filled with awe and mistrust, as tales danced upon their lips.

And in the North, where the night was as black as obsidian and the stars burned with an icy intensity, the comet blazed its final path. Its light pierced the veil of mist hanging over the haunted forest and the desolate lands beyond. There, amidst the sentinel trees and the solemn silence of the far North, the comet's radiance flared brightly before vanishing beyond the horizon.

South of the Wall, in the desolate expanse known as the Gift, the comet's descent shattered the silence of the frozen wilderness with fierce force. A blinding flash of light, brighter than the pale moon above, rent the night asunder. The ground trembled violently beneath the celestial impact, sending shockwaves rippling through the thick crust of snow that covered the ancient land.

As the earth ceased its violent tremors, silence descended upon the northern wilderness like a heavy cloak. The Night's Watch, vigilant guardians of the Wall and the realms of men, stood amidst the aftermath of the comet's impact, their faces etched with awe and apprehension.

Commander Ulric Rivers, a grizzled veteran of many winters, surveyed the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His voice cut through the lingering echoes of the crash, commanding attention from the assembled rangers.

"Brothers," he intoned, his words carrying the weight of authority earned through years of service beyond the Wall. "Gather your gear. We must survey the impact site."

The rangers, seasoned men clad in black with weapons and fur-trimmed cloaks, exchanged glances of determination. Among them, Harald Snow, a knight of the Watch known for his keen eye and steady hand, stepped forward.

"Commander," Ser Harald spoke, his voice steady despite the tension that hung in the air, "We will go. We'll bring back word of what we find, true as steel."

Commander Ulric nodded in approval, his expression grim but resolute. "Go swiftly, and return with all haste. The hour is late."

With that, the rangers set forth, the horses steps crunch on the icy ground as they ventured towards the crater that marked the comet's violent descent. Behind them, the rest of the Night's Watch remained vigilant, their eyes trained upon the northern horizon where the comet's trail still lingered faintly in the night sky.

The rangers approached the crater cautiously, their breath visible in the frigid air as they navigated the transformed landscape. The snow around the impact site had melted into a steaming morass, revealing scorched earth and jagged fragments of rock still glowing faintly with residual heat. The air hummed with a strange, palpable energy, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene.

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, led the way with Harald Snow close behind. Their sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, taking in every detail with the precision of a seasoned watchman. Beside them, Alexio Stone, a stoic figure with weathered features and a keen intellect, knelt to examine a particularly large fragment of rock that jutted from the ground like a blackened tooth.

"Careful now," Harald Snow cautioned, his voice a low murmur that carried on the wind. "We don't know what this rock may hold. Keep your wits about you."

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, ever vigilant, was the first to notice the form inside the crater—a woman.

"Ser Harald, come, there's a woman..." Jaremy called out quietly, his voice carrying a note of awe and uncertainty.

Harald Snow hurried to his side, his eyes narrowing as he beheld the scene before him. Nestled amidst the charred remnants of the comet's impact lay a figure unlike any he had seen in his years ranging away from the Wall. A woman, an ethereal woman. Her skin seemed to shimmer with a faint glow, casting gentle reflections upon the jagged rocks that surrounded her.

"Gods be good," Harald muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "What in the name of the Seven Kingdoms...?"

Alexio Stone slowly made his way down and knelt beside the woman, his weathered hands hovering uncertainly above her prone form. "She... she's glowing,"

The woman lay still, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that seemed out of place amidst the chaos of the impact site. Her hair, a cascade that shimmered like moonlight, framed a face that could have graced the halls of the most illustrious castles in Westeros. Despite the harshness of her surroundings, an air of tranquility radiated from her presence, as if she were untouched by the violence that had torn through the night.

"She does not seem a threat. We'll take her back to Castle Black,” Harald decided finally, his gaze lingering upon the woman's enigmatic form. "Ser Jaremy, help me carry her."

With careful hands, the ranger lifted the unconscious woman from the heart of the crater, cradling her as gently as if she were made of glass. Her ethereal glow seemed to pulse faintly in response to the touch, but as they traveled, the ethereal glow that had surrounded her began to dim, fading like the dying embers of a once brilliant fire. Her radiant presence dwindled until she appeared as any ordinary woman, though her beauty still held a haunting quality that spoke of otherworldly origins.

Harald Snow glanced at her intermittently, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "Keep an eye on her," he instructed the rangers quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of uncertainty. "We know not what we carry."

The journey back to Castle Black was fraught with quiet tension, each step echoing with the weight of their extraordinary discovery. The woman remained unconscious, her features peaceful yet arcane as if she carried secrets woven into the very fabric of her being.

As the gates of Castle Black creaked open to admit the weary party, all eyes turned towards the mysterious woman cradled in the arms of Ser Jaremy Woodbear and his fellow rangers. The men of the Night's Watch gathered in hushed clusters, their faces etched with curiosity and apprehension as they beheld the ethereal beauty now brought within their walls. Commander Ulric Rivers stepped forward to greet them, his brow furrowed in stern inquiry. His gaze locked onto the woman.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ulric Rivers demanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the assembled ranks. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, though beneath the stern exterior, there flickered a hint of curiosity and perhaps even concern.

Harald Snow, unwavering in the face of his superior's scrutiny, stepped forward with measured resolve. "We found her at the site of the comet's impact," he explained evenly, his tone betraying none of the awe he felt at the mysterious woman's presence thought he hesitated to continue. "She… appeared to be glowing.”

The courtyard fell silent as the gravity of their discovery settled over the assembled brothers. Whispers filled the air, mingling with the chill wind that swept down from the Wall, most not believing, saying it was a wildling woman, others whispering about sorcery.

Ulric Rivers approached the woman with cautious steps, his gaze assessing her with a mixture of scepticism and a begrudging acknowledgement of the inexplicable. Her ethereal beauty was undeniable—a stark contrast to the rugged surroundings of the ancient stronghold. Her hair, a shade that shimmered iridescently in the torchlight, cascaded around her like a flowing waterfall of sapphire strands. It was a hue unlike any he had seen before.

Her attire was equally unusual—a gown of fine fabric that seemed to shift and shimmer with every movement, as if woven from threads spun by the stars themselves. Its design was intricate, with patterns that hinted at craftsmanship far beyond the skills known to the realms of Westeros.

Ulric Rivers frowned, his thoughts racing with speculation. "This is no wildling," he muttered under his breath, his voice a gruff murmur that carried a note of wonder. "Nor any woman of our lands."

Beside Ulric, Harald Snow exchanged a meaningful glance with Ser Jaremy Woodbear and Alexio Stone. They had seen many things in their years on the Wall, but none quite like this.

"Should we remove her gown?" Harald asked quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. That statement earn a hum of agreement from the men around them.

However, Ulric shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the woman. "No, leave her be for now, we'll keep her under watch until we have answers. Lord Stark will need to hear of this. Prepare quarters for her," he instructed, his tone firm despite the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of his command. "And summon the Maester. We'll need his counsel."

With practiced efficiency, ser Jaremy Woodbear carried the woman to a chamber within Castle Black, where torchlight flickered against the ancient stone walls and cast long shadows across the floor. And above them, the stars continued their eternal dance, oblivious to the upheaval their celestial sibling had wrought upon the realm of men.

Part 2?????

A/N: The story is inspired by Stardust by Neil Gaiman.

I’m still unsure who is the main LI will be but Cregan is top 3.

And while it's an Xreader I will be describing the hair colour and eyes. But just that.

[alltheirdamn]

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!Reader)

CHAPTER 1

Summary: when you discover a bounty has been put on your head, your future and freedom are on the line. Warnings: mentions of death, drugs, weapons, angst, language (future smut, don't worry) Word Count: 6.5k A/N/: this is my first time dropping any sort of writing into the world, so pls be kind & i hope you'll stick around for the rest of the fic <3

Swiping greased hands over your work smock, you looked towards the horizon to see the Twin Suns dipping below the rolling sand dunes. The work day was over, yet you felt you barely made a dent in the new land speeder your parents had bought. You were accustomed to working with older models of land speeders, preferring the engine types over the newer models. The new models were made for looks rather than efficiency, and you didn’t understand how the citizens of Mos Eisley could afford them.

Composed of a ship hangar and various piles of scrap parts, the junkyard overlooked the southern border of the city, your own home barren and abysmal due to years of decline in business. It was rare your parents got business, and if it was… it usually wasn’t the best clientele. You had your run-ins with smugglers, pirates, and crime bosses, and every time, you worried for your family’s safety. It was only you and your parents, after all— you had no one else to call home.

As you tidied your workbench, stowing away the tools, scrap metals, and loose wires, you heard an unfamiliar buzz of speed bikes approaching the junkyard. It was unusual to get clients this late, let alone any visitors. Your family was nearly invisible to the citygoers, barely knowing one or two vendors on the streets that sold food. 

In a haze of dust and dirt, the men made laps around the junkyard, their voices loud and violent as they called out for your parents. Heart thudding in your throat, you rushed to the small home tucked in the dunes, frantic to find your parents. 

You hadn’t realized your father was already at the front entrance, sniper rifle in his grasp. 

“Kono Halcard!” One of the front men yelled, his speeder coming to a halt in front of your father.

You watched from afar as your father stood tall and strong, his suntanned skin glowing in the golden hour of the falling suns. Time had aged his skin whitened his hair, but he was still a force of nature. He had lived in Tatooine his whole life, as had you, and he was no stranger to the scum that roamed the planet. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted your mother, Mana, peering behind the windows of your home. She was not so much the fighter as your father. 

But you were your father's daughter. 

Grabbing the hidden blade on your work belt, you followed the trail up to the front entrance, watching the wind kick the billows of dust into tornados of sand as the men’s bikes stopped behind their very vocal leader. 

“We want nothing to do with you, Jissard,” your father’s voice was stern. 

Jissard, which you assumed was his last name, was a hateful-looking man. He was human, at least from what you could discern, as he stood several feet taller than your father, wearing a tattered tunic and worn leather coat. Most of his face was covered by a low-brimmed hat, the same color beige as the sand surrounding you, but you could still glimpse his piercing yellow eyes. The look of them alone forced your spine straight, nerves electrifying within every inch of your body. 

The men behind him wore the same type of clothes– all worn, all dirty. It was obvious from the looks of them that they were a band of spice traders, the residual of the drugs lingering on their fingers and skin. They dismounted their speeders, flanking Jissard on either side, their hands resting carefully on their concealed blasters. You shifted your weight, your grip tightening around the handle of your blade. 

“Oh, Kono,” Jissard drawled, a thick accent falling off his tongue. “You’re a few payments behind, aren’t you?”

“I owe you nothing. I paid the Pyke’s back in full nearly three months ago.” Your father straightened his spine; the rifle still lifted at eye level towards the traders. 

“If you had, I wouldn’t be here, my friend,” Jissard grinned, revealing a row of rotting teeth. It was a menacing grin, one meant to elicit fear. 

It didn’t elicit it from your father, but it did from you.

“Ah, and I take it this is your daughter, no?” Jissard continued, glancing in your direction. 

The handle of your blade was cutting into your palm now, your pulse thudding in your ears. You stepped forward, aligning yourself with your father, exchanging a weary glance between one another. He wasn’t shocked you were beside him, but you caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes. A fading sentiment of, I’m sorry, as you gathered the unspoken secrets of your family’s business. You had an inkling that crime would one day touch your family, yet you hadn’t expected it to be already seeping into the foundations around you. How long had your father been mixed up with the Pyke’s? Had this been the reason for the junkyard's business to decline? Either way, you were seeing the truth come to light, but you wouldn’t back away from a fight. 

Not when it came to family. 

“She does not concern you,” he was firm, words gritted through clenched teeth. 

Jissard smiled again, dipping his hat towards you as a gesture of hello. 

“Kesi Jissard,” he smiled, “ I’m a friend of your father's here.”

“I wouldn’t exactly label us friends,” your father sneered. 

He cocked the rifle back, the sound of it echoing around you. He was done playing Kesi’s games, yet Kesi hadn’t had his fill. The men behind him drew their blasters, your father becoming the target for every weapon. You exposed the blade behind your back, a minor threat you knew wouldn’t do much. Kesi noticed the slight reflection of metal in the fading suns, a small smirk pointed in your direction. It made your stomach churn, seeing the way he welcomed the threat. He wasn’t afraid of you, and you had yet to understand why you were so afraid of him.

You just were. 

“I’m not here to collect bodies,” Kesi tossed his attention back to your father, “I would like to settle this as civil as possible. Unless you force my hand, Kono.”

“I don’t think you people know what civil means,” your father bit. 

Kessi stepped forward, cocking his head to the side to gesture his men forward. The look of ‘civility’ shot past his eyes, replaced by something far more menacing. His hand grazed over his own blaster, eyes flickering between you and your father. In the distance, you could hear a familiar voice shouting, this one of your mother.

“Ah, Mana,” Kesi smiled, rotting teeth exposed across dirtied skin, “So kind of you to join us. We were just discussing some matters of business.”

Your mother joined your father, her hands twisting together in an anxious manner. There was an expression of fear on her face…yet she held her breath as if she anticipated the worst.

“We have no business with you traders,” she spewed. 

It was the first time you had ever seen your mother speak in such a violent manner. She was always coolheaded, kind, and extremely closed off to strangers. She made no part of any business deals the junkyard had and kept herself in the shadows where she felt safest. But now, it was your family against him, his men, and ultimately… the Pykes.

Kesi slanted his head to the side, watching your mother and father with silent regard. The men behind him were growing agitated as they swayed from side to side, their weapons still raised towards your parents. The knife you bared down in your grip was feeling all too heavy; the concept of having to defend yourself grew more likely. You silently begged your father just to comply, to give Kesi whatever he wanted, and to move on as usual. If they were to go broke, they would still be alive. 

Maybe. 

“Listen, Kono,” Kesi sighed heavily, tightening the brim of his hat over his eyes, “I don’t like wasting my time. So, either you pay up, or we can take payment in a different form.”

His gaze shot to you, shadowed eyes tracing the outline of your body until your skin crawled from disgust. Every vile and unnameable thing washed over your mind– the countless things he could do to you. You pleaded internally to your father, hoping he would just give in and do as Kesi asked. 

But your father, like you, was stubborn to the end. 

“Fuck you,” your father spat.

Without another word, his gun was aimed at Kesi’s head, the rifle shooting forward yet somehow suspending itself in time. The sequence of events grew hazy as you watched from the ground on which you fell. You didn’t register that your father had pushed you back or that Kesi’s men struck down your mom in several shots; her body lay lifeless on the sands of Tatooine. The sound of your father's cries delayed in your mind as you watched him crumple over, a gaping shot tearing apart his chest. They were gone. Both of them. And you had been too dazed to react, the knife having been lost from your hand in the midst of the attack. 

All you could see were the remnants of your parents in the wreckage of brutality Kesi had left them in. Broken sobs erupted from your chest, screams that did not make it past your lips, and yet the world continued moving. Kesi’s men grabbed you, yanking you to your feet as you struggled to breathe. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from your parents, their eyes staring absently at the sky as it faded to darkness. Everything in your world had gone dark. 

Everything was gone. 

“I guess I’ll settle for you as my payment,” Kesi smirked. 

___________________________________________________

Eyes slamming open, the nightmare jarred you enough to catapult you upwards from your sleeping position. This had been the third night in a row you had dreamt of that night, the third night you were reminded of all you had lost. Rubbing your eyes aggressively, you felt the start of tears pooling over your knuckles as you dug into the skin of your eyelids. Sounds of airspeeders and taxis whizzed by in hushed vibrations, the windows of your hotel room shaking ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be very noticeable to anyone else, but you were acutely aware of every sound around you. You were always holding your breath as if the past lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike and kill. 

It had been four standard months since you arrived in the lower levels of Coruscant– four months since you had found an escape route from Kesi. It had taken nearly a year to arrange a meticulous plan that stripped you from his grasp, and you had pulled it off. Gathering—stealing—enough credits to buy your way off world, you took refuge in a hidden identity and made a new life in the capital. The hotel room was temporary, at least until you ran out of credits—or luck. But getting credits was easy now that you learned the ways of the underground. Rich men traveled to the lower levels looking for drugs or prostitutes, and you knew the best spots in the city to track them down. Some small talk, maybe a few drinks, and it was easy for you to card your hand into their pockets and stash away credits while they remained distracted. 

Eager to leave the darkness— and the past— you gathered yourself and threw on your heavy jacket, tossing the hood over your head. Strapped to your thigh, you kept your vibroblade, the last thing you kept from all the years under Kesi’s hold. It had been your protection against aggressive clients, yet you never had the courage to use it. They were aggressive, but there was never enough strength or freedom to fight back. Freedom was something you never knew. 

Finding your way through the streets, you ventured into one of the run-down playrooms in the center of town. Through a cloud of smoke, you found small groups of men hunched over drinks as they played sabacc fervently. Some turned to scrutinize you as you walked in, but you kept your head low, finding your way toward the bar. Nerves didn’t get to you, but a drink could help suffocate the lingering memories. Nursing your drink, you felt the warmth of someone sliding beside you, their hand tracing your arm. It was enough to tense all the muscles in your body, your free hand coasting down to graze the blade on your thigh.

“Are you the entertainment for the night?” The voice asked.

Concealing your amusement, you turned to him, pushing down the hood of your coat. The man had a devilish grin that was both unwelcoming and horrendous. You had no interest in entertaining him. Downing the rest of your drink, you shoved away from the bar, walking towards an open booth to watch the games. 

And he followed. 

“C’mon princess,” he crooned, sitting across from you, “Don’t gotta be stubborn.”

“I suggest you leave me alone before I slice open your stomach.” You spat.

He leaned back, clearly alarmed, and stood without another word. But it was as he left something else caught your eye.

A shadow, but reflective, tore your focus away from the games. Whatever it was, the shine alone was enough to stall every player, their motions slowing as they observed the stranger. Walking in the entrance was a bounty hunter clad in shiny armor, his helmet trained on you. 

Your initial reaction was to run, but as you took in his silhouette, you narrowed your gaze on the blaster at his hip. Returning your gaze back to his helmet, he cocked his head to the side and slid a hand down to rest on the handle of the blaster.

An invitation to run.

A warning if you did.

Neither sounded appealing.

You sunk further into the cushions of the booth, pulling your hood up over your head. It wasn’t lost on you that he had already scoped you out, but to your wishful thinking, you hoped he was in the playroom looking for a bounty. Why would he be looking for you? A better question: who wanted you? A chill ran up your spine as you considered all the possibilities of why he’d be after you: theft, assault, spice smuggling. Worse of them all… Kesi had placed a high price on your head. 

But you would never return to him. 

You would fight for freedom, even if it cost you everything.

The bounty hunter stalked towards you, his steps calculated and slow as if he expected you to run. Your fingers twitched against the blade on your thigh, assessing your options.

You could run, fight, or die, and none of them sounded appealing as he grew closer, but you had to make a decision. 

And option one it was. 

You shoved out of the booth, booking past the game tables and towards the back door. The hood on your coat fell down onto your shoulders as you pushed your body into a full sprint, weaving through the smoke and crowds. The back door opened into a hazy alleyway, and you took off to the left. People stared at you strangely as you belined through the throng of citygoers, shoving through the crowds with curses falling off your lips.

“Fucking move!” You huffed, your feet padding against the asphalt. 

Distance sounds of running caught your attention, and you made the mistake of looking back to see the hunter closing the gap between crowded bodies. You pushed yourself harder, your body aching but persistent from the adrenaline rush. You’d had your fair share of spice before, but nothing compared to the rush of being hunted down. Never did you think your freedom would come to this.

A wall of bodies formed before you, onlookers enraptured in a daze of street performers. Their blissful unawareness would cost you your life, and you reached for your blade at the same moment a gloved hand wound around your bicep in a vice. You swiveled to meet the hunter face to face—well, face to helmet— and slashed the blade against the armor. It did nothing to the metal, not even a single scrape. The bounty hunter huffed, amused, and caught your wrist with his free hand. Your skin pinched between his leathered fingers, and you winced as his grip tightened. 

“Let me fucking go!” You yelled, jostling against his hold.

But he was firm, and the sounds of the crowd began to flood your ears as you attempted to break away.

“…a Mandalorian…”

“Look at the beskar…”

“Have you ever… seen one?”

A Mandalorian? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This wasn’t just an average bounty hunter. This was a skilled and deadly one, and you just happened to be in his grasp. You had heard stories of them while under Kesi’s control; some spice traders talked about how ruthless and dangerous they were. They were sworn to Mandalore, and they had no moral duty to anything but. 

The Mandalorian drew your body closer, his helmet dipping close to your ear.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” His voice was warm and smooth and threatened to buckle your legs under you. “Your choice.”

Reeling back, you slammed a foot into the center of his boot, only for him to spin you around and pin you against his body. 

“Wrong choice,” he growled.

He twisted your arms back, clasping cold binders around your wrists. Shoving you forward, he guided you through the crowds of bodies, his hand tight around your elbow. You twisted your head to look back, seeing his helmet set in a firm line and his fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade. 

Fuck, this wasn’t how you expected your night to go.

The Mandalorian’s gunship sat on the city's outskirts, parked in a docking bay surrounded by other speeders and racers. A few docking employees strolled about the platforms, barely paying attention to your struggle against the beskar-clad body behind you. You had attempted several times to rip yourself from his grasp, only to be met by a hard shove forward and a few sharp words. 

(Words that flooded your bloodstream like a liquid drug.)

The ramp lowered with a hiss, and your feet stumbled up the metal flooring as the Mandalorian pushed you into the dark cargo hold of his ship. You barely had time to register your surroundings as he led you toward a carbonite chamber. Your heart sputtered erratically the closer you got, and you fought against him harder.

“Please,” you begged, dragging your feet as far as he’d let you.

“Enough,” he barked. 

Pressing you against the wall with one hand, the Mandalorian used the other to punch in a code to the freezing chamber. The metal doors opened with an expulsion of cold gas, the air sending shockwaves over your skin. As he reached for your shirt to drag you towards the chamber, you let out a series of pleas in hopes of stopping him.

“You can’t!” You cried, tears stinging your eyes as you pulled away from his grasp. “Please, I swear I’ll do anything! Just don’t put me in there. Maker, please.”

He hesitated a moment, his helmet assessing you. 

“I’ll do anything, okay?” You heaved in a breath. “I don’t know who wants me, but please!”

A beat of silence passed as he considered your confession. Tears flowed freely over your face, the shiny beskar blurring as you tried to blink them away. Everything was becoming too hazy, too much. Maker, how did you end up here?

Your body ached from the chase, your wrists burned under the friction of the binders, and the cold air from the chamber beside you was enough to fog your mind. You were teetering on the edge of passing out or dropping dead. It was becoming all too hard to breathe, and you began to gasp for air, sucking lung-fulls in to help ease the pain vibrating through your nerves.

“Just…” You panted. “…Please.”

Your body slumped against the wall, your head hitting the metal sharply, and the world around you blackened.

**

Mando had his fair share of interesting bounties, but an unconscious girl on the floor of his ship had never been one of them. Her head lulled to the side; her body crumpled against the metal ground. He had checked for a pulse, thankful there was one, and let her lay comfortably on the ground. He couldn’t just toss her into the carbonite chamber when she was unconscious. The gas would be all too powerful on weak lungs, and she would die instantly once the metal encased her. And it wasn’t a part of the bounty to bring her in dead. Nor did he particularly relish in killing women— beautiful ones at that. 

It had struck him curious that someone as beautiful as her would wind up in the hands of a bounty hunter. Her face on the holopuck had initially been a shock, and he wondered if he had received the right bounty to begin with. But Greef Karga had assured him it was correct, and the bounty price on her head was high. Too high not to pass it up.

Mando wasn't ‘soft’ by any means. He was used to the brutality and violence that surrounded his lifestyle. He welcomed the silence after a kill and the isolation of the Razor Crest between hunts. Alone. That’s all he had ever known, and nothing would make him give that up. 

But, maker, her soft breathing wasn’t helping his cause. 

He forfeited all options and made the decision to leave her sleeping on the floor. He’d set the nav to Tatooine and reassess later. Once in hyperspace, she would have nowhere to go, and when she finally woke up, then he’d put her into the chamber. That was his plan.

At least for now.

Mando sat in the cockpit alone, his hand flipping her blade in fluid motions. She was a fighter, he knew that much, and cunning. Her first instinct was to run, but she put up just as much of a fight. Usually, he’d be annoyed by a bounty that fought, but for her to fight that hard… It gave him a pause. And her pleading for help? Maker, he wondered what made her into a big enough criminal for a bounty puck. But she had to have done something to catch the eye of a hunter, let alone a hunter like him. 

He tossed her blade up in the air, catching it and flipping it back up for several minutes. Her face danced around his mind the longer he thought about her, and he gave in to climbing down into the cargo hold to check on her. 

As he climbed the ladder, he heard rustling between the cargo crates in the corner. She had tucked herself between them, making her body look smaller and more frail than before. She looked utterly helpless— like a scared child—  and something in his chest tightened. 

“Are you going to kill me?” She whispered, her eyes barely visible in the dim lighting.

His helmet moved side to side slowly as he approached her. Her arms were still bound behind her back, tightly cuffed in bindings, but her small frame fit snugly into the corner against the metal walls. Crouching down, Mando held out a hand to her.

“I’ll take the restraints off,” he offered. “But only if you promise not to cause a problem. I’m not opposed to putting you in carbonite for the rest of the flight.”

She nodded fiercely, twisting her body so that her hands were toward him. Rough hands clicked the lock open on the bindings, and Mando watched as she rubbed the skin of her wrists fervently. Still, she shrunk away from him, pulling her knees to her chest. Her slender arms wrapped around her legs, tucking them closer to her body as she shivered against the bitter cold from traveling hyperspace. 

She stared at him wide-eyed and afraid. Every bounty feared him; his beskar was a telltale sign of danger. But something about her fear didn’t sit quite right with him. 

Only a few more hours, he told himself. Then she’d be off his hands, and he’d be a few credits richer. 

“Do you know who put the bounty on me?” She asked, her voice small. She had been so fierce and loud earlier, but it was apparent she had accepted defeat.

“No,” he said truthfully. He didn’t offer much, but it was enough. 

She exhaled, eyes floating around the cargo hold and avoiding the heavy stare from behind his visor. 

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Fuck. He didn’t want to hear that. 

Mando had nothing to respond with, nothing that could console her. He turned from her crouched body and turned back towards the cockpit. The further a distance he could put between them, the better.

She was dangerous. 

**

“No.”

His statement was final, not allowing you to seek answers that you could cling to. The unknown was worse than knowing because there were endless outcomes you could face. You had wronged so many people, a trace of your selfishness scattered across the galaxy. You allowed yourself to lose control of the greed– finding comfort in taking from those undeserving. Too many people had taken what they wanted from you, leaving an emptiness inside you that was insatiable and never fulfilled; you only wanted to do the same to them in return. You could spend eternity trying to find ways to fill the void within you, but you wondered if it was ever enough.

“I’m afraid,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

 The Mandalorian remained motionless and then turned suddenly back towards the cockpit, silence filling the space between you. A sigh left your lips, and you closed your eyes, hoping to slip away from the moments that pulled you closer to an unknown fate. 

You awoke to a distant beeping from the cockpit; you were nearing the coordinates the Mandalorian had punched in hours ago. Unsure of your actions, you climbed the ladder up, peeking into the cockpit to see where he was taking you. It wasn’t until your eyes adjusted to the dimness around you that you realized what planet you were flying towards. Tatooine. 

The last place you expected to be taken to, and certainly the worst possible outcome of being captured. You knew exactly what– no, who– awaited you on Tatooine. If you had given up on pleading before, you regained the strength now, taking this as your last chance to save yourself. 

“I can’t go back to Tatooine,” you blurted out. The Mandalorian whipped his head around, glaring at you through the visor of his helmet. 

Without a response, he leaned forward in the chair, guiding the ship into a descent into the atmosphere of the desert planet. The lower it descended, the higher fear crept up inside you until it clouded all senses. He wouldn’t care what became of you; you were a pile of credits waiting to be collected. If he knew your name, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the reward and the allegiance to his creed. You may not know him well, but you knew enough about the Mandalorian creed to know everything now was hopeless. 

The endless expanse of beige sand came into view, the winds drawing it into waves amongst the dunes. The ship flew further into the terrain, coming to a halt on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. It had been only a few standard years since you had been taken from your home, vowing never to return. Now you were back, existing among the ghosts and regrets of the past. 

The gunship touched down onto the rolling sands of Mos Eisley, the ramp opening slowly, giving way to the heat from outside. It flooded through the ship, a light sweat breaking out on the nape of your neck. The Mandalorian rose to his feet, his armored body turning your way. He reached down, grabbing your wrists, easing your body down the ladder. There was no inclination of emotions from his body, the rise and fall of his breastplate the only evidence that he was indeed a living creature. 

Creature he was as he pulled you down the stairs, leading you through the cargo hold that was littered with mindless tokens he had picked up along his trails of bounties. The ramp exposed you to the brightness of the sand, your eyes quickly squinting against the landscape. You drug your feet against the metal, hoping to stall your exile from all human existence. If you were certain of anything, your fate was not too far off. 

Below the binary suns stood two dark figures, their faces hidden by brimmed hats. The hats were enough of a giveaway to know who they were… and exactly why you dreaded stepping foot on the planet. Your body halted, feet firmly set against the sand, body paralyzed. The Mandalorian slid his hand under the crook of your elbow, urging you forward in silence. He didn’t flinch when you tried to hit him, wrists falling against hard beskar. 

“Please,” you begged, tears brimming your eyes. “You can’t give me to them.”

He remained wordless, only nudging your body forward once more. You mustered up enough energy to fight his hold, spinning to face him fully. His helmet slowly rolled to the side, studying your face as tears fell onto your cheeks. Desperation kicked in, your mind reeling with any offer you could give him. 

“Please,” your voice was weak, “Kill me.”

He made no reaction to your words, so you tried again. 

“Keep me. I’ll do anything you ask. Just keep me from them. You can have me!”

The Mandalorian hesitated a moment, a beat passing before he reacted. The reaction was the exact opposite of what you had hoped; your body pulled further away from the ship… and closer to the figures standing firm within the sand. Tears dried against your cheeks as the warmth of the air burned your skin, leaving your eyes red and dry. The faces of the men came into view as they lifted their heads and exposed their dirtied faces. 

“Mando!” One exclaimed. He was the taller of the two, yellow skin nearly blending into the background behind him, purple eyes piercing you below his hat. You knew him as Jado, an employee of your former employer. “Your efficiency is commendable. She is precious cargo for our boss, and he thanks you for your work.”

The other man, whom you knew as Gaff, tossed a satchel of credits at the Mandalorian’s feet. He didn’t break his gaze from the two men, caring very little of the reward now in his possession. 

“Please,” you spoke once more. His helmet turned to you slowly, and you hoped he could see life fading from your irises. 

“Alright, come on,” Jado spit out your name, ripping you from the Mandalorian’s hold. The bounty hunter freed your wrists from his grasp, only for them to be tugged forward by Jado’s dirt-covered hands. His hands were caked in dirt, traces of spice crusted under his fingernails. The metal restraints you had worn only a few hours ago were now replaced by their own bindings, ones made from rough rope that scratched your skin enough to bleed. 

“Kesi will be very happy to see you,” Jado said sarcastically. 

Your head turned back to watch the Mandalorian– now understood as Mando– fade into the distance. The shine of his beskar glinted in the harsh sun, splintering into fractures of metal and weapons. The nerves within your body sparked in anger, anger from knowing he brought you to your ultimate fate. You knew it was his job; you were merely a bounty fit for a large reward, but you wanted to believe he was still a man under the layers of armor. A man who battled empathy far beyond the bounds of his creed. 

Jado situated your body on the speeder, hauling his own body behind yours. You were all too aware of his body pressed against your back. The heat radiating from his mouth and onto your neck began to nauseate you. Glancing over, you saw Gaff straddle his own speeder, nodding once at Jado– an urge to begin moving. Gaff followed behind Jado’s speeder, the sound of its engine muffling your ears until they grew deaf. Mos Eisley was exactly as you had left it: crawling with slimy criminals and reeking of sour booze. As your heart pounded heavier against your ribs, you watched as each cantina and spaceport drifted out of view. With each passing moment, you grew dreadfully close to Kesi’s junkyard and closer to your death.

The junkyard was littered with newer ship parts; bolts and metal plates scattered the ground. The familiar workstation that sat vacant in the corner caught your eye. It had been your workstation, at least back when your family owned the yard. Now, it was in the possession of Kesi Jissard, one of the most feared spice traders in the galaxy. The same man that forced you into the trading world, baiting you to sell and trade on the promise of freedom. But freedom never came. Not until you found a way to buy it. 

The slow rhythm of hands clapping echoed around the empty ship hanger. Your head was on a  swivel, eyes wildly searching for the origin of the sound. Emerging from the shadows, Kesi continued to clap, an evil smirk creasing his yellow-tinted skin. 

Kesi spoke your name, his thick accent cutting the silence. “I’ve missed you.”

You bit your tongue, suppressing the urge to talk back, knowing it would only lead to more suffering. Kesi had a short temper, usually satiated by bruising skin and smoking blasters. But when you didn’t respond, he stepped forward, reaching for your jaw. His grip was bruising as he wagged your head back and forth. 

“You’ve caused me a lot of damage,” he spoke slowly as if every syllable was a drop of poison on your skin. “I’m in debt for thousands of credits, and because you decided to run, I had to spend even more just to hunt you down.”

“You could have let me keep running,” you said, words muffled from his hold on your chin.

Kesi’s dark eyes widened, glistening with premeditated thoughts of harm. He squeezed your chin and pulled away with such force that it left your head falling backward. 

“You’ve missed out on a lot of work,” he mused, pacing between you and the workstation aside from you. “There will be a lot of clients happy to see your return.”

“I’d rather die,” you spat, stepping forward. Where you found the courage, you don’t know. 

“Trust me,” Kesi chuckled, “I would love to kill you. But you’re far more valuable alive than dead. You’re of more use to me when you’re breathing and working.”

Kesi turned away from you, searching through the remnants of the workstation. With his large body blocking the view of what he found, your heart lurched with uncertainty. He clicked his tongue in satisfaction, holding a black bag up to the dim light of the station lamp. Your heart plummeted into your stomach, nausea coursing up through your esophagus. Turning to you, Kesi donned a broad grin, evil basking in the stretch of his lips against his cheeks. 

“We’ve got a new product on the market now,” he began, walking towards you again. 

You stumbled as you took a step back, knowing you wouldn’t be able to go much further without someone snatching you and dragging you right back. 

Kesi continued, “Since you’re going to sell it for me, you might as well try it.”

You watched as he unraveled the string of the bag, a smaller wrapped bag falling into his hands. The spice was an unusual color compared to the rest; its pigment was closer to black than the usual beige-brown you had been used to selling. Your pulse was rising alarmingly, and you wondered if Kesi could see the fear seeping from your eyes. The fear fell in waves of quiet tears, your lips wavering but never making a noise. 

“Why don’t you sit?” he insisted, yanking you by the elbow to the workman's chair by the desk. 

All you could do was comply, regardless of the nagging that pricked your brain in sharp pinpoints. You wished you had the strength to fight him. You wished you had the words to beg for a different outcome. 

You wished the Mandalorian had listened to your pleas. 

But the Mandalorian was gone and a richer man now, too. And here you were, helpless once more and three steps back from freedom. 

The second your ass hit the seat of the chair, Kesi was wrapping a hand around your wrists, pinning you against the wooden material. With the free hand he had, Kesi dipped a finger into the powdered substance, lifting it to your lips. 

“C’mon princess,” he hissed, “Open that pretty mouth of yours.”

You made no effort to open your mouth, your jaw locked and refusing to fall slack. Kesi’s mood changed into a slow-burning anger, his fingers bruising your skin. You squirmed against the seat, looking around the workstation for anything capable of substantial harm. The desk was nearly clean, sans a few miscellaneous tokens and scrap spice containers. 

“Open. Your. Mouth.” 

Kesi’s removed his hand from your wrists, only to deliver the most jarring slap across your cheek. It sent your head reeling, leaving you little time to recover. Your mouth fell open, groaning at the severity of the hit, and the surmounting pain replaced every emotion stirring within you. He took your vulnerability as an opportunity, his spice-covered finger slipping onto your tongue. 

You hadn’t tasted spice in years. It was not something you enjoyed recreationally, nor did you enjoy selling. In a professional setting, spice was seen as a delicacy for some of the richer citizens in the lower rim. Spice was well sought out, and if you had access to the right employers, spice production would be endless. 

But as the product dissolved on your tongue, it didn’t take long for the effects to begin to form. Words from Kesi’s lips grew into jumbles, falling on deaf ears. Your vision began blurring, too, and soon enough, all of your senses were paralyzed. It was as if you were watching from the furthest part of your brain, floating away from the controls inside your body. Becoming all too aware of the heaviness of your body, you slowly felt your shoulders slump over, your body weight no longer supported in the chair. Eyes fluttering shut, you wondered if another side effect of the spice was hallucinations. 

Because you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of shiny metal walking into the junkyard.

[hugmekenobi]

S3: The Bad Batch (2)

Chapter Two: Paths Unknown

Gif by @leemarkies

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: Following a lead, the three of you make some headway in your search for Omega and come across something unexpected

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief mentions of spice/drug use, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, more of my lil additions and interpretations of headspaces, very light PDA

Word Count: 5.6K

Author's notes: Well, this morning without an episode felt very strange but here's the second chapter! Still sticking very closely to how the episode goes but hope people still enjoy! And stay tuned for Chapter 3 since I'll be posting it after this one!

Oba Diah

“Halt-”

A quick wave of your hand sent them screaming over the sides of the bridge.

“Gotta say, it’s been handy having you be able to use your Jedi powers like this now.” Wrecker commented.

“You won’t be saying that if bounty hunters start interrupting us again.” You replied back as he and Hunter fired on the next set of guards. But you had to agree that not hiding had definitely made certain things easier.

The three of you steadily advanced towards the building. Even in this planet’s gloomy light of day, one would only need to look at the three of you to tell you’d been moving non-stop.

The once bright and vibrant colours that decorated each of you had grown dull and faded.

Hunter’s scarf was long gone, and he was missing his right shoulder pauldron.

It wasn’t just his though, each of you had a story written all over your armour. All of your armour, including what little you personally had, was scratched, worn, and cracked with extreme use.

“Ready?” Hunter asked through his helmet when the three of you reached the main doors.

You unclipped your lightsaber and Wrecker prepared the smoke grenades in response.

--

The head Pyke lounged back in his chair, smoking some of the good quality spice he kept for himself as he listened to his associates break down this rotation’s numbers and so far, everything was sounding good.

As a natural silence descended for the transition into the next phase of the meeting, a sudden darkness swarmed the room and a cloud of smoke spread as the door to the meeting room crashed open.

At first all the head Pyke could hear was an ignition followed by a low thrumming and he made out the faint outline holding a hilt that sparked from it a blue blade of light being flanked by two more outlines. Then he squinted as he saw the dark figures split off. His people did what they could, but their blaster fire was useless, and he heard the thumps of bodies falling around him but before he had the chance to act for his own protection, he registered the blue stun bolt being fired in his direction and his sight went black.

--

“Who stands before me next?” Isa Durand asked her son from her throne in her court room.

Roland nodded to the door.

As the door opened, Hunter shoved the Pyke through the entryway and when he stopped at the threshold, he pushed him forward again.

You and Wrecker followed close behind and the group of you made your way onto the holoplatform that rested over a bottomless pit. You followed the helmeted example of the others and kept your hood and mask on.  

“The mercenaries we discussed.” Roland informed his mother.

“Such courage to demand an audience with me. You’d be dead if my son hadn’t convinced me to consider your offer.” Isa said frostily.

Hunter pulled the broken horn out. “And we’re here to deliver.” He threw it to Roland. “You asked for the Pyke who disgraced your family.”

“He’s all yours.” Wrecker added.

“It won’t be traced back to you. We made sure of it.” Hunter said with a cool disposition.

“Take him below.” Isa ordered her guards.

“No. No!” The Pyke struggled against his captors as he was dragged out the room, but it was no use. “This isn’t over, Durand!”

His cries were shut out as the door closed.

“Impressive.” Isa stated simply before she looked between the three people standing before her. “Your willingness to cross the Pykes and to associate yourselves with such a valuable but dangerous commodity…” She fixed her stare on you. “Well, it shows how desperate you are.”

You felt Hunter and Wrecker glance your way, but you were determined to give her no reaction.

Impressed by your steadfastness, Isa continued her questioning but directed it towards you, “Tell me, Jedi. Why is the intel you’ve requested of such value to you?”

You took half a step forward between Hunter and Wrecker, so you were slightly in front of them. You kept your voice steady and firm. “Dr. Hemlock stole someone from us. We heard your syndicate had the connections needed to find the Imperial’s base. And since we’ve upheld out end of the bargain, now it’s your turn.”

The three of you watched as Isa and Roland shared a look before she pressed a button on the arm of her chair. It was then you heard a faint electrical humming and the sound of gears clanking and were relieved to see that she was extending the platform out for Roland to make his way to you.

“Hemlock’s whereabouts have been well guarded by the Empire, but one of our sources came across these coordinates linked to his laboratory.” He held the puck out to the clone in charge.

“And they’ve been verified?” Hunter asked.

“Take what you came for and go, before my generosity runs out and I report your Jedi companion.” Isa interrupted.

That caused both you and Hunter to tense up, but Wrecker placed a gentle hand on your shoulders in appeasement.

“I hope you find who you’re looking for.” Roland said by way of farewell with a knowing look behind his eyes.

The three of you left the courtroom and headed to the Marauder.

--

“Come on, Echo, you really can’t-”

“I wish I could, (Y/N), but we’re spread pretty thin right now. This is the best I can offer you.” Echo replied back with a grimace.

You sighed in frustrated acceptance. “No, we get it. I’m sorry.” You turned away from the holographic image to stare down the hallway towards Hunter who was busy tapping various buttons on the navicomputer with his pointer fingers and alternating his gaze between that screen and the datapad. He looked so uncomfortable and out of his element that it cut you deeply to see him like that. You saw his eyes lift and stare and both Tech’s broken goggles and Lula in Omega’s room before they instantly went back to the screens, and you could sense the anxiety around him. You nudged Wrecker to signal that you needed to go.

“We’ll let Hunter know. Stay safe, Echo.” Wrecker said.

“You too.” With that, he signed off.

“He’s not gonna take this well.” Wrecker muttered to you.

“Can’t really blame him though.” You replied gloomily before the two of you walked down the corridor to where he was sitting.

Hunter swivelled his chair to face the two of you.

You came to stand behind his chair and braced your hands on his shoulders as a means of support before Wrecker spoke.

“Echo said he and Rex need two rotations before they can meet us at the coordinates.” Wrecker informed him.

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. “That’s not good enough.” He pulled away from you and got to his feet. “We’re going now.”

You and Wrecker shared a concerned look and Wrecker grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Hunter, the last time we stormed an Imperial base without backup, not all of us made it out.”

“Just take a second to think about this, Hunter. Please.” You suggested delicately.

Hunter took a calming breath, but his mind was made up. He walked past you both and slid into the pilot’s seat and got the ship ready to leave hyperspace. “Omega’s been waiting for us a long time. I’m not making her wait another day.”

--

On the surface, the scenic jungle planet should’ve been a pleasant enough place to land in, but as soon as the three of you stepped outside, your eyes watered as your nostrils were hit with a horrid stench of rot and decay.

“It smells like rancid Jotaz out here.”  Wrecker groaned.

“There’s nothing on the scanners.” Hunter said, pushing his own disgust at the smell away.

“The Empire could be jamming our sensors.” You offered as you and Wrecker followed behind him. You still weren’t used to seeing him with Tech’s datapad and you were sure he still wasn’t either.

--

All that sounded through the canopy was the rhythmic sound of the datapad and your footsteps but as you came across out outcrop, and saw what waste was ahead, your heart sank.

Hunter brought out his binoculars and his own anxiety spiked as he saw the utterly decimated lab. “Oh no.”

“That’s Hemlock’s lab?” Wrecker asked in horrified awe.

Hunter put the binoculars away. “They destroyed it. Another orbital bombardment.”

“But Omega. I- if she was here-”

“We don’t know if she was.” Hunter interrupted sharply. “The Durands’ intel could be wrong.” He almost hoped it was. “Let’s get down there and check it out.”

You watched Hunter jog away but before you followed, you slapped Wrecker’s arm. That is a thought you keep to yourself.

“I don’t want it to be true, but someone had to say it.” Wrecker protested.

You conceded the point with a dip of your head. How about just wait until we have confirmation of the situation first, okay? Dwelling on a potential outcome won’t help any of us.

Wrecker nodded in agreement and the two of you left to catch up with Hunter.

--

The sound of branches rustling and snapping caused you all to stop and draw your weapons.

“Freeze!”

The three of you were surrounded by two young boys holding spear-like weapons in your direction but something about them felt very familiar.

“Blaster bears stick, kid.” Wrecker said with a confident laugh.

Hunter relaxed his stance as it clicked with him who they were. “They’re regs.”

“And who are you?” The one on the left asked.

Hunter and Wrecker took off their helmets. “We’re clones. Same as you.” Hunter said calmly.

“You don’t look like clones. And she’s definitely not one.” The same one said suspiciously with a pointed look in your direction.

“They must be 99s.” The other clone guessed. “Defectives.”

“Defective and effective.” Wrecker said proudly.

The same clone that figured out who they were peered past them to look at you and his eyes widened as he caught the weapon you were attaching back to your belt. “And you’re… woah… you’re a Jedi.”

You lowered your mask and offered a half smile. “I used to be.”

“What are you two doing out here?” Hunter asked.

“What’s it look like? Surviving.” The one that had first spoken answered frostily. “Or trying to. No thanks to the Empire.”

Your attentions turned to the other boy as he asked, “They send you to finish us off?”

“Do we look like we’re with the Empire?” You countered. “You said it yourself, I’m a Jedi and believe me, there’s no love shared for my kind anymore. And, well, just look at these two.” You pointed to Hunter and Wrecker. “They look like Imperial troops to you?”

He considered that for a moment before inquiring, “What do you want?”

“We’re looking for a young girl. She’s a clone. We think she was sent to the lab here.” Hunter explained.

“Never saw anyone like that, but Mox might know about her.”

“He won’t talk to them.”

The three of you watched the exchange between the two cadets and then watched as Hunter approached the clone closest to him.

“Please, we have to find her. She’s… part of our squad.”

His hesitation before he found the words and the way his voice shook as he was trying to hold back his desperation had you fighting the urge to reach out to him. You noticed too that Wrecker’s downcast expression was a mirror of your own.

The young clone glanced between the three of you before he made his decision. “Stick to the trail. Follow our steps. And don’t touch the vines.”

You three put your coverings back on and trailed behind the two cadets.

--

“When the Empire transferred us off Kamino, we thought we were getting more training. Instead, they made us prisoners.” The lead cadet said as you all walked through the terrain. “Took samples of our blood.”

“Why? What was the Empire doing here?” You asked.

“Whatever they wanted.”

“At least we escaped before they destroyed the facility.” The other cadet said.

“And you survived alone out here ever since?” Hunter asked.

“We’re soldiers. Or we were supposed to be.”

The group of you walked in silence for a while before the cadet who’d noticed your weapon addressed you, “I always thought I’d end up fighting beside a Jedi one day. The name’s Deke, by the way.”

You glanced down at him with sympathetic eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Deke. I’m sure any Jedi would’ve been lucky and grateful to serve alongside you. I always was.”

“What was it like? Being a Jedi during the war?”

You huffed out a short breath. “Challenging. It wasn’t just the battles we had to deal with, and I left because of that.”

“You left?” The cadet repeated in confusion.

“Uh huh.”

“But you came back? How else did you wind up with the 99s?”

“I didn’t, I just got very fortunate to find them. I got my very own squad and I never really looked back.”

“Is that how you survived? Being with them I mean. We were around Kamino long enough to find out about the Jedi.”

“Yeah… they’re…” You took a deep breath. “They’re all gone.”

“We heard rumours in Kamino that the Jedi betrayed the Chancellor and that was why they’re not around anymore.”

Hunter stole a glance over his shoulder at you as he heard the cadet say that.

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you hear.” You replied, a slight edge to your tone.

Before he could say anything else, he heard his brother call out, “Stop.” The three of you dashed around to see one of the vines coiling behind Wrecker.

“What?” Wrecker asked as he saw the concerned looks.

“Wrecker, behind you.” Hunter warned.

Wrecker turned to see a black vine curling up the tree like it was alive and getting ready to strike.

You grabbed your lightsaber whilst the others prepared their blasters, but the two cadets retreated behind a large tree root.

The vine stabbed down towards you three, but the blaster fire was having little impact, if anything it seemed to aggravate the vine more and the cadets’ shout confirmed your observations.

“Don’t fire! It gets hostile when you shoot.”

“You mean it’s not already hostile?” Wrecker commented as more vines slithered and weaved towards you all.

Diving over one of the vines that tried to snatch you, you took the advice of the younger clones on board. You ignited your lightsaber and not a moment too soon since one of them had managed to wrap itself around Wrecker and was beginning to drag him up a tree. You called on the Force and jumped and with an easy swing of your blue blade, the vine was halved, and Wrecker fell to the floor.

Your actions seemed to do enough to get the vines to fall back and with that, the five of you sprinted away and deeper into the jungle.

--

Once you all were far enough away from the threat, you stopped to get your breath back.

“What was that stuff?” Wrecker asked through heavy pants.

“Slither vines. The Empire made it. It’s some kind of experimental weapon, until they lost control of it.”

“Probably why they ordered a Base Delta Zero on their own facility.” The other cadet added.

“We’ll be safe on the crag. The slither vines haven’t spread there.” Deke informed you all.

“Yet.” The other clone added drily before turning to look at the clone who had started it all in the first place. “And this time, don’t touch anything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wrecker said dismissively.

You patted his shoulder affectionately before the three of you followed the young clones on the upward climb.  

--

Night had fallen by the time you reached the crag and you walked into the cave to see another young cadet sitting by a lamp and tending to a dying fire.

“Mox.”

Mox looked up to see his two brothers enter with three strangers trailing behind them and immediately his guard was up. “Who are they?” He asked his fellow cadets.

“Clones and they have a Jedi with them. We found them by the overlook.”

The three of you revealed your faces.

“It’s quite a place you got here.” Wrecker commented.

“What do you want?” Mox asked warily.

“We’re looking for a young girl. She was taken by an Imperial named Hemlock.” Hunter explained to Mox. “Her name’s Omega.”

“Never saw a girl around the lab. But I know Hemlock. He was in charge until things changed. One day, the Imperials started packing up and shipped out. So we made our move and escaped.”

“We were the only ones who made it out before the orbital bombardment.” Deke added.

“Even clone troopers left us to die. Said they were following orders.”

You glanced between the three boys with a newfound sense of understanding. “We get it.” You said softly.

“We’ve lost people too.” Wrecker said quietly.

“We can take you someplace safe, but we need to find out if Omega was here or where Hemlock took her.” Hunter offered. “There has to be some intel in that base.”

You could see the internal debate happening between the three of them before Deke spoke up.

“One of the control room panels was still intact during our last scout. I tried to use it to send a signal, but there was no power.”

“Can you take us there?” You asked, your voice rising with hope, but the other cadet interrupted any potential reply.

“No way. That are is covered in slither vines. It’s toxic.”

Mox got to his feet. “Stak’s right. Going near those ruins is a suicide mission. You’re on your own.”

Deke grabbed his comm. “They need help, Mox. I’ll go with them.”

The three of you got ready to follow him out but Stak’s voice made you pause.

“You know the risks of going down there.”

It didn’t matter though, not to the three of you anyway, and you carried out following him out the crag.

--

“I can get you inside the ruins, but you won’t be able to get anything from the console without a power source.”

“We got that covered.” Wrecker informed the cadet as you all made your way through the dark jungle. “Just need to grab something from your ship.”

“This clone you’re looking for…”

“Omega.” Hunter reminded him.

“How long has she been gone for?”

“Too long.” Hunter said through a frustrated breath. “But we’re not giving up.”

“I wish the other clones felt that way about us. You may be defectives and a Jedi on the run, but at least you’re loyal.”

You caught the way Hunter reacted to that comment and you had an idea of what and who came to mind, but it wasn’t something you could help with right now.

--

You stepped inside the ship first to grab you and the kid a breathing mask and Wrecker followed close behind you to strap Gonky to his back.

“Woah! Your ship has seen some action.” Deke commented in awe as his torch scanned the ship’s hull.

“Mostly during the war… and some after.” Hunter replied dully.

“I thought, one day, I’d be flying one of these on a mission. A lot’s changed.” He said disappointedly before he turned to the sound of a droid honking.

“Well, I’ve got the gear and the power.” Wrecker announced.

“Lead the way, kid.” You said as you chucked him a mask before attaching your own.

--

The facility looked far more menacing in the dark of night, not even the shine of your blue blade provided you with much comfort. You saw the curious looks the others gave you as the stared between that and their flashlights.

“Multifunctional weapon.” You said with a shrug.

The four of you started the cautious walk towards the entrance and it was clear the cadets had not been exaggerating when talking about how the vines had spread here. You weren’t even inside yet, and you were already having to be very mindful about where you stepped.

You all walked into the base in silence, the only sounds that echoed around you were the noises of creaking metal.

“How much further to the console?” Wrecker asked nervously.

“Hard to tell.” Deke replied. “More vines have spread down here. We had to stop scavenging the site because of it.”

“What other experiments were going on in this place?” You asked.

“Nothing good. They didn’t exactly tell us what was going on.”

You all rounded another corner but stopped as you heard that now familiar warbling and slithering sound.

A scream got your attention and you all turned to see Deke being dragged down the hallway, a vine curled around his ankle.

Wrecker reached him before he got pulled too high and whilst he held onto his arms, you used your lightsaber to slice away at it and Hunter and Wrecker kicked the cut down pieces away from you all.

The moment of relief was only temporary for no sooner had the kid got back to his feet, more vines started to appear only these ones seemed to have vines that acted as legs and teeth growing out of the middle of their bodies.

Hunter managed to shoot the one that made the first attack and it collapsed to the ground which gave you all the opening you needed to run away from the rest of them and get closer to the console.

--

The path to the console was treacherous. The entire area towards it was made up of pieces of scrap metal that were floating atop of a viscous pool of black gunk.

“I didn’t think it could smell any worse, but I was wrong.” Wrecker said with a disgusted groan as the pool of black and toxic liquid bubbled beneath the platform.

“We’re in agreement on that.” Hunter said drily. Ignoring the impact this smell was having on him was a lot harder than doing it back in the jungle.

You allowed yourself a moment to squeeze his hand in comfort and were please to feel him return the gesture. If it was this bad for you, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a clone with enhanced senses.

“There’s the console. Come on.”

You jumped down after Deke and leapt between the gaps between the different metal platforms as you all made your way across.

You all reached the console and with a casual wave of your hand, the piece of metal that covered it became one with the black ooze below.

Hunter helped Wrecker get Gonky down and he hooked him up to it and the answering beep gave him the hope that they could get something out of this.

“Alright. Do your thing, little guy.” Wrecker encouraged the droid as Hunter finished off the process.

The sound of metal straining in the distance caught both yours and Hunter’s attention.

“Something’s coming.” Hunter said warily with you nodding in agreement beside him. “We need to make this quick.”

“Is it more of those things?” Wrecker asked nervously.

“No. Something else.”

“I’m familiar with the system. Give me some time. I’ll see what data I can pull up.”

Hunter handed the datapad to the kid whilst the three of you remained on guard and scanned the area ahead.

As the three of you creeped towards the edge of the platform, a much louder rumbling sounded throughout the decrepit room and suddenly a huge, thick vine burst from beneath the pool and slammed down towards you all.

Hunter and Wrecker’s blaster fire seemed to force it back down but then more vines surged to the surface and began their assault once more.

--

“You really think you can fly this thing?” Mox asked as he and Stak broke into the ship you’d arrived on.

“I was top of my class in flight training back on Kamino.” Stak said in reply before investigating the rest of the ship.

Mox meandered his way down and it was then he saw the stuffed doll in the gun turret, a sight that got him thinking more about the intentions the three of you had had and it brought the guilt back. He wasn’t sure about leaving you all behind as well as his brother, Deke. He was brought out of his thoughts by the chirp of his comm and he heard Deke’s voice come through in a panic.

“Mox! Stak! The vines! They’re everywhere!”

Blaster fire rang out in the background.

“Help! We need help! Mox! Come in, Mox!”

 Mox looked back at Stak who gave a firm nod of his head.

--

“Time’s up. Get the datapad!” You instructed as you sidestepped a swipe from one of the vines and stabbed through it.

Deke unplugged it and started the climb up the degrading metal to reach the surface.

You assisted in getting Gonky back on Wrecker’s back and then you all began the climb yourselves. A trying task already but made even more so by the massive vines that kept following you and taking the remaining supports down.

You watched in horror as the piece of metal Deke had been using was ripped away and he started to plummet towards the ground. Acting quickly, you called on the Force to hold him whilst Hunter clambered down and grabbed a hold of him to pull him back up.

With you all successfully making it to the top, you sprinted down the corridor only to find to your dismay that the way out was flooded with the toxic liquid and the vines were still advancing and your weapons were doing very little to stop it.

Hunter glanced behind him and saw a large piece of scrap metal floating your way and he signalled to the rest of you to jump to it.

Having made the jump, the issue of the vines still remained, and you weren’t sure how much longer you would be able to fend them off. It was then though; you saw the bright lights above and the Marauder came into view, and it had never looked so good.

“Keep it steady!” Mox called back to Stak as he lowered the cables down to where you all were. “Grab the cables!” He yelled over the baster fire.

Deke jumped on one first and Wrecker held on to the other one.

You could feel the platform being tugged under the pool, but you and Hunter were the only two left. The cable Wrecker was on wouldn’t support his and Gonky’s added weight as well as you and there was still Hunter who needed to grab onto Deke’s cable but amidst the chaos of the two of you dealing with the vines, you could feel him hesitating. But you knew you could make the jump to the ship itself. “Hunter, go!”

Not having much time to debate, Hunter leapt from the platform to the second cable, and he saw you land at the top of the stairs next to Mox.

The vines kept coming though and they started to strangle the wings of the Marauder and haul it down.

With Deke managing to make his way up, you grabbed your retired blaster and passed two more to Deke and Mox.

You all fired down at the horrifying creature that emerged from the depths. It was like one of the vines you’d encountered earlier that had the teeth only this abomination was huge and disgusting and could easily swallow you all and the ship.

“Shoot for the mouth!” You shouted to them, but your actions had little impact.

“We need more firepower!” Hunter called up.

Wrecker dropped a grenade into the mouth of the creature, but it only deterred it for a second.

“That’s not enough!” Hunter yelled.

“Grab the case of explosives!” Wrecker instructed you.

Doing as he said, you made your way into the ship and stumbled towards the case. You picked it up and brought it back to the stairs where Deke grabbed one grenade from it and Mox helped you push it over the edge.

Once they’d all been swallowed up by the creature, Deke activated and dropped the grenade and watched with relief as the resulting explosion forced the creature to release the Marauder and retreat to the depths.

As soon as Hunter and Wrecker were safely on board and the Marauder was out of harm’s way and put into hyperspace, they took their helmets off.

You chucked your breathing mask to the side and swiftly wrapped your arms around Hunter.

Hunter warmly returned your embrace and allowed himself that moment with you as his head rested in the crook of your neck.

You parted from Hunter but still kept your arm around his waist and looked at Deke who was still looking a little shell-shocked after the whole affair, “So, how’d you like being in a squad and fighting alongside a Jedi?”

“Umm… I think I could use some more training first.” Deke replied with a slight laugh.

“Hey, would all older clones get that treatment or…”

You and Hunter turned to the voice that belonged Stak and managed to share a look of fond amusement.

--

Hunter examined the information on the datapad but he managed to restrain himself and not read through it endlessly this time. He glanced up and looked fondly down the cockpit to see you and Wrecker enthusiastically listening to the cadet’s retelling of the events that had just transpired.

“I’ve been going over the data. Looks like Hemlock transferred his entire base of operations to another location.” Hunter revealed as he stepped inside. “His experiments too.”

You came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his upper arm. “Did the intel say where he went?”

“There was a mention of a sector but nothing more. It’s a lead, but we’ve got a lot of space to cover.”

“Well, if that’s where Omega is, then that’s where we’re going.” Wrecker said determinedly.

You affectionately squeezed Hunter’s shoulder to signal your agreement.

Hunter nodded his thanks to both of you before looking to the cadets. “We’ll drop you three of someplace safe.”

“Where?” Mox asked eagerly.

“An island. There are good people there. They’ll take care of you.”

“We’re cadets without an army. I don’t know where we fit anymore.” Mox said, the reality of their situation now hitting him harder than it had before.

“You have time to figure it out.” Hunter reassured him. “Make your own path. Be something other than a soldier.”

“What about you?”

Hunter glanced between you and Wrecker. “Our mission is not over yet.”

Wrecker laid a supportive hand on his brother’s back.

You watched with a warm heart as Mox reached his hand out and Hunter clasped it in return and in that moment, you felt it.

It was an emotion that had long been overshadowed by fear and despair but now you sensed its presence again.

You felt the hope that had been missing for some time.

--

“We’ve never had a sector before. That’s pretty good.” You whispered as the two of you lay in the quietness of the ship as it headed towards Pabu. The exertions of the past mission had claimed the others already.

“Yeah, it’s a better start than what we’ve had before.” Hunter agreed, drawing light patterns on your bare arm.

“How are you holding up?” You asked delicately as you rested your head on his chest and traced the small Jedi symbol of his necklace.

Hunter sighed heavily. “Better knowing we have something to go off of, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. There’s more I could be doing; I just know it.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, but you’d get to that last part in a minute. “You do seem a bit more like yourself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, your adoptive paternal instincts kicked in again. These cadets bring the count up to five.” You said, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“My what?” He paused his ministrations on your arm.

“You heard me.”

“If you mean finding abandoned kids and taking them somewhere safe, that’s something anyone would do. I don’t-”

“No, not anyone, if that were the case with the cadets for example, they would’ve been off that nightmare of a planet long before we showed up. It’s a very you thing to do and it’s one of the many things I love about you.” You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “You always do more than enough, Hunter. You are enough, don’t ever doubt that.”

Hunter looked at you lovingly. “I don’t know how I got through those months without you.”

“Well, if how you’ve been since I’ve been back, I’d guess by throwing yourself into the search, not taking care of your wellbeing and worrying Wrecker every day?” You theorised with a light-hearted tone. “Those are the habits we’re trying to break.”

Hunter turned his sight to the ceiling of the ship. “That sounds about right.” He admitted guiltily.

You angled his face to look back at you and your voice had no joking overtones now, it was full of sincerity. “I’m not going anywhere, remember. I’ll follow you to whatever end and so will Wrecker.”

Hunter pressed a chaste but tender kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” He breathed against your mouth.

You laid your head back down on his chest. “You know, it wouldn’t shock me if she found a way to get to us.”

Hunter kissed the crown of your head. “Yeah, that wouldn’t surprise me either.”

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @andreaaxy, @dominoeffectsworld, @nightmonkeysstuff, @arctrooper69, @starwarsnerd111, @fuckoffthanos, @graciexmarvel, @tpwkcalli, @brujaporfavor, @flyingkangaroo, @ladytano420, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf, @yyourmotherr, @sunkisseclones, @xxeiraxx, @dragonrider9905, @skellymom, @lokigirlszendaya

[collidescopeeyes]

HCs for how Pyke, Swain, and Viego would go about trying to confess their feelings to a fem!reader? For whatever reason they feel like they HAVE TOO.

Viego isn't much for planning these sorts of things; it is a historically recognised fact that with his first wife he fell in love at first sight and proposed on the spot. That being said, he's reflected that that might put you a tad on the spot, even if he's not really the king of anything anymore, so he refrains (barely) from offering to marry you on the spot. Still, the second he recognizes what he's feeling it gets caught in his chest like a shaken-up champagne bottle–he has to tell you, it'll eat him up inside until he does. Again, for better or worse this man thinks with his heart first and head second, so the moment he sees you it just comes bursting out of him. It is the most romantic, heartfelt confession you've ever heard–he tells you everything he loves about you with such absolute earnestness that it is literally impossible to doubt his sincerity, it's written all over his face how besotted he is. He'll be honest that he knows that there are many, many reasons you might not feel the same and he can't blame you for that, but if by some miracle you felt the same he swears by his own crown that he'll do everything in his power to make you happy and prove himself worthy of your love. It's not technically a marriage proposal, but it's pretty close. If you reciprocate he's literally overjoyed, like picks you up and spins you around ecstatic, grinning from ear to ear.

---

Externally, Pyke looks like he's on his way to kill someone. Internally, he is stressed out of his mind. He's not good with words–he knows this, you know this, literally everyone who's ever met him knows this. If ‘the’ is the most common vocalisation in the history of language, his was probably an ambivalent grunt. He's even worse at talking about feelings–with the exception of anger, him and feelings have a tense working relationship at best. He's not the type to get attached to people, and by the time he realizes how in deep he is he's absolutely petrified of somehow fucking it up–and lord does it take him a while to realize. He doesn't examine his feelings often, just acts on them, and you're as close as this town can get to an angel so obviously he wants to be around you all the time, duh. Also, you're gorgeous, anyone with eyes could see that, of course he'd get distracted with how your hair looked in the sun, he's not fucking blind. That weird feeling in his chest was probably just a side effect of being sorta-dead–it’s not like he has a heart that can skip a beat. Anyway, once the other shoe drops, he's entering pure suffering mode–he has to tell you, but how? He'll enlist help from the few people who tolerate him in Bilgewater (namely Illaoi, but Sarah Fortune also weasels her way in because this is the funniest fucking thing she's ever heard and who cares how she heard. He begrudgingly accepts because he's just that desperate not to fuck this up), and he walks away with a reasonable plan for how he's gonna confess that goes immediately out the window the second he sees you. Just head blank, heart in throat, what was he gonna say again? He's staring, and you ask if he's feeling okay, and he just blurts out that he loves you, he's been in love with you for months and he didn't know how to tell you so he just…is. It comes out sounding like a threat. He briefly considers swimming into the crushing abyss of the sea never to be seen again. He scrubs a hand over his face because he really does not want to see the look on your face right now and clarifies that nothing needs to change between you and he knows he's a fucking disaster of a person, he just thought you should know. He's genuinely shocked if you reciprocate, that absolutely was not how he saw this going, and his expression doesn't really change beyond his eyes widening but he's so relieved he feels like he's gonna pass out.

---

Swain is hands down the most put together. He’s a very down to earth person–he pretty quickly recognizes his feelings and comes to terms with them, and then puts together a plan. He invites you out to a nice dinner at your favorite restaurant (which, if he's sure it wouldn't bother you, he'd rent out just for you two) and picks you up with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He's a perfect gentlemen the whole time, like pulls your chair out and offers you his arm style, and he's remarkably suave when he wants to be. Then you go for a scenic walk–the Noxus Prime might not be the most photogenic place but the harbor is quite pretty at night, and he happens to have his own private dock that, of course, is empty this time of night. Under the moonlight, he very calmly and sincerely expresses how he feels about you, and he'd be deeply honored if you'd allow him to court you. He's very charming, but leaves you space to graciously decline if you don't feel the same, or for any of the other very good reasons you think a relationship might not work out with him. Either way he's prepared to accept the outcome. If you reciprocate, he'll let out a breath he hadn't quite realized he was holding and sweep you into the most romantic kiss you've ever seen outside of a hallmark movie.

[zileans-big-cl0ck]

hello ive never sent a request b4 not sure how this works pls bare with me too 😿😿 ive seen that u write for pyke and camille (my two fav characters) and i was wondering if u could write anything sfw/nsfw for one of them because theres barely any content for them, ty in advance 😸

✦–Pyke & Camille General Headcanons.✦ (SFW & NSFW)

✦I see someone’s taste never misses, Camille and Pyke as favourite characters!

✧ prompt: ✧ just feeling inspired today to actually write.

✧ champions: ✧ Camille, the Steel Shadow; Pyke, the Bloodharbor Ripper.

✧ reader: ✧ gender neutral.

✧ author’s note: ✧ I feel like Camille isn’t my champion to write tbh, I absolutely cannot caught her character; please pardon me. PYKE ON THE OTHER HAND- But, really, you don’t even know how I’ve been DYING to write something for my favourite boy Pyke. Ignore any mistakes; as much as I enjoyed writing this, I’m really tired :sob:.

masterlist

✦Camille, SFW:

Maybe she is a dominant, noble woman, but you still should valet her, treat he with the greatest respect. That amuses her.

Taking care of her well-being is your sacred order. The lady must be always pleased, cherished.

Of course she can treat herself right. She is a proud, self-respecting woman. But that doesn’t mean she does not enjoy making you submit, serve and obey.

Camille treats you, like you deseve to be treated - like an adorable pet that belongs to her.

And she rewards you generously, always making you accompany her, even if it means sharing with you and her wealthy co-workers the same secret informations of her important work. That is Camille’s way to bestow you with her trust, which is shared like a true gift, making you her little secretary and confidant.

She always keeps you near herself in case anything worrisome happened - or in case someone decided to profane her delicate belonging. Camille is a jealous and controlling woman who holds a firm border between her partner and anyone who may cross their path; she openly fears that the others, the vociferous people, may have bad influence on you. And you must stay as her property, and only hers.

Unfortunately, this entails with her sometimes treating you infantile, like you are not fully responsible. But don’t worry, it also means that she is always ready to do something for you, even if it is the hardest, most cumbersome work that requiers a professional. Because that’s who she is - a capable, deadly woman.

✦Pyke, SFW:

He always watches you from a distance. Pyke is a protective lover, but he desires to stay unseen by the others, all because of his well-known esteem as the Bloodharbor Ripper, the doom of captains. Even if you are not aware of his presence, he is alwats with you, stalking from the shadows, creeping around somewhere between the realms of the dead and mortals like a ghost, keeping an eye on you in case anything disturbed your peace. He would never stand anyone troubling you, which unfortunately can happen anytime in this perilous land. He is almost like a guardian angel, scared for your life and positive to take care of it, but cursed himself.

When he isn’t working, he likes reading. And I will not elaborate on that; Pyke has literally a Shakespeare quote in his own voicelines. He loves reading and you comming up with new book titles and recommendations for him, since he doesn’t have much time exploring this topic himself - his work consumes most of his sacred time, which he divides only between the ardous hunt for his victims and - you.

Though he appreciates your interest in his work, your questions about his day, even if their seem to serve no higher purpose than to start a conversation, he doesn’t want you to know all about his job. Not the things he has done to fulfill the meaning of his afterlife and cross all the names from the manifest. As Pyke came to conclusion, he might be unsure of your possible reaction to him being a killer, which you probably know either way, just never saw it on your eyes. At least he took care of it, to never commit such a dirty work before you. It’s not like he didn’t give you his whole trust, but you seeing his murderous persona might change your feelings towards him- that’s what he believes. And moreover, you might not want to see him how much pleasure he takes from killing.

He would never want you to risk your safety in order to try and get any information about his past, if you ever came up with idea so preposterous. Even if you were convinced that you might get into your hands a piece of knowledge that was out of reach for Pyke for years, maybe even decades. Of course he had shared with you the scraps of memories he still remembered, but there was never nothing solid, declaiming a consistent story. And he stopped caring about it long ago, entombing all the lost feelings in exchange for a new life (well, afterlife), new purpose, new emotions, even if they were ment to be irrelevant forever. Pyke befriended the truth - he, his new self, was never ment to meet with the man he was once before. Even if you were sweet enough, determined, to try and fight, he would turn you off - it didn’t matter if he couldn’t even remember it.

But he hoped it didn’t make you think that he didn’t trust you. He always answers your questions without keeping any bloody details to himself, just doesn’t tend to cover the subject by himself.

✦Camille, NSFW:

The first rule to obey: refer to Camille only as ”Ma’am”, ”My Lady” or, eventually, if she lets you, ”mommy”, so she could jovially call you her pet. A good, obedient little one, who can follow her around.

She would show you to her family, acquaintances, or co-workers with a proud, lustful look. She owns you not only so she could command you, but also to show a little off, to parade with her affable pet.

But you will always remain as her little one, the one under, the once she could crush, quite literally.

She loves the control she wields. Camille is a competent person who clearly deserves her position in the social hierarchy, same as under the cover of blankets. Or just thin walls of her office, where she also adores having you weak before herself.

She often wants you to wear revealing clothes, so the others could trace their lustful gazes, unnoticed as first, but over you. It is a perilous game - she always takes whatever she wants and her feelings are deep, sharp and adamant like blades, incandescent like fire. But you are tantalizing for her, especially when trying to get rid of woeful surrounding.

Camille would never let anyone else touch you, not even get close to you, but how she enjoys watching other people desiring you, yet not being able to ever caught your attention, as your heart belongs to Camille and only her.

Walking around her apartmnet nude, pitiful, with remorse in your eyes, is a sudden turn on for her. She knows you taunt her, tantalizing by the move of your hips, the place where she wants to dig her nails in while putting you in your place, right under her.

Her legs are obviously her deadliest weapon, but also the sweetest gift she can offer. She wants your head between them, squized and trapped in something between a full of pleasure, hot moment and a bewildering threat of her scissors-like blades.

Oh, how she enjoys crushing you under herself, sitting, rolling her hips just to make you squeak, beg and cry for more. And for a opportunity to breathe, as she toys with your fear.

Camille uses her voice to order you around, as she expects unquestionable obedience. The cybernetic, blue lights of her eyes never leave you, always scanning, petrifying, searching.

She never reaches her climax first. She can hold her pleasure back, just until your own release, just to see you succumb to her will and her orders. Only then Camille lets herself cum too, her moans being the sweetest reward you could get.

✦Pyke, NSFW:

What comes first, is that he is not needy at all. Even if Pyke desires touch, he would never willingly admit it, claiming that he is a ruthless murderer. He doesn’t need anything so prosaic.

So you are the one bestowed with the great honor to initiate sex.

And when it actually comes to it? He is absolutely melting, so quickly turned on. Though he wouldn’t admit that, again.

And what turns him on the quickest is probably you admiring him, tracing your fingers over his tattooed arms, your body near his chest, pulsing with pure life, so innocent in its vitality. Because it is something he lacks and therefore - desires with curiosity.

And though it might seem unusual for someone like him - bodyworshipping. An absolute lover for this one, especially when you praise or compliment.

He gets hot very quickly, which always makes him curse under his breath; especially whenever you test his patience. Because of his protectivness, it isn’t unusual of him to grab you with one of his hands onto his lap, always looking for an opportunity to touch you and to be touched, to have you really close. Just to have your beating heart near his quiet presence. Oh, and he is never immune to your teasing, even the slighest move of your hips, even your fingertips brushing his bare chest, is everything to make him grunt with approval.

The sensation of your soft skin, so different from the harsh world around, the fearsome depths, his disgusting prey made from men, intrigues him, alongside with the sick fascination with the contrast between you - a mortal that if he hurts, will surely suffer, and him - a shadow of the past, a revenant, whose heart doesn’t beat anymore.

But he fears you escaping him, like his victims always try. So he pins you, either to the bed below you or any other surface, making sure that you can not hide or run away. Maybe even ties you, but holding you by your wrists with his firm grip until you fully comprehends that you are trapped, usually works.

Despite Pyke’s protectivness, he is nothing close to being gentle in bed. He doesn’t even remember the word gentle anymore, therefore it is natural to treat you they way he thinks is satisfying. It's not like he is brutal, but he takes unimaginable pleasure from pinning your body, much smaller in comparison to his own, by his bare hands sculped with tattoos with force, to pull you hair and to have you whimpering into pillows.

Let him choke you. He is fascinated by the thrill of holding your life in his hands, the same hands that killed countless of men, now showing mercy to someone so dear to him, fragile and mellow. A person he could never harvest the life from, but still takes a sadistic kind of pleasure from playing with this idea. He could do anything to you, because you trusted him, but he won’t cross your boundaries - and he would never let anyone else do that.

Whenever you turn pale under him, white from fear, his gaze stalks covetously, devouring and claiming. But you can read nothing from his face, even if he takes his mask off, as he stays unmoved - but not stoic, he was never a philosopher. Rather in awe, like a conqueror having the key to his soul beneath him.

Your shaky breathing is tantalizing, when you struggle to inale, seeking mercy with your pitful eyes. Because he prefers them on himself, when gorgeous pupils trace his moves, fixed on his body, proudly towering over you.

Pyke is also well aware of the impact that his voice has on you. He is a wraith of his past self, yet he kept his deep, throaty voice that makes you shiver and obey.

Therefore he is suprisingly good at dirty talking, making the voice a great advantage.

Pyke can’t help himself and when with you - doesn’t hold back. Your presence, you squeezing around him, moaning, letting him do these things to you, doesn’t let him last for too long. Even with being the bloody killer, you are his only weakness and therefore - the ultimate form of pleasure, when he can do nothing against your charm, the muffled sounds you let out and the hot atmosphere. Often cums before you, which doesn’t mean he is done.

May be also a little egoistic becausae of the ignorance of your pleas to be more gentle. Just a little.

Also a fan of drunk sex, Pyke is a pirate after all. It’s probably in his blood.

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 18 - The Threat)

4.8k / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Peace between the Clans after the wedding is short lived.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, petnames (pretty bird, baby, etc.), one (1) daddy, two (2) spanks, unprotected PiV, oral (m receiving, reference to f receiving), a teeny bit of ass play and a wee smidge of choking. Angst - it's back, baby!

A/N: This takes place after The Wedding (but it's not necessary to read). I need to write the next few chapters together, so it might take me a beat to post Ch. 19 but I will try my best 🥰 as always, thank you for reading!

Series Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Din had never experienced the old saying “the calm before the storm” before.  He had heard of it, of course, but in his experience, there was ever only the build up to the storm or the storm itself.

In retrospect, “the calm” was exactly what the last few weeks had been.

The weeks leading up to Cassandra and Rikard Pyke’s wedding had been tense.  Security concerns increased in light of the unrest that had been rising in intensity and frequency for the months prior, complicating already intricate and complex security logistics necessitated by the union itself.  It gnaws at Din to no end that he and Paz haven’t been able to identify the culprit orchestrating all the previously thought unrelated disturbances; he’s at least glad the theory that the incidents were random has been abandoned and that even Boba agreed there had to be a common thread between all the events. 

Happily, the wedding had gone off without any major incident; the happy couple had married and celebrated joyously with both Families.  No blood had been spilt, and one could even declare that the relationship between the Fetts and Pykes has never been better.  There had been that minor scuffle at the end of the evening; Din hated worrying you unnecessarily even more than he hated lying to you, so he had told you a half truth when he said it was just a few kids who drank too much.  It was a half truth in that only half of the drunk kids in question were wedding guests - the other two had been Hutt wedding crashers.  For whatever reason, two lower level Hutt foot soldiers had decided to check out the wedding venue after most of the guests had wound down their celebrations and a few of the younger Pyke cousins had taken offense.

It had been easy enough to break up and smooth over, sending the kids to their proverbial corners - that part he hadn’t downplayed.  And since then, it’s been… quiet.

No more skirmishes.  No vandalism.  No theft.  Nothing. 

It’s as if whoever was responsible went on vacation or decided that whatever they were trying to accomplish in the first place wasn’t worth it.

At first, it had been much too suspicious to be trusted.  The Mandos remaining on high alert even when nothing out of the ordinary was being reported.  Then slowly, things started going back to normal.  Late night patrols taper off and security surveillance whittle down to a minimum.  Jimmy returns to training with Karga full-time.  Din’s schedule regulates and to make up for lost time, he takes you out to dinner nearly every night, chipping away at the long accumulated list of restaurants you want to try.  Mayfeld goes back to doing whatever Mayfeld does.

It was the calm.

Din’s humming to himself as he folds towels - checking the clock, he’s glad to see he’s about half an hour or so away from Greef coming in for the late shift, at which time he can go back upstairs to spend the rest of his Saturday night with you.  The two of you had spent a lovely morning at the same farmers’ market he had taken you to on your second date, and much of the day had been spent recreating a similar afternoon – him working while periodically popping upstairs to visit you and Al, helping you with the lasagna.  The only notable difference was that instead of letting you nap, he had made you come on his tongue twice before heading back downstairs to oversee the lazy Saturday gym crowd.

Otherwise, history was repeating itself delightfully even now with Paz coming by after his workout to check in with Din.

“Hey brother,” Paz clasps his hand on Din’s shoulder before the two men embrace, “good day?”

“Yep,” nods Din, good naturedly, “you?”

Paz’s face slips into an unserious grimace, “Was going pretty good, but just got the call to check in with the boss, so like Rhianna says: work, work, work, work, work.  You wanna come with?”

Din shakes his head, “Nah, I’m retired again, remember?  Besides, I’ve got lasagna.”

“Ooo!  Lil’ Lady made lasagna?  Save me a slice, brother!  Wait… unless ‘lasagna’ is code for some weird sex thing?  Then please don’t think of me, thanks.”

Din whips a towel at Paz’s head as the latter heads out the gym, the back of his shoulders shaking with laughter.

---

Satisfied.  That’s the word Din thinks best describes how he feels in this very moment.  His stomach is full of wine and lasagna, and he currently has his delectable dessert straddling his lap with her tongue down his throat.  When you lift yourself up to press down on Din’s mouth with your plush lips, your core grinds a little on the top of his now soft again belly and you both let out a heady groan at the sensation.  Din suspects that after the bout with Rotta Hutt, you had made it your personal mission to reinstate his softer stomach, and he happily acquiesced - eating second helpings of all your delicious cooking that seemed to constantly fill your and his apartments with mouthwatering aromas.

Brushing your tongue over Din’s, your hands go to card his soft curls through your fingers when you feel his meaty hands slide down your sides until they come to a rest on your ass, cupping your cheeks and palming them lightly while you whimper into his mouth. 

“Feel good, pretty bird?”

“Mmmhhmmmm, feels so good, Din,” you murmur as you kiss across Din’s jaw and trail your lips down his neck, tongue darting out to lick his bobbing Adam’s apple.  You feel Din’s hands tighten and squeeze hard at the feeling, and it makes you giggle - you give your butt a little wiggle and dance around in his lap as a response.

Smack.

You yelp and then immediately moan from the spank Din administers to your behind.  Din chuckles throatily and lands another hard smack to the other cheek, watching your ass ripple as he growls in your ear, “Gonna be a good girl, baby?”

You pull back so Din can see the pouty, doe-eyed expression you’re giving him, “What do you mean, daddy?”

Din’s eyes darken, “Are you gonna be a good girl, or are you gonna be a br-”

Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzz.

Din’s phone buzzes with an incoming text.  Then another.  And another.  It continues to vibrate, even as you reach over to the coffee table to grab it for him.

Brow furrowed, Din looks at the notifications on his locked screen and sees texts from Paz, Mayfeld, Woves, Bo, Iggy with more coming in every few seconds from other Mandos.  Each text containing just one line:

This is the Way.

Din’s face hardens and his body tenses, he sits up straight and you have to lace your fingers around his neck so you don’t slide off his lap.  The words themselves are innocuous, chosen to sound authoritative and purposefully vague and mysterious; but the text protocol being executed is deliberate and meaningful, one that Din himself implemented years ago.  It was a code red and a check-in system rolled into one.  It meant he had to go.

He gives you with an apologetic look but he finds you already watching him with an expression full of softness and understanding, “You have to go?”

Nodding, Din closes his eyes and pulls you tight against his chest, tucking your head into your favourite nook under his chin before murmuring, “I have to go.”  You hug him back just as tightly and tell your man you love him.  Tipping your head back, you eagerly accept one last tender kiss before Din gently pulls you off his lap.

As Din sends off his own text (This is the Way.), you grab a jacket for him and see him to the door, eyes worried, “Be careful, Din.”

“Always, pretty bird.  I love you.”  And then he’s off - hurrying down the stairs, taking two at a time.

---

Entering inconspicuously through the back entrance of an office building that acted as a Fett safe house, Din greets the Mandos that beat him here in the open lounge area.  Some are nursing drinks, others seemingly just waiting around.  Everyone looks to be on high alert.  Still not knowing what the alert was for, Din doesn’t ask – he would rather get the debrief straight from Paz, but he doesn’t see the Fett head of security in the room.  Koska gives him a little nod when she spots him and tilts her head towards the boardroom, mouthing, “They’re waiting for you.” Who exactly they are, still unknown to Din even as he pushes open the thick oak door. 

Paz is inside, as are Bo and Brian.  There are no other Mandos.  Everyone is sitting around the long conference table except for Paz and Fennec, both of whom stand flanking Boba’s seat at the head of the long table.  Many of the chairs are already filled by Fett Family seniors and principals and in front of every seat, even the empty ones, is a brown manila envelope.  Din sees that those already sitting have opened theirs, but the contents are unknown to him – either stuffed back into their envelopes or placed face down on the table.  As he walks towards Paz, Din notices that all the envelopes have names written on them; the handwriting is unfamiliar, but he recognizes the names of some other clan members that haven’t arrived yet.  It’s not until he’s nearly at the end of the room that he looks at the envelope in front of the empty seat to Boba’s right and reads his own name.

Cocking an eyebrow at Paz, he’s mildly alarmed to see Paz’s expression.  Normally so impassive and stoic while conducting official security business, Paz looks… nervous.  Din looks quizzically at his envelope, then at Paz, Boba and Fennec; Boba gives a slight nod of his head and Din doesn’t even bother sitting down, just reaches over the chair to grab his envelope, ripping it open.

Din reaches in and pulls out a thick stack of photos.  He goes through them, faster and faster, the top photo being filed to the back so he can see what the next picture is, his actions becoming more frantic and hurried with each photo.

“What the fuck is this?!” he roars.

You.  Every picture is of you.  You stepping off the subway.  You eating a sandwich outside your office.  You having brunch with your friends.  You walking the dog.  You’re wearing so many different outfits in the photos, they must have been taken over several days.  Weeks even.  Din thinks he’s going to be sick - someone has been watching you for weeks.

Since no one has answered, Din thunders again, “What the fuck is this?!” Several of the people sitting, bristle.  Paz looks defeated.  The epiphany that what Paz had been nervous for was Din’s reaction hits suddenly, “Paz, did you know what was in this envelope?!”

Boba, ever calm, but radiating an undercurrent of fury, suggests, “Paz, why don’t you catch Din up in private?  Please rejoin us when you’re ready.”

Paz gestures to a side door and Din follows, still clutching his envelope and the pictures of you.  He waits for the door to the smaller, empty room to close behind him before he goes in on Paz, “Brother, what the hell is going on??”

Paz sighs, “First, I owe you an apology.  You’re right - I knew what was in the envelope.  Actually, I didn’t know, but I had a really good idea.  It didn’t give me any pleasure to see you ambushed like that, brother.”

Din nods, waiting for more.

“A box of envelopes was left outside Peli’s doorstep this morning with a note on top that just said ‘For Boba Fett’.  We checked her cameras and asked around, but there was nothing usable – whoever left the box knew where all the cameras were, where the blind spots are, and they dropped it off at 5 a.m. when there was no one around.”  Paz sighs heavily before continuing.

“Peli called it in and after the box and its contents were cleared, Boba went through it in the late afternoon – he himself got an enveloped filled with pictures of Poe, Lisa and their kids.  Everyone who received an envelope got called in – there are at least 25.  All the envelopes so far contain pictures of loved ones: spouses, partners, family, kids.  All the photos recent.  Bo and Brian’s envelopes contained pictures of their girlfriends.  That’s how I was fairly sure yours had the Lil’ Lady in it.”

Din wordlessly hands over the pictures of you and Paz takes the stack, going through it with a pained expression on his face, “Recent?”

Din nods, “Who the hell did this?  What do they want?  Was there anything else in the box?  What is the fucking point of these photos?!”  Din thinks his brain is going to explode.

Paz shakes his head, “We don’t know.  That’s what we have to find out.”

“But it’s a threat.”

“Yeah.  It feels like a threat.”

Din presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.  His heart and head are pounding, a million thoughts racing through his mind.  Are you safe right now?  He shouldn’t have left you.  No, you’re at Mando’s – there’s nowhere safer.  Had you noticed anyone following you these last couple of weeks?  No, you would have told him.  That means whoever did this was a professional.  And they must have a team, if they were able to take pictures of so many targets over the past few weeks.  Targets.  Fuck.  You were a target.  A voice that Din hasn’t heard in months practically screams in his head: Because of you!! 

His rage and fear suddenly trampled by a new emotion: guilt. 

Beaten, Din looks up at Paz, his voice breaking, “This is why.  This is why… she shouldn’t be with me.  This is what I was always afraid of.  That being with me would put her in danger.  That I would put her in danger.  She’s being threatened because of me.”

Din hangs his head, that old insecurity over bringing you into his life, or rather his life into yours, resurfacing after all these months - ready to tear down the life that he and you had started building together.  How could he have done this to you?  You don’t deserve it.

Paz lays a firm and what he hopes is a reassuring hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “We’ll get who ever did this.  And we’ll keep her safe.  We’ll keep them all safe.”

Din nods, swallowing hard, but unable to peel his thoughts away from images of you.  You in the pictures.  You when he left you tonight.  You smiling at him.  Trusting him.  And then before he could stop it from creeping into his mind, a terrifying vision of you, limp in his arms, hurt.  He closes his eyes and wills himself to breathe, “She has to be safe.”

He follows Paz back into the main boardroom - ready to formulate a plan, to figure out the next steps, to do whatever it takes to bring down whoever was responsible for this transgression against the Family.  Din forces his face to wear the steely visage familiar to those in the room who know him as Boba Fett’s most fearsome enforcer, doing his best to ignore that nagging voice in his head that periodically interjects, “You know what you have to do.”

---

Something has happened tonight.  You can tell.  When you hear Din’s footsteps trudging up the stairs, it’s almost 11 p.m.  He had texted you earlier letting you know he was going to be late, but implored you to save taking Al back until he came home.  You didn’t know about the way his chest tightened when you wrote back to tell him you and Al had gone out and come back already.  As Din gets closer to the top floor, you think you can hear a weariness in those steps, as if he’s shouldering an additional weight.  Meeting him at the door, your heart cracks when you see the furrow of Din’s brow and the exhaustion in his eyes.  Something has happened tonight.

Wordlessly taking Din’s things from him and guiding him to the couch, you straddle Din’s lap and lightly trace his face with your fingers, as if trying to wipe away his worry.  His eyes are closed, his breathing even, but barely controlled.  On more than one occasion, Din has marveled at your talent for being able to soothe and calm him, often with a single touch.  But not tonight.  Tonight, no matter how much you may try, his muscles will not relax, his fists will not unclench, and the tension he carries in his shoulders will not dissipate.

You curl yourself against his hard chest, resting your head on his tightened shoulder and whisper, “Din?  Do you need to use me?  Work out some of this stress?”  Taking his clenched fist, you gently pry open his hand and lay it flat against your own chest, holding it close to your heart.

Din breathes out shakily and opens his eyes to see you looking up at him, wide-eyed with love and concern.   Fuck.  He loves you so much.  And he needs you.  You always know what he needs. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t get the image of the you in those pictures out of his mind – so innocent and unassuming; the idea that someone was looking that same you but with the intention of scaring or hurting you has Din wound up so tight, he’s afraid he might snap at any minute.  Regretfully, he chokes out, “Can’t, pretty bird.  Not this time.  This time… the way I’m feeling right now... I- I might hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You can see how hard Din’s struggling and you want to cry for him.  Cupping his rough, tired face in your dainty hands, you kiss him softly and nod, not wanting to add to his burden.

“I think I need to go work it out in the gym, baby.  Take it out on some bags.  Then maybe catch-up on some work.  I’m still behind on paperwork for the gym because of the other stuff that was going on before,” Din sighs.

“If you want, I can take on some of the admin, like tax forms and stuff.  You know I’m good at that,” you offer, wanting to be at least some help.

Against all odds, Din smiles.  How do you do that? “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.  Thank you.”

You relax into his chest, but when Din’s hold on your waist remains tight and his breathing stays sharp, you climb off his lap and prod him gently, “Don’t be too long, baby,” letting your hand linger on his cheek for a moment longer before going to get ready for bed.

---

When you wake in the middle of the night, it’s just past 1:30 a.m. and you’re alone in bed.  Sitting up, you listen for Din but the apartment is silent except for Al’s soft snores.  Where’s Din?  You throw on a long cardigan over your lace trimmed sleep set and grab your keys, padding downstairs.  Opening the door to Mando’s second-floor landing, you hear the thump thump thump of gloves hitting a bag.  Quietly, you walk across the walkway and down the opposing side stairs, coming upon where Din’s working a hanging punching bag.  His shoulders are up, his back muscles tense and glistening with sweat; his gloved fists flying at the bag in consistent intervals, over and over and over, with a force that sends the bag nearly swinging each time.

You don’t know how long Din’s been at this, but judging from his laboured breathing and the beads of perspiration that have rolled down his back, dampening the waistband of his sweatpants, you’re guessing it’s a while.  You can feel his exhaustion rolling off his body in waves from where you stand.  Din’s so hyper focused, you don’t think he’ll even hear you if you call his name, and for a moment, you’re not sure how you’ll get his attention without needlessly startling him; but Din solves the problem for you when you see him pause in his attack, holding the bag still with his gloves and resting this forehead against the leather, breathing tired and shallow.

“Din?” you call out delicately, you’re close enough to him now that you can see the fatigue that lines his face.  It takes you a moment to put a name to the look he gives you, but when you do, your heart nearly shatters.  It’s defeat.  Din’s looking at you, but his eyes are far away, downcast and weary.  His frame, held so tight and tense, droops and deflates as he takes in your figure walking gingerly towards him, as if all the agitation and aggression that he’s been trying to work out over the past few hours simply floats out of his body, along with all his power and determination.  Your big strong man is broken and you don’t know why.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you exhale with relief when you feel Din lean into your soft touch, eyes closing and face somewhat relaxing; he’s still here, your Din.  Silently, you take his gloved hand with your free one and lead him to the boxing ring.  Using the little stairs tucked into front right corner, you walk up to the raised platform and duck under the ropes to stand in the ring, holding your hand out to Din, beckoning him to join you.  As if in a trance, Din heeds your unspoken request; removing his gloves before meeting you in the middle of the ring, still looking at you with an expression that further breaks your heart – one of failure, resignation.  Holding his face in your hands, you bring it down to yours and press your lips to Din’s – tenderly, warily, so not to spook him.  When Din’s eyes close and you feel him melt against your mouth, you trail your lips to the other parts of him that need your attention. 

Din keeps his eyes closed and uses his remaining energy to mentally track the path of kisses that you lay across his jaw and down his throat.  You dot kisses along his collar bones and over the expanse of his wide chest; flitting out your tongue to taste the saltiness of the sweat that still clings to his hard pecs and his solid midsection.  You squeeze each arm and massage gentle circles over his muscles with your skilled fingers, working down from his flexed biceps to the raised veins of his forearms and ending at his still wrapped hands that you raise to your lips, delicately nipping at his exposed fingertips.  Din revels in your soft fairy-like touch and the heaven of your soft lips against his rough skin.

He opens his eyes only when he feels you slide his sweatpants down past his hips, eyes coming into focus to you see you on your knees before him, cardigan shrugged off to reveal barely there sleepwear that matches the sultry gaze that peers up at him.  Wordlessly, you take him in your mouth.

Hearing Din hiss above you, you work his length gently in your soft mouth, feeling him harden under the efforts of your lips and tongue.  When you feel both his hands come to a gentle resting grip in your hair, you flash a doe-eyed look at him, trying to gauge from his expression what he needs.  What you find is Din, eyes closed and mouth slack – tension and pressure finally evaporated from his body, his face burden free; you hum in pride and vow to suck, lick and tease every last remaining drop of agitation from him.  Rhythmically bobbing your head over Din’s cock, you let him hit the back of your throat repeatedly as you gently fondle his balls with your small hands until you feel them tighten and you hear Din’s heaving breaths above you.  Pulling off of his perfect dick, you see a flash of surprise in Din’s eyes as they snap open; you make sure he’s watching as you dip your hand down your sleep shorts and start to rub your clit through your already drenched panties.

When you see a dark hunger replace the look of surprise on Din’s face, you use your free hand to pull on his wrist so he’ll join you down on the mat.  Mouth latching to yours open mouthed, needy, violent, Din allows you to maneuver his strong frame easily so that he lays beneath you; you shimmy out of your shorts and panties before straddling him, hovering over his already weeping cock.  Normally both so vocal during sex, no words are exchanged between you and Din tonight.  Every question and want expressed only through looks and touch - communicating heart to heart, mind to mind.  When Din removes your top, you realize it’s the first time he’s really touching your body since you came downstairs - his touch is desperate, gripping, tortured.  You let him grab and grope your breasts, waist, stomach, arms, hips and thighs with a fervent need, as if he needs to prove, convince himself that you’re all there. 

Notching him at your entrance, you feel Din’s hand snake up the valley of your breasts and come to a rest around your neck.  Lolling your head back to give him more access, you follow the direction of his firm grip and sink down on Din’s dick; your movements guided by the pressure that Din puts on your neck, letting him pull you down until you’re fully sheathed on his throbbing cock.  Keeping pace with the flex of Din’s fingers on your throat, you bounce – ignoring the sting of pain from having taken him with no prep; no matter – your overstretch walls soon flooded with arousal as your movements quicken and your breaths sharpen, dizzy from your airway being constricted.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you ride Din with abandon – there's no dirty talk, praise or degradation tonight, the only sounds echoing off the walls of the empty gym are the urgent slapping of skin on skin and Din’s loud animalistic moans and grunts.  For Din, this is primal, physical, making sure you’re real and that he can touch you, hold you – you’re here, within his grasp.  Safe.

Keeping one hand on your neck, as if tethering you to him via your airway, your lifeline, Din is hypnotized by the sight of you on top of him – pretty tits bouncing, pert and perky.  You’re beautiful.  Perfect.  That you give yourself over to him so readily when you already give him so much fills him to the brim with emotion: you trust him with your heart, your body, your life.  He inches a finger towards the tight ring of your ass, pressing in past the initial resistance and feels your pussy flutter around his cock once he slips in.  Always so willing to take.  Because you trust him.  Love him.

Fuck, he loves you more.

Crying out as you come, you clench down hard on Din’s cock but don’t stop moving, determined to fuck yourself through it; Din follows shortly after, spilling himself to the look of euphoria on your face.

No words are exchanged as you gather your things and lead Din upstairs after turning off the lights in the gym.  And still none when you guide him into the hot shower, washing his tired body under the spray of the water steaming up the bathroom.  Din is barely awake – eyes shut as he lets you wash his hair, only partially registering the soft touch of your fingers against his scalp.  Melting into your sweet kisses to his lips, chest and back, he slips further towards dreamland.

Silent even as you dry him and dress him in a pair of clean pajamas, Din, exhausted from the physical exertion of trying to punch out his frustrations and the mental load of what he learned today, completely dissociates from everything except the warmth of your presence.

Only once he’s laid down on his side of his bed, head already sinking into his pillow and lips tingling from your goodnight kiss does Din speak, “I love you so much, pretty bird.  How will I ever live without you?”

All you can do is smile when you see your hulk of a man finally relaxed enough to drift off towards sleep.  You’re so relieved to have managed to put him to bed that you don’t notice he isn’t utilizing the hypothetical.

Not ‘How would I ever live without you?’ but will.

[freakassfemme]

(Smut) Captain's Quarters - Yara Greyjoy x CisF!Reader

Summary: Princess Y/N, sibling of Queen Daenerys, has returned with her sister for a visit to the Iron Islands. These visits used to be more commonplace, but the two have not visited the islands since before the Battle of Winterfell. Y/N has a strong attachment to the islands, but finds her attachment has extended to its reigning monarch in a new, unfamiliar way.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: loss of virginity, oral sex, fingering, praise kink (kinda), the works

A/N: Long time no see! I got so sick and tired of there being no reader insert for Yara that I arose from the dead with 4.2K words of yara-posting. Yara-yearning, if you will.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

The night was surprisingly warm for the Iron Islands, and the salty mist of the beaches hung heavy in the air and clung to the sway of your hips and undone hair. Your hands clutched your silken robe shut as you leisured through the sand, a soothing waft of lavender from your recent bubble bath hitting your nose with a gentle breeze.

You paused at the base of the shore, where the brine nipped at your toes and you tilted your head back, deeply inhaling into your chest. Your eyes slipped shut.

It wasn't often you and your sister were able to visit the islands, but gods above, you had missed it. Queen Yara had earned a special place in Daeneyrs's heart after her proven loyalty to the Dragon Queen, and thus routine visits were necessary to uphold the alliance between the Greyjoys and the remaining Targaryens. Sometimes it felt like you had grown up here, and sometimes the coldness of Pyke felt more familiar to you than anything back home, despite how long it had been since you had returned.

You would never admit it, but something about the sea and the people on this particular side of the world had consumed you during all these years of visits. Something about the people's wildness and the way it mimicked the ocean that mothered the island spoke to you and whispered to you at night and danced on your eyelids in spirals and swirls.

Some other nights, when the whispers never came, you would hold a large shell up to your ear and pray. The beloved gift had always answered you with the melodic pounding of waves against rocks, against ships, and lured you to sleep. In your dreams, you would sink into your deepest desires.

In this realm, much below the surface level of what was true and probable, you would find yourself standing beside an iron throne. This was not unusual for you -- you had been born to stand behind your brother, and then readjusted to beside your sister. Your duty had always been protecting the honor of this seat and whomever presides in it, and yet this integral piece of your mind, heart, body and soul vanished in these moments, and instead, you found yourself for once atop of the throne.

Well, atop of its monarch.

Clawing at the throne, which was not particularly jagged and sharp like the one your sister sat upon, and clawing at the crowned, whose calloused hands curled inside you and rough lips whispered filthy promises to you in a voice that sounded an awful lot like

"Yara!"

You stumbled away from the shore, whose once soothing pulls had now gone ice cold and stabbed at your feet and at hem of your robe. Your hand readjusted the collar of your robe out of instinct, as your sense slowly settled, though your burning cheeks lingered a bit too long.

Turning towards the disturbance, your eyes caught on the closest (and largest) docked ship, whose windows and deck harbored light and celebration. A group of sailors and soldiers drank merrily and called for a straggling participant, who marched towards the boat and waved them off, enjoying the attention in her own way. In this moment, you were grateful that the shadows of the cliffs behind you hid your so very clearly out of place figure.

Your attention followed Yara as she boarded the ship, and despite the distance, you could make out the way they all greeted her with a clasp on the shoulder, pat on the back, or smack on the bottom. The corners of your mouth turned up at the raw, unabashed display of admiration.

Shudders ran down your back and you ignored the way your stomach turned. For a moment, you thought about heading back to the castle. Nauseatingly, you thought about knocking on your sister's door and spilling these secrets to her and beg for direction, a command, anything.

Daenerys was the closest thing you had to a mother, and the urge to crawl into her arms and wait for guidance on this troubling issue consumed you as it always had, but you were a woman now, a delicate one, but blossomed and bled nonetheless, and you had witnessed your own sister's call to these womanly urges, and it was incredibly reminiscent of this pull you felt to the Ironborn Queen.

Your mind wandered back to your arrival this morning.

"It has been so long since I've returned," you said to Daenerys as you marveled over the aged walls of Pyke. Your hand danced across the slotted stone, digging your finger into chipped areas and rubbing your thumb against the in-between space.

Daenerys smiled knowingly, hands clasped softly in front of her. Missendei, Tyrion, and Greyworm trailed closely behind.

"How long has it been?" You murmured, mostly to yourself.

"Not since before the war, my lady," Tyrion added, and you turned to him, nodding with a solemn smile.

"It has been nearly that long since I have seen the rest of the Greyjoys, as well. Not since Theon."

Tyrion and Daenerys nod respectfully, reminiscing on Theon's death and the bravery that presumed it. A small silence ensued.

"I never understood how you have adapted so well to this cold, my lady," Missendei said, sweetly cutting the silence.

"She is a dragon," Daenerys replied, reaching out to brush a bit of her sister's hair back into place. "She provides her own warmth."

The throne room was modest in size but exuberant in its carvings, luxurious enough to suggest status but rugged enough to represent the people it ruled. You couldn't help but admire it all, it being so vastly different from the outright lushness of Mereen or even Dragonstone.

Of course, the architecture was not the only thing you were interested in. You turned your attention to the throne, and immediately stopped. Your sister continued for only a few steps more, taking her place in front of you.

"Yara," Daeneyrs greeted with a warm smile.

Yara strutted forward with an unmatched level of confidence, and you couldn't help but stare at the way her leather tunic hugged her strong shoulders. You were used to Yara not dressing like any other lady you had known, but couldn't help but always think the natural defiance in her pants and boots exuded power and self-assurance. Yara looked somehow more bold and stronger than you had ever seen her, and it was admirable in an unfamiliar, indescribable way.

"My queen," Yara bowed in her own way, a half-smirk ever-present, "It is an honor."

The two clasped arms, and Daenerys smiled before turning to you.

"I'm sure you remember my little sister, Princess Y/N."

Yara's attention followed, and you couldn't help the way you held your breath and stared up at her with widened eyes. It was like you were seeing her for the first time.

"Princess Y/N."

Yara said your name like she was trying it on, but in truth she had always used formalities in this way, especially towards you. In your aw-stricken mind, you'd like to think that her gaze softened a bit. She had never looked at you like this before.

"Your return has been long-awaited."

She outstretched her hand, and you took it with both of your hands, feeling yourself relax into it. Your eyes watered a bit, and you squeezed, unable to avoid the way you beamed up at her.

"I have missed the islands dearly."

Your sister had given in to her own desires, and she had lived to tell the tale. Perhaps you would too.

The ground seemed to push you towards the ship, and by the time your eyes unglossed and you regained clarity, you found yourself standing at the base of the footway. You of course had been on many vessels that belonged to the Iron Fleet, and you knew the people on board rather well, but you couldn't help but feel nervous now. These men were rather drunk, and you knew you probably should have an escort this late. Not even status could always safeguard a lady from the hands of depravity and sin. Stupidly, you grabbed on to the ropes of the ramp and pulled yourself aboard.

Immediately the overwhelming stench of ale and piss cause you to wrinkle your nose.

"Gods above," you whispered to yourself. Though you had been quiet, the sailors very quickly took notice of your presence.

"Princess!" one called, waving at you with his mug of ale. It sloshed over the sides and splashed, narrowly missing you. The men around him jokingly scolded him.

"Come on Ravos, you don't want to ruin her dress," a dark haired, stout man called Yohn slurred.

"Don't look like she's wearing much of a dress to me."

The men turned to you once more, and your ears burned, now with a much more uncomfortable feeling as they eyed you. One coughed and shifted on his feet.

You wrapped your robe tighter, straightening yourself up like you had been taught. You narrowed your eyes slightly, and responded directly to Ravos.

"Where can I find Yara?" You asked, hoping you exuded more authority than the piece of meat you felt like.

Reacting much more appropriately, he turned and pointing towards the North end of the ship.

"Captain's quarters," he grunted, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded, and the fifteen or so men stumbled backwards to allow for a path.

Carefully you stepped over puddles of questionable substances and shards of glass, maintaining as much grace and fierceness as you could muster. Behind you, the men resumed their activities, seemingly already over the drunken encounter. You knocked once on the Captain's door, before hurriedly slipping inside, eager to escape the sailors.

As you shut the door and turned to face her, you had to carefully force out a normal respiration rate. Yara was propped up in her chair with her boots resting on the desk, holding her own stein, though her sobriety seemed much more intact.

"Hello, princess."

Yara didn't bother hiding her surprise. She set her stein down and dropped her arms to the ends of her arm rest. A smirk creeped across her face, and she leaned her head back as she very obviously eyed you up and down, legs spreading a bit for a better view. Despite her brute persona, she did seem to try to hide the way she stuttered over the V of your robe.

You noticed anyways.

"A little far from the dressing room, are we?" She nodded at your outfit. You blushed and nodded with a smile. She smiled back and sat up. "You should know better than to walk around alone at night like that, especially here."

"I'm not alone now," you replied softly. Here in the candlelight, she was able to see you fully.

Yara took notice of the way you wrung your hands together, the way your eyes were glued to the loose laces of her tunic, the rose hue of your cheeks and ears, and your long, snow-white hair falling in loose curls around you.

Yara had known you for half a decade at this point. When she first met you, you were a scrawny, timid little girl who watched from Daeneyrs's shadow. To be fair, you were still quite shy, but you were a woman now, not nearly the little bird of a lady that you used to be. Now, in the warm lighting, she could see that these days you were more of a snow leopard than a cub, and you looked almost regal.

For a moment, Yara wondered what you would look like on the throne instead of your sister. Her hands squeezed at her chair at the idea, and she concluded that that was an image that would inspire millions.

Yara's eyes returned to your face, recomposing her commanding demeanor. She shrugged and stood, traipsing leisurely towards you.

Your eyes' followed each other, studying the other until they met. Yara had never looked at you this way, not that you could recall, and the curiosity in her face sent a thrill down your spine and fueled your ego.

"Oh, but I am as much as of a predator as any man out there, princess," Yara countered.

Peculiarly, you stepped forward, taking Yara by surprise at this newfound confidence. She watched you, and noticed something lurking behind your irises, something Yara was very familiar with and could feel exuding off of your body, but ten fold. She knew why you had come.

"And I am a dragon," You murmured, meeting her eyes without hesitation. Up close, you looked even more feral than before, with the sea spray making a wild mess of your hair, and each rock of the boat interrupting your breaths.

Yara backed up to sit on the edge of her desk, and you followed, keeping the distance small but not yet close enough. Yara waited for you to make a move with unusual patience. You raised your hand to caress the open area of her shirt with your palm, then push it aside just a few inches to trace her collarbone with your index and middle finger.

"Are you scared of dragons, Yara?"

"Anyone in their bloody right mind is scared of dragons," she replied, watching your hand as her breathing grew heavy. You giggled, reaching your hand around to cup the space between her ear and neck, letting your thumb rub her jaw.

"Are you scared of me?" You spoke quietly, like it was a secret meant to be kept safe between the two of you.

"I'm hungry for you," she growled, eyes heavy with desire. You felt your core throb in an entirely new way, letting out a small whimper at the feeling.

Finally, Yara reached out, hand splaying across your lower back, where she could finally feel that the robe was the only thing preserving your modesty, and she could've fainted at the realization.

"I've never been with a dragon before," Yara confessed, halfway a joke, yet halfway entirely all too true. You brought up her other hand to truly cup her face, bring her attention to you.

"I've never been with anyone before," You whispered, and for a second Yara could see that familiar timidness she knew of you flicker between the lust clouding your vision. "You are the only person I've ever wanted."

Yara let out a small noise at this. "Then you must be starved."

You nodded, eyes falling to her lips.

"Can I?"

"Please."

The first thing Yara noticed was how warm you are. Your lips against hers were like fire, and your soft whimpers made her want to crawl inside the flames and be burnt alive. You practically fell against her, knees going week, but she grasped you with both hands and held you up.

This alone was like nothing you had ever experienced. Your ears rung from the intensity and your nails dug into Yara's skin ever so slightly, illiciting a gasp from her that you greedily swallowed.

Yara reached back with one hand, pushing herself off to stand, keeping you slotted between her legs. She turned you both, pushing you against the desk until you were sitting atop it now. You raked your hands over her shirt, grasping at it and pulling her as close as you could. Yara put her hands between you and undid the tie to your robe, hurriedly pulling it off your shoulders. She reached under your thighs, lifting you up by them and letting the robe fall on to the floor.

As Yara angled you on to the desk, you propped your arms behind yourself, baring your legs to her. She paused, staring at your bare form and licked her lips.

"Gods below," she growled, running her hands up your body. You shivered as they danced over your thighs and ghosted over your breasts. "You're fucking stunning."

Yara pushed back between your legs. The warmth of her skin against yours and the cold leather of her pants pressing against your bare sex made you moan. Yara shoved her hand back behind your back and laid you down flat.

"Such a pretty cunt," she whispered, tracing her thumb over you. You gasped at the touch, and watched as she brought it up.

"Do you know what this is, sweet girl?" Yara watched the way the wetness glistened on her finger, and you nodded your head.

She grinned, then brought her thumb to her mouth and sucked it clean. You whimpered at the sight, nearly panting now in desperation.

She leaned down to kiss to you and forced her tongue into your mouth. You moaned at the feeling and at the taste, grabbing on to the back of her head and pushing back with your own tongue. Yara groaned into your mouth and grabbed you by the neck, deepening the kiss, if that was even possible.

Yara's scent and touch and taste consumed you, feeding into every one of your senses and bleaching them until all that was left was her.

Finally, Yara put her hand against your chest and pushed you back against the desk.

"Be a good girl and open your legs a bit more for me," she commanded, and without a single underlying thought, you obeyed, gasping at the way your stomach turned at the petname. You watched with slightly parted lips, panting, as Yara sunk to her knees, staring into your eyes so intensely that you couldn't even think about looking away.

She settled between your legs and brought her hands to rest up on your thighs, just in case. You pushed up on your elbows, trying to see what she was going to do, when she pressed a firm kiss to your sex. You groaned, cheeks going pink, and Yara reacted similarly.

She kissed again, this time open mouthed, and gently sucked on your growing bud. You could feel your cunt pulsing, and your thighs quivered around Yara's head, but she held firm.

She licked stripes around your clit, teasing you before giving it a direct swipe that had you balling your fists and curling your toes.

"Yara!" You gasped, perhaps a little too loudly, because the voices outside of the room suddenly quieted. You froze, looking down at her in panic, but she didn't share the same concern.

Instead, Yara chuckled, murmured your own name against your cunt almost tauntingly, and without any warning, eased her tongue inside of you. Your whole body stuttered, and you slammed your hand against the desk. Yara gripped your legs even tighter and repeated the motion, and you couldn't find it in you to keep quiet, not with the way Yara was working you like she was eating her last meal.

"Fuck," you groaned, back arching. You head fell back, curls falling with it, and Yara swore she had never seen anything more stunning or satisfying. Yara's own cunt throbbed impossibly hard, but she continued her merciless assault, drawing curse after curse from you, until Yara was certain the men outside knew exactly what was going on and with whom.

Yara stood and pulled your hips closer to the edge of the desk. Holding you by your hips, she rocked her hips against your core, and you gasped at the new sensation. You grabbed her shoulder, holding yourself up.

Yara cradled your face with one hand, and you buried yourself in her arm, ear pressed against her chest, whining and whimpering. She pressed kisses into your neck, nipping at it and bruising it. Slowly, Yara stopped her hips, and just as you started to get question it, she spoke.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" She teased, and you cried out, nodding desperately into her arm. Yara laughed, and then when you felt her middle and ring finger prodded at your entrance, you clenched down, gasping.

"Relax, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing right behind your ear. "I'm going to take good care of you."

You shuddered against her, but tried your best to settle down. Yara started pushing in again, and you clenched again out of instinct, this time clamping down on her fingers. She groaned into your ear.

"You're so tight," she whispered, and you pulsed around her fingers, whining. Once she was entirely inside, Yara curled her fingers, and your whole body reacted.

Your legs wrapped around her, holding her in place, and your fingers dug into her lower back while you saw stars. You bit down on her arm, at least still attempting to keep quiet, and Yara moaned loudly. When you finally loosened you grip on her arm, she pulled your face back by your hair.

"Does that feel good?" She whispered against your lips, and you panted, pressing kisses between each breath.

"Yes, y-yes," You cried out, and she pressed a knowing kiss to your temple.

"I'm going to move them," she warned, and you nodded, eyes glassed over and lips parted. She kissed your fiercely, then held eye contact as she started pumping her fingers. You groaned loudly, then started moving your hips to meet her hand. As your body adjusted to the foreign feeling, you grew confident.

The sound coming from it was obscene, and you pulled Yara down to sloppily kiss her. Yara pushed harder, and so did you. Soon, you developed a rythym, and you could feel a pressure building up in your stomach. Yara glanced down at her hand, then back up at you, eyes unbelievably filled with even more lust. You followed her gaze and practically melted at the sight.

Thick, hot cream spilled out of you and on to Yara's hand, and gods above, her hand was huge. Her palm practically framed your whole cunt, and the sight made you dizzy.

Yara flicked her thumb over your clit, and you choked, grabbing her neck to hold you up from falling backwards. Your whole spine tingled, and your vision started to blur.

"Y-Yara, I'm," you gasped, but you weren't entirely sure what was going on. "I'm, I think I'm gonna -"

"Cum, sweetheart," Yara groaned. "You're going to cum for me." She pumped her fingers harder, and you sobbed into her arms, feeling your stomach ball up tighter, tighter, tighter, and then burst.

You screamed into her shoulder as your cunt gushed over her hand, and Yara moaned your name into your ear at the feeling. Your hips stuttered, but Yara kept pumping until you were shaking uncontrollably and babbling nonsense. Then, she eased out of you.

She tilted your head up with one hand, then brought the other soiled one between the two of you. You looked up with watery eyes and red cheeks, and watched as Yara licked your cum off of a few of her fingers. Then, she prodded your lips with the remaining two, and you opened your mouth, accepting it gratefully.

You pushed her fingers farther and farther down your throat, chasing that high and letting the bittersweet flavor swirl and cloud your taste and mind. You looked up at Yara through wet lashes, and she swore she could've creamed herself.

"Fucking hell," she groaned, and pulled her fingers out of your mouth, worried you'd probably suffocate yourself on them if she let you work at them any more.

You coughed and gasped, and regained your breath just before she pressed a firm kiss against your mouth. When she pulled away, you stared at her with wide eyes and she panted down at you. You couldn't pull a single word to say off your tongue.

She kissed your temple, then the side of your head, and rested her forehead against yours. "Gods below, are you sure that was your first time?"

You nodded breathlessly, swallowing thickly.

"You fuck like a-"

"- I want to do it again."

Yara pulled back, studying your face. Her face was expressionless, and for a moment during the silence, you were worried you had angered her, or somehow shamed her skill. Then, the corners of her mouth curved into a smirk.

"You want to do it again?" She asked, tilting her head until her lips were almost slotted against yours. You nodded your head.

"Is that okay?" You asked, no shyness left to spare.

Yara laughed loudly and kissed you. She stepped away, running her hands through her hair.

"Yes, fucking absolutely," she assured. She reached down and grabbed your robe. "But not in here, I have other things to show you."

You quickly got dressed. Your body shook, so Yara helped you with it extensively, and kept you steady. You looked up at her quizzically. "Other things like what?"

She grinned wickedly before pulling you up into her arms, one arm under yours and the other under your knees.

"You'll see, princess," she assured.

In her brutish style, Yara kicked open the door to her quarter's. The soldiers remaining on deck went absolutely silent, staring at the two of you with both terrified and amused expressions.

Yara coughed loudly and you buried your face into her shoulder to hide your embarrassment.

"If you gentleman will excuse me, me and the lady are going to retire for the night."

[popawritter12]

It's that anon who sent the yandere pyke ask can the reader be male and was a person who was friends with pyke and tried to rescue him but couldn't.

Author's note: Anon 🤝 me.

Likes Yandere

✨ Pyke✨

I really wished to do Yandere things with this man, I really hope you liked it because I LOVED how I do it.

At the same time, you will see that the beginning is somewhat poetic because I plan to present half of the story to a group of writers and readers who are not Yanderes fans, I hope you don't mind <3.

(Also, I choosed this one bcs have all the information of the relationship of the Yandere and the reader, just bcs i want you to know Anon!)

Yandere! Pyke x Male! reader

Yandere character: Pyke

From the videogame/serie/anime/movie: League of Legends.

Case: Mention of kidnapping, murder.

Part: 1 of 1.

I still hear his calm breathing next to me, I still feel his eyes watching me make mistakes and how ready he was to have a sneer on his face, ready to mock me. I still remember the stories he told during countless sleepless nights.

That's how he was; relaxed, not very talkative and quite calm with his emotions, and that was the reason why we connected with each other.

He always showed a different side to me, sometimes bordering on having another personality. It was nice to know that he could have a friend so graceful that he could reveal each and every facet of himself to me.

His words were as soft as a loom in our lonely moments, and he always fluttered my loose locks because of my short stature. His hands, rough and damaged, dry and brutish, always tried to touch me gently, although more than once, in the most escapist moments, he was brutish, and only in times of his annoyance did he refuse to even offer me a hug.

The gentle jokes, the sensitive moments, the angry screams or even indistinctly cold times, we were always together, like one brother to another, with an affection that always terrified my heart.

However, now all those moments became just mine, all the seconds of overwhelming loneliness were purely mine, not to mention the stormy nights where I felt like my mind was submerged in a bathtub, full and on the verge of overflowing with salty water.

Never, in my three centuries of life, do I remember feeling this way about someone; not for my ex-partner, much less for my marked childhood friends, and maybe and just maybe now I realize why he was so clingy to you.

With pain I return to that ship today, where the damaged and barely usable boxes due to the years of age are now an indistinct characteristic of the dirty, disgusting and putrid wooden ship. With every step, my nightmares crawl beneath me, taking my heels and seeking to drag me into my madness, seeking to take me once again to that night where everything had to go wrong.

If he told me months ago what could have happened that day, perhaps he would not have believed him, or perhaps not, but that was already a story from another line, one of which, most likely, I will never be a part.

The smell of fish invades my senses again, as if the world was attracting me back to earth, the day where I had to set sail again.

The creaking wood, the doors creaking plaintively in protest of a change of materials, and the hesitant whispers of the other workers of this horrendous crew brought me back to my early days, where he, always him, would greet me with a basic greeting, nodding his head and leading a walk towards his work area, where, out of mere habit, there was always a side reserved solely and exclusively for me.

While the waves crashed against the wood, the anchor rose, and another day was announced again, beginning again my routine, and perhaps my mental hell, where the cry of my being so precious, blaspheming that I would never let go, and that we would both get out alive if we did things right.

I still get chills remembering that night, and I barely managed to notice the inevitable passing of the day, and the constant calls for attention I received from the fat idiot who called himself captain.

I clicked my tongue at his complaints, humming a vague response that, in the end, I never followed through with. During the course of the day, I can notice the words of comfort from my companions, as they regretted knowing that someone like him had left in such a violent way and his body without being able to receive such a well-deserved rest as the burial would be.

It was still a vivid memory of the scream that that bastard gave me to let him go, threats to cut off my arm if I didn't let go and let him die, and, consciously, he bent my arm to weaken my grip and thus let him go.

I still feel that beating of my heart accelerate when my soul complains loudly, blaming my body for its weakness. And, perhaps, it was true, and if he traveled to the past one more time, I would save him without hesitation. But there would never be a third chance.

It was midnight when I calmly breathed the attenuating air in the midst of the favored wind that hit my skin, and I daydreamed that his footsteps could be heard again behind me, that he cradled his arms against the railing and rested his head lightly on his shoulder, as if I wanted to support it against mine.

I turned a deaf ear to the shouting of voices of all that persons, knowing that the profit shared was always a topic of debate, and I thought for a moment about going, but my mind simply downplayed its importance, since money was the last thing I wanted to be able to have right now.

But, even with all the laziness in the world, I just sighed, before backing away from the ship's railing, looking to get back under cover.

The smell of fresh meat was routinely annoying, and the lights off seemed a new trend due to its lack, however, I turned on the flashlight, seeking to bring calm back to the place.

But all I noticed was a painful moan, a gasp laced with blood and saliva in someone's throat. Lowering the lamp slightly, the fresh blood did not come from a fish.

With one last moan of pain, in the background the corpse was heard landing, causing a crude dull sound in the air.

Just by seeing that terrifying event with the lack of light, I knew that attack, but I couldn't help but feel weak before the amount of darkness. In the throat and in the chest, or with the heart pierced; All the corpses looked like a grotesque scene, and the putrid smell of blood took the main focus, while the sound seemed muffled at this point in the story.

And I heard that voice, that voice that had been bothering me so much for a long time.

—I'm sorry…

Soft as a gust of wind, but clinging to a lack of oxygen, the large corpse falls to the ground, the thud re-entering my senses, returning my mind to what seemed to be, my direct path to my own massacre.

Lifting the lamp a little higher, the tall shadow makes its appearance, finally showing that creature. That creature was that man, and almost immediately, my source of illumination escaped from my hands, falling to the ground immediately.

—Pyke? —I asked, my voice waterier than usual.

He took a step towards me, and the now almost non-existent lighting of the lamp illuminates the red bandana with white details in the center, and his eyes narrowed when he saw me. His look was different from the last time I saw him, and I could inevitably feel how that knot in my heart slowly moved to my throat, prohibiting me from being able to speak.

But he didn't mention anything, he just walked away quickly, but I couldn't hear his footsteps.

He couldn't even say goodbye to me with a hug, which caused me to know, realistically, that he had only hallucinated, and that in reality, it was just a murderer, a mercenary who needed to kill the entire crew. And in the distance I heard his hurried footsteps, which finally made me realize my own reality.

Upon hearing a man's scream, I noticed that his accelerated footsteps were approaching, so I could only get away from there.

Maybe that illusion was a lie, or maybe he really came back, but that story already belonged to an ending that not even I could wait for.

My feet were right on the edge of the boat, and with tears in my eyes, I just knew that he had hallucinated. He wasn't coming back, and now his existence would become a blurry memory in my crazy mind.

The shot crossed a path close to my head, so I had no choice but to tilt my body to fall into the void, to the place that had taken my best friend, and now, he claimed my soul as his property. .

My body suddenly collided with the water, and I was clinging to the unmovable boat for a few seconds, and only when the shots stopped, I had the will to swim out, even with the cold in my body, I knew that there was no other way out.

In my mind was the vivid image of him, of the mask on a face that I thought belonged to him, but that, deep down, I knew was just a hallucination.

I painfully continued against the waves of the sea, and the soft wind was now a chilling reminder that only a cold awaited me outside the water.

And unexpectedly, I could feel something roughly grab my foot, dragging my body under the water. Abruptly my mouth swallowed a few drops of the salty liquid, and my body was finally dragged beneath the dawn of the moon.

The sea was that monster that absorbed the souls of sailors, it was a fearful creature that, when you least expect it, drags your body to that end. And that end was me, I was that monster who had found that agony in this tedious and spiteful night.

-

But it wasn't, and an inhumanly large arm dragged me back to the surface, throwing my body onto the ship.

—Why the hell did you do that? —He asked, most in an angry way.

I touched the water, trying not to lose what little oxygen I had. My breath returned a few seconds later, and my hands landed against the old wood, now damp from the droplets escaping my body.

He was next to me, I can see that a long paper was in his hands, crossing out something that he preferred not to know what it was.

Upon returning to the ground, I raised my body, managing to notice how tall this guy was.

When I found myself I said right with this man, there was only one question in my mind.

—Who are you?

His brow furrowed, just as the weapon in his hands was once again placed in one of his palms. A heavy sigh leaves him.

—Is that the first thing that occurs to you to say? Really?

I gasped sharply, tears returning to my eyes. His voice was the same, it was soft, but it was stricter now. And happiness returned to my soul as if I had returned to a few days ago.

—Pyke... —Almost immediately, I jumped into his arms,—.., it's really you.

He remained stoic, and in my mind, I thought it was because of everything he had been through.

—You're different... but you're still you —I sobbed like a child, and sought refuge in that hug.

His hand wet with his blood refuses to caress my loose locks, so he limits himself to patting my back, with a white T-shirt already covered in stains from previous jobs.

—Ah, holy cow... I thought I lost you —I sighed, my tears wouldn't stop coming—, I'm so happy right now... I just..

I barely managed to separate myself from him, I just wiped away my tears. Although I tried to speak, the memory of the dead people finally brings me back to the events that happened recently.

—Pyke —I called him —, with did you kill them...?

He didn't look confused, and on the contrary, he just responded as if it were as natural as breathing.

—They are on the list.

—What list? —You asked, confused.

Then, I remember the list he was holding a while ago, which I assumed he had saved. With all of my thoughts aligned, and I could only backed away.

—What's going on? —He asked.

—Do you…

But he didn't let me finish because I crashed into a big box full of fish, and he only had to get close to me to corner me.

—Don't say stupid things—He stabbed his weapon against the fish box.

It was as if he wanted to generate something in me, but I couldn't figure out what exactly.

—You will never be on the list.

The closeness between the two was terrifyingly dark for me, but I didn't say anything, I didn't want to keep him away from me, out of the desire to never lose him, but never again.

—But... And the others? —I asked, eager for an answer.

—They? —He responded, confused, —, why are you interested now?

His hand was clinging to the weapon, while with the other he gently played with my loose locks, since that hand had no more blood stains.

—Without them I won't be able to work —I explain, trying to sound kind—besides, I don't understand what the whole problem is going to be like when I get back into murky waters, you know? There is the captain's family who is going to want the ship, some who want to buy it or who will claim me when they see how most of them are murdered and...

—You don't need them —He clarified, his tone now sounding rougher —, you don't need them anymore.

—Come on Pyke, you have to understand that I have to keep paying for things, I have to keep working, or eating, or drinking, or other things... don't you think they can accept me saying that a creature attacked us if the ship is not damaged... ?

I had to stop talking, because he just covered my mouth with the palm of his hand; It was customary for him to do things as uncomfortable as this.

—Stop worrying about those things.

And then he let go of my mouth, while I could feel some heat on my face.

—Even after death you're still the same —I joked, gently taking his hand —, don't take it so personally.

I can feel the nervousness eating away at my mind, trying to stay calm, I just gasp, and he didn't react.

A couple of seconds passed until he just moved his hand, wiping away the remnants of tears on my cheeks.

—Well, I guess we can go back now —I tried to get out of his corner, however, something stopped me—, what's wrong?

—No.

A serious but irritated whisper is heard from his mouth.

—No what..? —I ask, confused.

—You're not leaving. —He grabs my shoulder, pushing me against the large wooden box.

—Pyke, why are you acting so strange...?

—You won't leave again, I won't let the same thing happen to you that happened to me —He assured, imperturbably —, I won't allow any of that.

—But, they're already dead—I try to answer, but the grip on my shoulder becomes painful, rough, starting to hurt me. —. Pyke, you're hurting me.

—No, I won't let anything bad happen to you.

And before I could find a space in his words to respond, he abruptly approached me, almost smashing his lips against mine in a abrupt, brutal and excessively painful way for me.

I whined, I tried to struggle, I even tried to escape from his grasp, but he always found a way to grab me. Before I could do anything, he had already left irreversible marks on my skin, and his teeth so profusely marked on my neck and shoulders were only a mere memory of the night in which, my best friend, and whom I considered my platonic love, came back to life, seeking that affection and ensuring that, inevitably, the ship of which I was part of its crew never to be seen again by any human being