#reader x vane

[luvlyycy]

you're moving slow. he doesn't get it.

"why are you going sloow?" he huffs out, hands being placed on your hips as you attempt to swat them away, the thick tip of his cock the only thing that you managed to fit.

"i'm going slow because you're so fucking big, vane— biggest dick i've ever fuckin' seen."

you see his eyes widen with excitement and a grin spread on his lips, "thank you!" he laughs out, squeezing your hips.

"although," his smile fades for a moment, seemingly thinking, "i don't think this is gonna make me cum. so can i take over? please, please, pleaseeee." you sigh loudly, looking up at the ceiling, silently praying you survive this night.

"yes. but be gent— fwuh!" spit is pushed out your mouth and one of your eyes twitch shut as he shoves his cock inside you— he plants his feet on the bed, adjusting the position so he can comfortably fuck up into you.

"there we go! so tiighhht—" he laughs out, skin flushing a bright pink, his pecs are pressed against each other as he holds you in place.

you can't even speak anymore, just loud babbles, drool dribbling down your swollen lips and down your chin, cutely plopping against vane's abdomen.

he uses one of his hands to grab your wrists, placing them in front of you— "feels so good." he moans out, thrusts a little sloppy, "can i cum inside? i wanna fill you up— so bad, so bad, wanna fucking cum inside."

[vane-writes-things]

— taste // wolfstar x oc

00 — august ❝but i can see us lost in the memory august slipped away into a moment in time cause it was never mine and i can see us twisting the bedsheets august slipped away like a bottle of wine cause you were never mine❞

pairing: remus lupin x oc (eventual wolfstar x oc)

synopsis: falling in love isn't supposed to be so easy, so hard and fast, especially when remus knows it can't last forever.

warnings: oc, some character descriptions, oc name mentioned, NOT x reader, french (some of this may be poorly translated ngl because I haven't spoken consistent french in awhile)

word count: 1.9k

marauders masterlist main masterlist

Summer 1976. 

Remus had been looking forward to this summer for months. An entire summer spent in Paris. While most would assume that freedom and adventure were more to James and Sirius’ tastes, Remus couldn’t wait to get a taste of it. He’d miss his friends, sure, without the week-long visits to Potter Manor, but they would all survive one summer, and they’d have plenty of stories to tell when they returned to Hogwarts in the fall. 

Despite often being credited as the ‘smart’ one of the Marauders, he wasn’t too proud to admit that he could barely understand a lick of the French spoken all around him. That was definitely Sirius’ department. 

He didn’t mind, though. He was too busy taking in the wonderful sights and smells and sounds of the beautiful, old downtown area he’d been spending most of his time in. 

He’d been admiring a record shop perched on one of the cobblestone corners for the last couple of days now, and finally, he’d decided today was the day to actually check it out. 

The inside of the store was dim but warm, and somehow stuffed full of shelves while still feeling spacious at the same time. It was the kind of place that the owner clearly treated more like a home than a store, the way it emitted such comforting energy. 

Apparently, though, the owner was just as possessive of the shop as he would be of his own home too. 

Remus had been looking through a shelf of records while playing absentmindedly with his wand before he realised that fiddling with it out in the open like this was probably not the best idea. But when he tucked it back into his sleeve, the shopkeeper sat up stiff behind the desk, shooting quickly to his feet and rounding one of the shelves to plant himself in front of the young wizard before he could move. 

“C’est quoi ça??” He snapped, eyes sharp and angry. “Montre, gamin! Pensez-vous que je me suis aveugle?!”

Remus blinked, wide eyed, not a single syllable of the quickly-spoken french registering in his ears. “I- sorry- what…?”

“Oh, vous êtes simple, c'est ça?? Montrer! A ce moment, lorsque j'appelle les autorités!”

While this was happening, what Remus had failed to notice was a pair of inquisitive eyes fixed on him, a tiny smile playing over soft lips as a stranger watched him from between shelves. 

She slipped out into the open now as Remus continued to stammer in protest, her movements silky smooth as she stepped up right next to him to face the shopkeeper with narrowed eyes and a defiant curve to her mouth. 

“Qu'est-ce qui se passe ici?” She frowned. 

Remus blinked at her. Had she been there the whole time?

“Ah, gamin ici pense qu’il peut me voler!”

She rolled her eyes. “Vous êtes paranoïaque, Pierre. Il n’a volé pas au qu'une chose.”

The man’s face seemed to turn red and puffy with anger. “Paranoïaque? Paranoïaque?! Et je prends vos compte maintenant, eh?? Tu es un problème, Chaereah Bane! C’est tous!”

“Et vous?” She retorted with a raised brow. “Un vieillard, aussi timbré que vos femme a lui abandonné.” 

Remus nearly stumbled when she linked her arm with his, dragging him towards the door. 

“Au revoir et bon débarras, monsieur!”

The shopkeeper yelled after them as they continued out onto the street, but the unfamiliar words fell quickly silent when the door shut behind them. 

The strange girl snickered as she continued leading Remus along, though she slipped her arm from his after a moment to produce a record as if from thin air. “Guess that’s what you get for calling some poor tourist a thief,” she chuckled. 

Her voice didn’t carry the thick french accent he’d expected. Rather something fainter, but for the most part her voice sounded more like his. But that also wasn’t the main thing on his mind right now, considering he had just watched her pull a record from thin air. 

“You… you’re a witch??”

She grinned. “Don’t sound so worried. It’s not like you were doing a good job of hiding your wand in there. Trust me, nobody notices anything strange in a place full of tourist traps.”

“I see…”

“Come on. I know a good place for hot chocolate.”

Her name was Chaereah Bane. Charlie. 

On the surface, she was perfect; with her long dark lashes, her tinted and glossed lips, her skirts that were just a little too short to be unintentional. Her only imperfection was the slice of bluish-grey in her otherwise-hazel eyes, like a piece of shattered stained glass, but even that could hardly be counted as a flaw; it was beautiful. 

But beyond that, she was chaos in its purest form. She excelled at wandless magic, which meant she could consistently break the rules of underaged magic outside of school without being caught. She really did know all the best places for hot chocolate, she changed the colour of flowers in stalls, shady vendors would mysteriously trip over seemingly nothing when she was near, and despite sounding incredibly insulting at times, her French was the most elegant thing Remus had ever heard in his life. 

It started with the exchanging of addresses for owls. 

She lived in a large apartment with her mother and uncle, who seemed absolutely wonderful from the way she talked about them, and when she showed up where he and his father were staying to pick him up, she proved the impossible true; charming the socks off Lyall Lupin. 

They met in coffee shops and parks and bookstores, talking about everything from their studies to the most questionable school rules they’d broken and gotten away with it. They recommended books and music and she made him laugh in a way he hadn’t thought possible from someone he’d known such a short time. They were the perfect pair. 

And before either of them could catch the ground slipping out from under their feet, playful glances were turning into long looks while the other’s gaze was elsewhere. Knuckles bumping together as they walked down the street turned to fingers laced together and her form tucked perfectly under his arm, hers looped around his middle. Friendly meetings became kisses exchanged in coffee shop booths and on park benches. 

Falling in love with her was so blissfully easy. How could it not be, when she was the way that she was? 

And then came that dreaded night. The first full moon of the summer. 

Remus was irritable all day long, every inch of his skin itching and aching with the approaching change. He’d decided the best thing he could do was go to the remotest area of the woods outside the city and isolate himself. It was right around then that he really felt how much he missed his friends. 

He couldn’t tell Charlie. Part of him wanted to, really, but the mere idea of the words leaving his mouth made him feel nauseous.

What if she hates me? He didn’t think he could bear it if she hated him. And how could she not?

On the phone with her earlier in the day, he knew she could tell something was wrong. Her voice was softer, her questions more calming than prying. But she could also tell he didn’t want to talk about it, and she let the matter go. 

What he didn’t know as the taxi lights disappeared down the country road behind him, and he wandered into the darkness of the woods, was that Charlie had never really let the matter go. 

She hadn’t stopped thinking about it all day. She hadn’t stopped worrying. 

And as the chill of the falling night wrapped around them both – Remus alone in the woods, Charlie worrying her lip between her teeth on her balcony – they both looked up at the same moon with a dreading kind of feeling. 

When the sun rose the next morning, Remus’ first thought was that something was wrong. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, which wasn’t really unusual, but as he slowly regained consciousness in the space beneath the clawing roots of a large tree, he thought it was especially strange that he was under a patchwork blanket. 

Blinking, he sat quickly upright, pulling the blanket around him to cover himself. What in the world…?

Then a strange noise met his ears. It was faint, but not necessarily distant. Was that… humming?

Slowly – still using the blanket like a robe – Remus got to his feet and stepped out from under the tree to peer around. He didn;t have to go very far before the sound grew clearer, like it was right on top of him. 

Then he looked up, and his lips parted in shock and horror. The sound was right overtop of him. 

Resting on one of the tree branches overhead was the sitting form of a girl, one foot propped up on the branch she was sitting on to rest a notebook against her leg, the other swinging freely below her. She hummed quietly with a pensive expression as she spun a pencil absentmindedly between her fingers. Charlie. 

The humming trailed off suddenly, as she seemed to feel the eyes on her. When she glanced down and spotted Remus below her, a small smile curved her lips. 

“Sleeping Beauty finally rises,” she joked. “I would have given you a kiss, but you were a bit… furry.”

Adjusting her sitting position in the tree, she snapped her notebook shut and slid a bag off her shoulder, dropping it to the ground. “Here, I brought you this. You should put on some clothes.”

Remus still had yet to say a word, blinking mutely at the bag that appeared to have his clothes in it. When he glanced back up at Charlie, she had a hand over her eyes, waiting patiently. 

Swallowing hard, he quickly slipped into his dark jeans and loose knit jumper. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot for a moment before finally somehow making himself speak. 

“It’s, uh… you can look now.”

Charlie peered at him quickly through her fingers before lowering her hand and beginning the climb down the tree. 

When she finally dropped back to the ground with a small huff, Remus was observing her almost cautiously, as if trying to figure out what kind of game she was playing. 

A long beat of silence passed. Then…

“How did you… how did you find out?”

Charlie raised a brow. “It wasn’t exactly hard. Your scars, the way you avoid certain topics. I wasn’t entirely sure until I called you yesterday, though.”

He nodded slowly. “Why did you come after me?”

“Because I figured it would probably really suck to have to wake up in the middle of nowhere all by yourself after a night like that,” she replied simply, rummaging through the bag she brought. “Here.” 

She handed him a chocolate bar, and despite his confusion and hesitation, he couldn’t help the small smile that fought its way onto his lips. 

“Thanks…” His eyes flickered between her and the ground. “So… you don’t hate me.”

She looked at him like he was completely dumb. “Hate you? Rem, I’m pretty sure I love you. Which is – wow, that’s the fastest I’ve ever said that to anyone. Why would I hate you for something you can’t even control?”

He shrugged, feeling a little surer the longer she didn’t run away screaming. “Most people would.”

“Then most people are stupid,” she replied. There was a small pause before she held out her hand. “Come on. Want some coffee?”

She was so casual about it, his heart could have glowed. His smile was adoring as he accepted her hand, and she pulled him into her side. 

“Coffee sounds great. You know a place?”

She smirked. “Of course I do.”

[somedaylazysomeday]

Captured - Part Three

For the first time, you're in the infamous Guthrie's Tavern. It goes about as well as expected.

Captain Charles Vane (Black Sails) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: Concealed gender, drinking, mentions of prostitution, brief reference to public sex, reader is disappointingly heterosexual, mention of anal sex, unprotected sex, brief anal play

Previous | Masterlist

---

The liquid in your pewter tankard was foul. 

You had tried to set it back on the scarred wooden surface of the table several times, but it barely rested on the surface before someone was offering to fill it once more. By this point, it was near-overflowing and you could hardly manage more than an occasional sip. 

It was loud, the large room filled with men boisterous from their work. Fights broke out every few minutes and you were uncomfortable with the women milling about half-dressed. Even worse were the ones sitting on laps around the room, caressed by the patrons - or taking part in less tame activities. 

It was hardly somewhere you wanted to be, but the men had wanted to go to the tavern on Nassau. You were flattered that they had wanted to bring you along. 

You did your best to relax and enjoy the coolness of the shaded room on the hot island and the excitement buzzing in the air. The stories and jokes being shouted by your crewmates around the table made you smile, and you braved another sip from your tankard. 

Vane rumbled a laugh, which lightened your mood still further. He had managed to seat you two beside each other around the table, accomplished due to his own need to have his back at a wall and the fact that you had been leading the group through the chaotic room. 

He had been quiet since the beach. More accurately, he had been brooding. One of the men had told you they were going to ‘the tavern’. You, unaware of any issue, had asked if it had a proper name or if it were known as ‘the tavern’ because it was the only one on the island. The answer had been that there were a few, but everyone knew Guthrie’s was the best one. 

The uncomfortable silence and venomous stares from the other crewmembers had been your first hint that something was amiss. Vane pushed past them all, swaggering in the direction they had been moving. You only picked up on the clues when one of the pirates elbowed the one who had spoken, telling him not to say that name in front of the captain. Not if he wanted to keep from pulling night watch for a fortnight. 

You had trailed behind the group, trying to put together all of the pieces of information you had gathered during your time on the Ranger. But Vane seemed to be in better spirits now. Perhaps it was the company. Perhaps it was the temporary release from the stress of captaining a pirate crew. Perhaps it was the two tankards he had managed to drain, or the third he was currently nursing.

In any case, you were happy to listen to your fellow crewmates regale each other with stories, remembering the men who had crewed the Ranger before or tossing around names of potential new recruits.

That casual atmosphere was shattered when a pretty blonde woman marched through the room. 

The men at the table went silent, and something told you this was more than appreciation for a beautiful woman after months at sea. Perhaps this was the famous Eleanor Guthrie. 

She was halfway past your table when her blue eyes landed on Vane and slowed, her eyes dragging over him like they were reluctant to move elsewhere. But they did, and unfortunately, they moved to you. 

It took only a moment of studying your face for her lip to curl and she came to a stop directly in front of your table. 

“Charles,” she greeted, her tone flat and unwelcoming. The men tried to pretend their focus was elsewhere, but your attention was glued to the scene. 

“Eleanor,” Vane ground out. You had never heard him sound so hostile, especially in only a single word. 

“Your hubris is almost to be admired,” Eleanor told him icily. She jutted her chin toward you. “Most men refuse to sail with a single woman on their crew, and yet you have managed to find a second. Was Bonny alone not enough to tempt fate?” 

A stunned silence fell, and you watched the muscles in Vane’s jaw flex. A slap to your shoulder nearly knocked you from your chair. 

“What, d’ya mean Simon?” Elias asked. “He’s a man if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“Yeah,” Murphy agreed with a guffaw. “A young ‘un, but he’ll have his whiskers soon as his balls drop.”

That was crass, but you appreciated the fond way Murphy reached across the table to tug your hat down over your eyes. You offered a weak smile when you had fixed it well enough to see again.

“Simon,” Eleanor repeated skeptically. “Simon what?” 

You gave your best attempt at lowering your voice into a male register. “Simon Grove, ma’am.”

“Simon Grove.” Eleanor folded her arms over her front, giving you a disapproving look. “How startlingly delicate you are for serving aboard a sailing vessel for… How long is it now? Several months?” 

Your mouth opened noiselessly as you processed the shock of knowing that Eleanor Guthrie had been keeping tabs on your time aboard the Ranger. 

Benny rested his elbow on your shoulder. “Aye, he’s a skinny little lad, but it’s only ‘cause he was an apprentice back in London. Worked for some man, didn’t you, boy? Doin’ sums?”

“I was an apprentice to a bookkeeper,” you agreed. “No time for physical labor.” 

“Physical labor,” James mocked. “Hear him, lads? Still speaks like a highborn lady, don’t he?” 

“Indeed,” Eleanor bit out. The men startled as if they had forgotten that she was standing there. “Quite feminine.”

“Leave it, Eleanor,” Vane commanded, his voice so deep that you could barely understand him. 

Eleanor eyed him for a moment, one brow raised challengingly. At last, she gave the barest hint of a nod. “My mistake, Simon. Enjoy your time in my tavern.” 

Everyone watched Eleanor Guthrie sweep away, but you finally recognized their attention for what it was: wariness. You distrusted her, and it seemed that you were far from the only one. It was only after she had disappeared into an office off the main room of the tavern that your crewmates relaxed. 

You struggled to regain your previous state of relaxation, though, and Vane returned to scowling. You had to wonder whether he was angry because of the sudden appearance of a past lover or that she had recognized that he had found another with whom to replace her. Eleanor struck you as the breed of woman to despise competition. 

Those suspicions were confirmed when you spotted a beautiful woman crossing the room with another trailing behind. Both of their gazes were fixed on the table, and you braced yourself for an incoming shock. 

“I am looking for… Simon?” the shorter of the two women asked. She had been in the lead, and there was something in her voice and posture that subtly announced her status as an authority figure of some kind. Her dress was of a higher quality than many of the others and bared less of her skin, but she was utterly sensual with the soft waves of her hair and the lilt of her French accent. 

“Bastard,” Elias cursed, even as he grinned at you. “He’s over there.” 

You lifted a hand, making the motion as quick and small as you could manage. 

She caught it anyway, smiling at you. “I am Max, the madame. This is Jeanette.” 

Max’s accent rolled Jeanette’s name the way it was meant to be, giving it the melodic weight it deserved. There was a pause, full of a meaning you did not quite grasp. You nodded, offering a smile to the women. “Nice to meet you, Jeanette.” 

“Pleasure,” Jeanette said, her seductive smile melting toward something more natural. 

“A man with manners,” Max remarked, also smiling. “Jeanette here is a gift from Eleanor Guthrie. She apologizes for her misstep. Your first hour with Jeanette has been paid for. Any further time will be your own responsibility. Enjoy.” 

Max slipped away, disappearing into the crowd as Jeanette held a graceful hand out in your direction. 

You balked. 

The crewmembers of the Ranger joked and complained that you were lucky, several of them offering to take your place. If only it were that simple. It was a master stroke. No red-blooded sailor would refuse time with a pretty woman in a tavern, especially if his time with her were to be free. Eleanor was trying to maneuver you into revealing your own secret.

“Captain?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound nearly as desperate as you felt as you glanced at Vane. 

Murphy jeered. “He’s not your captain on shore, boy!” Vane shot him such a venomous glare that Murphy stared down at the table without offering another word.

“Go,” Vane ordered roughly. In a much lower voice, he added, “I’ll fix it.”

And he was gone too, disappearing into the crowd. You stared after him, feeling rather like a child lost in an unfamiliar and frightening place. 

“Don’t mind him, lad,” Benny said kindly. “He’s probably after a piece of his own.” 

Elias stood from the table, stretching his back as he did so. “Think I’ll go do the same. Shore leave ain’t complete without some tail to make you feel relaxed.”

“Hop to it, boy,” Murphy told you, grinning broadly. “Unless you need some help makin’ sure you leave her properly fucked.”

You knew a lot about properly-fucked women, but being on this side had you at a loss.

However, you were left with no alternative, so you stood and took Jeanette’s hand. She wove her fingers through yours, using your shared grip to lead you through the room. 

Jeanette moved confidently through the crowd, dancing through the masses as you followed clumsily behind her. Fear made your steps slow and graceless, your mind far too preoccupied to worry about your body. 

What would the pirates do when they discovered your ruse? Surely, they would react poorly. Like Eleanor had so kindly mentioned, most sailors believed that having a woman aboard a ship brought terribly bad luck. Would they remove you from the Ranger permanently? Would they kill you outright? Or would they simply abandon you to the shores of Nassau, leaving you to find your own way there without another moment of rough kindness or brotherly teasing? 

The mere thought made your stomach twist. Or perhaps that was your sudden proximity to the staircase. 

Jeanette’s pace slowed considerably when you reached the stairs. At first, you thought it was because of her shoes, but a downward glance proved her to be bare-foot. The only reasoning you could infer was that she was giving the other women time to ply their own wares for when you had finished with Jeanette. 

Scantily-clad women lined the staircase, lounging and chatting in a show of faux relaxation. They called their hourly rates to you, pairing them with lewd suggestions that made your face heat. The worst were the ones who reached out with graceful arms, offering to wrap them around you and stroking whatever they could reach. You managed to avoid most of them. With any luck, the few who encountered the long linen rectangle wrapped around your breasts would believe you were wearing a thick shirt. 

Vaguely, you recognized that a woman had pulled Jeanette close. They seemed to whisper for a moment before they shared a long, worshipful kiss. The sight of their searching lips and wandering hands made your body begin to react, though you were thinking of Vane rather than either of the women standing before you. 

At last, Jeanette broke away from the other woman, giving you a coy smile. “Pardon, lovey. Follow me.” 

As if you had not been doing that very thing? You bit back impatience as you continued up the narrow staircase, brushing shoulders with a dazed-looking pirate on his way back down. Your temper was high, but it was a thin facade. You had not decided how to defuse the situation and time was growing short. 

When you reached the top of the staircase, Jeanette opened a door and ushered you through. You stepped inside, observing the space with no small amount of curiosity. It was hardly what you had expected from the stories you had overheard in London. You had expected a dark, cavernous space, cramped and heavily perfumed. 

Instead, the room was high-ceilinged and airy. The doors that led onto the small balcony were closed, but enough wind filtered through the shuttered windows that the room smelled of salt air and sunshine. The furnishings were opulent, far more ornate than you would have expected… until you noticed that they were shabby around the edges. Everything that surrounded the pirates of Nassau was a little shabby, and that familiar quality helped put you slightly more at ease. That feeling dissipated slightly as Jeanette closed the door, shutting you in the room together. 

You half turned your head in an effort to watch Jeanette without being obvious. She gave you a small smile as she crossed the room, moving determinedly toward a folding screen set along one wall. That likely meant she would disrobe, and then you would have to do something. You were still uncertain of what exactly you would do. Fear and discomfort made it difficult for you to think. 

Jeanette moved the panels of the screen aside, revealing a set of double doors set into the wall. She drew them open, stepping back to watch you, her amusement plain.

There was a moment of loaded silence, you and Jeanette watching each other, but a voice soon broke the tension: “Simon. Enter.” 

You obeyed, stepping through the doorway before you had time to process that you had recognized the speaker. “Max.” 

The door from Jeanette’s room had led into this one, the rooms connected only to each other. This room was as light-filled and airy as Jeanette’s, but almost twice the size. There was a large desk on one side of the room, facing the door you had not come through. Max was sitting behind it, clearly having paused in the middle of writing a letter to glance up at you.

The young madame smiled, a dimple appearing in her cheek like magic. “Please, sit. We will have company soon.”

You looked nervous when you sat down across from Max. You could feel the trepidation written across your own features, no matter how hard you tried to mask it. In an effort to hide what little you could, you chose not to speak. 

As it happened, you were not given a choice. Max fixed you with a curious stare. “Tell me: was it you who found the discrepancy in the prices Eleanor Guthrie paid for the goods brought back on the Ranger?”

Lying seemed to be the wisest course of action, but it would do little good. Any of the crew would tell Max the same, so there was no need to be less than honest. “Yes, it was I.” 

Max dipped her chin in a slow nod. “Miss Guthrie had to part with a significant amount of her profits or risk a riot. Nassau’s crews did not take kindly to hear of their own being cheated.” 

“I told none other than the captain of my crew,” you replied, gaze even. 

“Of course.” Max smiled then, bright and mischievous. “I found myself well entertained while she dealt with the trouble. For that inconvenience, I am willing to look the other way for the odd situation. Especially when doing so protects a marvelous secret.”

Clearly, she had ferreted out your secret. You were beginning to wonder if your disguise fooled anyone at all. 

“I know no secrets,” you told her, lowering your chin to give her a look with more intensity. Men did not lift their chins when they argued, but lowered them for a deeper stare, a deeper voice, and greater protection. “And I have asked you no favors.” 

There was a knock on the door and you tensed.

“You have not,” Max agreed, turning her attention to the door. “You may enter.” 

With concentrated effort, you did not turn toward the door opening behind your chair. However, a well-placed mirror allowed you to watch as a familiar figure entered the room. 

"Max," Jack Rackham greeted, offering a nod as he walked through the doorway.

Anne Bonny was just behind him, silent and graceful as a shadow as she slipped through the door. She scanned the room and, having found no threats, nodded to you and Max as well. 

At last, Vane came in, closing the door behind himself. His focus was fixed on you, only you. He crossed to where you were sitting, looking more powerful than ever with tension coiled in his muscles. 

"What the fuck is happening?" he demanded without preamble. 

Max seemed unconcerned with Vane's lack of social graces. "Eleanor has discovered your little secret. Naturally, she will take her petty revenge where she can."

Vane growled. "Not me she going after." 

"Did you expect another reaction?" Max asked, curious. A tilt of her head sent a chestnut spiral of hair brushing along her shoulder until it came to rest on the swell of her breast. Abruptly, you understood how she had become a madame so young. "You have taken a new lover. She could never allow such a thing." 

"Hold on," Jack interjected. "The two of them aren't necessarily fucking just because we have a woman in disguise on the ship." 

Anne snorted indelicately while Max gave Jack an arch look. "Not necessarily, but it is obvious for any who care to look."

"What are we going to do?" you asked. The pirates and prostitutes in the room were observing, not judging, but you would prefer not to have your private affairs discussed in such a public place. 

There was a stilted pause as everyone in the room eyed each other. 

"It is simple," Max told you. Oddly, you found her directness soothing. "You and Jeanette will return to her room. She will loudly and repeatedly compliment 'Simon' on his skill and size. When what remains of your hour has ended, you may leave. If anyone - including Eleanor - asks about the encounter, both Jeanette and myself will swear Simon is a man. Is this acceptable?" 

Everyone looked to Vane. He looked at you. When you gave a nod, he returned it, the gesture taut with temper. 

"And what do you intend to charge for these generous services?" Jack asked Max, crossing his arms in a clear attempt to look more threatening. Meanwhile, Vane was standing beside you - loose-limbed with his hand resting just touching your arm - and looked like the most dangerous person in the world. 

Max smiled, an enigmatic expression. She tilted her head toward you. “We have already discussed payment. It has been settled.” 

Vane frowned at you, but Max rose, beckoning you back toward Jeanette’s room. “Time is short. You must begin. Everyone else will wait in the tavern.” 

“Like hell.” Vane’s growl was short, sharp, and unwavering. He had stood when you did, shadowing every step you took toward Jeanette and her bedroom.

“Charles…” Jack urged. 

“Surely you can see that your presence would add nothing to the situation?” Max asked him. “This office must be visibly empty while the performance is going, and none other than ‘Simon’ may leave Jeanette’s room at the end of their shared hour. You in particular, Captain Vane, must be seen in the tavern the entire time they are gone. Eleanor will be watching for your reaction to this development just as she watched Simon’s reaction to her gift. Both of your lives will be far easier if Eleanor concludes that she was mistaken.” 

Vane glowered at her, but stepped back, letting you continue forward alone. Jeanette gave you a kind smile and closed the door behind you both. Vane’s eyes burned into yours until the wooden panels of the door cut through your shared gaze. 

The following half-hour was one of the most mortifying of your life - perhaps second in comparison to the first time Vane had stripped you, discovered your true identity, and pulled unimaginable pleasure from your confused body. 

Jeanette was a masterful actress, moaning wantonly in a way that made your face burn. At her urging, you managed a few sharp groans and a particularly loud curse at a strategic moment. Jeanette’s compliments were as loud as they were lewd, and you could not decide whether it would be better or worse for them to have been overheard. At last, she prompted you to give a shout, one almost drowned out by her rapturous cry. 

A part of your mind had withdrawn into itself in a bid for protection, and it wondered if you should be more vocal in your endeavors with Vane. Thankfully, you could not ponder it for long, because Jeanette was toying with your clothing. 

Jeanette adjusted your belt, leaving it slightly looser than it had been, then misbuttoned one of your shirt buttons and tilted your hat to sit crooked atop your head. She pressed her fingers against your lips to swell them and - with your hesitant permission - gave a delicate bite against the side of your neck, leaving the mark clearly visible above your mussed collar. 

You were sure to thank her as you left. You had no illusions about what any Nassau resident would do with such valuable information, but you would not jeopardize yourself by failing to be kind. 

When you let yourself out of the door, Jeanette wound herself around your back, pressing a kiss to the mark she had left on your neck. You could feel that she was partially undressed, one bare breast visible to the tavern below. As you hurried down the stairs, you tugged your hat down, hoping to hide how flustered you felt. 

Vane was the only one sitting at the table you had shared previously. All the other crewmembers of the Ranger must have found other ways to spend their time. You preferred not to think too deeply about how they were currently occupied. 

You sat on a chair across from Vane, landing heavier than expected. Your knees were trembling a bit at the performance of it all, especially knowing that Eleanor Guthrie was likely watching you. Perhaps it had been a mistake to sit down with Vane at all. Perhaps the wiser choice would have been to go to the bar or find another group to sit with. 

“Want to get out of here?” Vane asked. Started from your thoughts, you took a moment to nod. “We can’t leave together. I’ll go wait by the beach. You have a drink and meet me in ten minutes.” 

You made a face at the tankard he slid your direction. “Do I have to drink it?” 

Vane watched you for a moment, uncomprehending, before mirth slid through his expression. “Do as you like.” For the second time that day, you watched him walk away. 

The next ten minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Eleanor made another appearance in the tavern, making her way slowly from table to table. Fortunately, there seemed to be a problem with the seal at the bottom of your tankard, and you only had to fight through a few mouthfuls of rancid ale before the pewter was empty. You pretended to drain the tankard, slamming it onto the table and standing before Eleanor could reach you. 

The unsteadiness of your gait probably came off like you were an inexperienced young man who had just had his first sexual encounter. You hoped so. However, the true cause was that your nerves seemed to grow taut under the attentive blue gaze of Eleanor Guthrie. 

When you rounded the corner away from Guthrie’s, a weight seemed to lift from your shoulders. You had survived an encounter with Vane’s ex-lover, the woman whose presence loomed larger than any other in his past. What you had done was finished, and there was nothing left but to see if she believed the ruse. 

Vane was waiting exactly where you hoped he would, and you fell into step as he led you onto one of the island’s most remote beaches. There, tucked between a collection of rocks and a small copse of palm trees, was a tent. 

The canvas along the sides of the tent was tattered, leaving his belongings coated with a thick layer of sand, but the canvas above you was unmarred. It would keep out the worst of the rain, and Vane cleaned the hammock efficiently by turning it upside down and giving a hard shake. There was a crate of alcohol to be dusted off and a collection of stubby candles that begged to be freed from the sand, but nothing that needed immediate attention. 

“Did she speak to you?” 

Vane never gave a name, but you were not confused. He was speaking of Eleanor. There was no one else he could have meant. “No.” 

“She should never have involved you,” Vane spat out, approaching closer behind you. “She and I were-” 

“I know,” you interrupted. In the stunned silence, you turned to eye him in skeptical amusement. “Your crew talks, as do the islanders. I know what you were to each other, and I know how relations have changed between you. There is nothing you must explain.” 

Vane was taken aback, watching you with confusion on his handsome face. Then it shifted to something darker, yet far more welcome. When he took your mouth in a hard, demanding kiss, you were ready. You gave and demanded in turn, meeting him with fervor. His hands wandered your body, noting your mussed collar, misbuttoned shirt, and too-loose belt. The belt worked in his favor, as a single firm tug dropped your trousers to the sand. 

“We- We need to be careful,” you panted, scarcely managing to speak. “Anyone could run across us here.” 

“Stop?” he managed, even if it was muffled against your neck. 

The idea nearly drew a whine from you. “Not if we can be sure no one will see us.”

Vane stilled, holding his position for long enough that you could feel your bodies pulsing against each other. “Trust me.” 

You did, completely, and allowed him to maneuver you into a different position. In the end, you found yourself on hands and knees on a blanket spread over the sand. It was a compromising position - though you still wore your shirt, the entirety of your rear end was exposed to Vane’s gaze. And other things. 

The position was unfamiliar. You and Vane tended toward eye contact when you were together. It did not escape your notice that you had seen dogs and livestock coupling this way. Your face burned with humiliation at the reminder that you were nothing more than an animal. Even as you thought crossed your mind, you shifted your weight eagerly. The heat in your face was matched with heat elsewhere as your body bloomed for him. 

A soft thump from behind you was your sole warning before Vane pressed himself against your exposed sex. You gasped, glancing back to find that he had unfastened his breeches only far enough to pull his cock free. 

“And if- if someone sees us?” you asked. 

“If they do, they’ll think I’m fucking your ass.” 

The idea made your body tighten, though not entirely unpleasantly. “That is an improvement?” 

“The world thinks you are a man,” Vane reminded you. “A captain fucking a crewmate… Not good, but not uncommon.”

You digested that silently, jaw dropping when Vane pressed his length along your seam. He felt much larger at that angle. “Or do you want to stop?” 

You shook your head, but Vane remained still. He wanted a verbal answer. “I don’t want to stop. Please…” 

Vane replied to you. He did, but it was so low and so incredibly deep that you could not begin to understand. However, the way he shifted made the head of him slip against you in a way that detailed his intentions as clearly as any words.

Some combination of the position, the kissing, and the general events of the day had left you wet and ready for him. That was lucky, since Vane sheathed himself in you, using only two long strokes to spear to your very core. 

He stilled when he was fully inside of you, both of you panting. You found yourself surprised that he had stopped - you could feel the way your body was gripping him, and the strength of it was likely just this side of torture. It was the same for you. Being on your knees with him behind you allowed him far deeper than you were accustomed to, and you could hardly breathe with the intensity of it. 

“Fuck,” Vane spat, and you might have been offended if he had not been throbbing so hard inside of you. It helped when he leaned forward to brush a kiss over your shoulder blade, the shifting of him inside of you took both of your breath away. “How does it feel for you?” 

“I-” Your voice was so breathless that it startled you. “I need…” 

You pawed uselessly at your breasts, still confined beneath your shirt and the cloth you used to contain them. The intrusion of Vane’s length was teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, your body struggling to surface in the ocean of sensations assaulting your system. 

“I know,” Vane said simply, instantly soothing you as he reached between your legs. The angle was trickier than you had expected, but he found and parted your folds with ease. Gentle upward strokes brought the liquid drenching him up to the top of your slit, and let him rub that small, sensitive pearl without irritation. 

It should have felt shameful for him to hold such mastery over your body, but all you felt was relief. Vane had you writhing into the palm of his hand in only moments. The iron press of him had turned from a source of strain to a promise of pleasure, and you canted your hips backward to press him more firmly inside of yourself. 

Vane choked out another curse, hips kicking helplessly toward you. His fingers convulsed against you, pressing your clit nearly to the point of pain. That sweet bite matched the pleasure-pain of him stretching you, and you moaned.

“Please,” you forced out. “Please fuck me.” 

Strong fingers sank into your hips, holding you steady as Vane began to move against you. Each thrust was brutal, devastating. His length seemed to stretch impossibly far, and an eternity passed in every cycle of pulling from your body only to push back in. The collisions between your bodies shook you both, making you sway your weight on your hands. Vane’s iron grip kept you in place at first, but his goal soon shifted toward urging you into a counter-thrusting pattern. 

Each of those collisions seemed to strike at the very heart of you. The head of Vane’s length delivered a glancing blow to that sweet place inside of you every few strokes, and the pleasure was so intense that you found it impossible to keep supporting your weight on your shaking arms. You scarcely managed to lower yourself onto the sand-covered blanket rather than collapse weakly onto the lean padding. 

It was a pose even less dignified than your last, and yet it offered still more benefits. Your trembling arms were relieved of your weight, your lower position allowed you more leverage to spear yourself onto Vane, and - most importantly - the new angle meant that he ground against your most sensitive place with every stroke. 

You found yourself hanging over the edge in only moments. You were so close to utter joy, but you needed something more. “Vane, please. Touch me.” 

“I am,” he ground out.

It was a fair point. His large hands cupped against the curve of your hips, occasionally traveling upward to your waist or downward to your ass. Your breasts were doubly held away from him, by virtue of your binding cloth and the way they were pressed firmly into the sand. And the frantic closeness of your coupling denied him access to your clit.

And yet, despite all of the logical thoughts you could summon, you could only repeat, “Vane, please. I’m so close. Touch me. Please please, please.”

“You don’t know-” 

“Vane!” 

He slammed into you and you pushed forward, bunching the blanket in the sand. That was your first realization that he had pulled a hand from his bracing grip on your hips. There was no warning at all before the broad pad of his thumb had planted itself firmly between your cheeks, pressing down on your rear entrance. 

If you had thought your position undignified, this was far more so. That was forbidden, taboo, and dishonorable. Perhaps that was why you found it so thrilling. The feeling was new and unfamiliar, but certainly compelling.

Vane dug in harder. You realized that he was holding his thumb with the tip well away from that virgin loop of muscle. He was providing pressure without the risk of truly breaching you. 

Just as you were beginning to think that you would not object if he were to breach you, the combination of such overwhelming sensation combined into one glorious, blinding rush. You cried out, hoping fervently that you were alone on the remote beach. There was no other interpretation of that noise than a woman overwhelmed by pleasure.

When you locked down around him, Vane’s hands flew back to your hips. He held you as still as he could manage with your spasms, thrusting frantically into you as he bit back a litany of noises from between clenched teeth. Just as your pleasure was beginning to ebb, he pulled free and emptied himself onto the sand. 

Your opinion of this new position was high, and lifted still farther when Vane did not pull himself free before collapsing onto the sand. Your rear end was pressed into the hollow between his hips and thighs, his softening length buried inside of you. 

Your thoughts were drifting slowly through the empty expanse of your mind. You felt blissfully detached from your body until Vane gently brushed away a bead of sweat from your brow. You smiled, knowing he would see the expression from the curve of your cheek, and kissed his palm. You tugged his hand down then, cupping it to your still-bound breast. Vane did not seem to object to the layers of cloth between you, and settled into place with a drowsy sigh. 

He dropped into sleep almost immediately, and you followed closely behind. Your last conscious thought was that you could see the waves washing onto the sunset shore of Nassau through the torn canvas of Vane’s tent. He had truly found a small patch of paradise there, and you were honored to share it with him.

---

Author's Note - In case this is your first introduction to this particular pair, just be warned that this story was written as an homage to classic "bodice ripper"-style romance novels. Accordingly, Part Two is a little violent and Part One is very dubcon. Warnings are listed on individual chapters, but I don't want anyone blindsided.

Thanks for reading!

[sharplimeade]

another reader is thrown into the chain fic except reader is given a magical gun

[squidwen]

Twisted Wonderland OC Asks!

Hello, Tumblr! It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these but a lovely friend of mine encouraged me to give OC asks another go. I loved doing them in the past!!!

If you have a question for any of my OCs, type their name/their associated emoji (replacing [x] in the questions below) in my ask box. Please submit only a maximum of 3 questions :)

Links to OC bios are pinned on my blog.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Vane Millingwood 🐛

William (Billy) MacUrse 🐻

DeVerre Sangloine 🪞

Basil Balanaga 🐍

Seth Trent 🐙

Jonah Craggins 🦎

Tallis Underplume 🪶

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

QUESTIONS:

What is [x]'s opinion on school relationships?

Does [x] want to get married and/or have kids?

What is [x]'s favourite outfit to wear and why?

Does [x] have any enemies, and why do they hate them?

What was life like for [x] before NRC?

Would [x] like to go for a coffee with me?

Could [x] help me with my homework/a project?

I'm going on holiday in Summer Break. Would [x] wanna come?

What's [x]'s favourite time of year?

What does [x] wanna do when they leave NRC?

Does [x] believe in fate?

Is [x] an optimist or a pessimist?

Does [x] have a crush on anyone?

I wanna confess to my crush, can [x] give me any advice?

How would [x] react to failing all their exams?

Does [x] have any phobias?

What is [x]'s taste in music?

Can [x] teach me a dance from where they're from?

Does [x] worry about the future?

Is [x] better in hot or cold weather?

Ask list by me :)

Reposts, replies, and comments are appreciated x

Squidwen

[phenomenal1500]

~The Gallows~

Masterlist

A/N: This was requested by mocn_knight on Wattpad! ♥️♥️

Summary: Charles finds out he got the woman he is now locked up with pregnant, right before their execution.

Timeline: Season 3.

Pairing: Captain Charles Vane x Preg!Fem!Reader Warnings: Angst, smut talk, fluff, gallows talk.

Y/N pressed her sore back against the cold wall behind her as she sat down, remembering the man in front of her all too well. She remembered his growls, his weight on her, his scent. Everything. If she didn't know any better he might've been able to convince her by the way he pleased her that he might've loved her, but she knew that wasn't the case. Not at all really.

And so that was why she hid her secret from him.... He didn't need to know.

She could already guess how he would've reacted to the news if she did tell him and she didn't mind doing it on her own anyway.

She didn't need help because besides him perhaps not liking the idea, she knew he also probably would've thought she betrayed him. She had promised him to clean herself and she did, it was just done too late. Having his child was never her plan, never her intention.

"Y/N?"

'Shit', she thought. She kinda hoped he would've forgotten about her by now. She wasn't the only woman he had after all.

"Y/N? They cut off your tongue?" He repeated and her eyes shot up to meet his blue ones.

"No, they haven't. I was trying to come up with an escape plan in my head." She shrugged and tried to remain calm. She was so incredibly nervous. She really didn't want him to find out, but it wasn't like she was in her first semester anymore either. "I'm not going to rot away in a dungeon or hang above the streets like a trophy."

"I feel like it's too late for that." He looked her up and down, noticing she was wearing wider clothes which she wasn't known for. 'They are in the way during a fight'. Her words. "There's one window neither of us fit through and the door is locked and heavily guarded. This time it is going to be the gallows for us, love."

'Love?', he never called her that before....

"No, I don't believe that for one second and I know neither do you. You're a good man, Charles, you wouldn't give up like that." She couldn't believe he was this easily defeated. Not a few days back he would've never surrendered to those men out there so she was stunned at what happened to him. "You're strong, intelligent, a captain we need out there fighting for Nassau and our freedom. You'll find a way."

"Not this time." He cut her off and she watched him with hurt eyes.

Was he really done fighting...?

"On your feet!" One of the redcoats ordered as they unlocked the door and came inside, disturbing the heartbreaking conversation the pirates were having.

"Backs against the wall!" Another ordered and shoved Y/N against the wall when she wasn't moving fast enough, the first redcoat stopping him right away with a slap on the back of his head and a tug at his collar.

"Careful you fucker, she might be a pirate, but the cunt is carrying." He growled. "We are ordered to wait until she has the bastard before we can execute her."

"My child isn't a bastard." She hissed back in defense and they just laughed right in her face as they let the maidens safely bring them their daily rotting food before they left and locked the door again.

"Child...?" Charles whispered, looking down at the woman's stomach. "You're carrying...?"

"Forget what they said...." She slowly sat down again and placed the rotting bread in her lap so she could eat a little.

"I don't think I can." He instantly replied and walked up to her, slowly getting on his knees in front of her to make eye contact with her. "Is it mine...?"

"You're all I.... yeah.... I'm certain it is." She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, looking at him nervously. "I'm sorry, Charles. I swear I did everything to prevent it."

"I know you did, Y/N, don't apologize." He rubbed her thighs and moved up to her lower stomach to caress the bump a little. "We'll figure something out." He gave her a soft glare and she relaxed a little by how soothing he talked to her.

He could've been mad about the news, yell at her for letting it happen, but what good was that gonna do? He knew the woman was terrified and never planned any of this to happen and he definitely didn't want to worsen those negative feelings for her. It was his child too after all and so he needed to take care of it, help her as much as he could and perhaps it wasn't even gonna be so bad. Perhaps he could combine his lifestyle with being a father and help her settle down after this war with Rogers was over. He owed her that.

"We can't figure something out since you were right. We can't get out of here. They'll send our baby to London to a wealthy abusive family while we're both hanging over our island like a trophy...."

"No we won't." He kissed her forehead and got up. "I'm sure you and I can think of something. I ain't gonna die, knowing that that means our child will grow up exactly like the men we hate the most. They deserve to figure out who their parents were and where they came from."

"You promise?" She smiled weakly, holding one of his hands.

"I promise, we're getting out of here, love."

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Thirty-Six)

Summary: After rescuing the foundling, Din returns to the covert and receives some advice from Bo-Katan, but an unexpected visitor soon shatters the peace his clan had fought so hard to achieve.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I’m excited because we’ve almost reached my favorite scene to write from this season of the show! Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Six The Ranger (Previous Chapter)

“Well, this is certainly the strangest mix of passengers I’ve ever flown in my ship,” Bo-Katan remarked with amusement in her modulated voice as she glanced over her shoulder at the three trussed hatchlings being looked after by several of their fellow Mandalorians. “But I’ll bet this is nothing to a former smuggler like (Y/N), huh?”

Din hummed in response from his seat behind her, staring out the viewport at the scenic landscape while his thoughts were consumed by his discontented wife. Their mission to rescue the foundling from the raptor’s nest had been enough to distract him from his worry over (Y/N)’s mental well-being, but his worry for her was quick to return the moment they reunited young Ragnar with his father Paz. He knew the captain well enough to tell that she was hiding her true feelings about their clan’s acceptance into the covert and although she’d given in without any argument, he knew that she didn’t appreciate being left out of their mission to rescue the foundling. Her happiness means more to me than anyone could ever know but I cannot protect it if I don’t know what’s bothering her, he thought with an inward sigh, his finger tracing along the wedding ring that was hidden beneath his glove.

“Is there something on your mind that you wish to discuss, Din? I’ve been known to be a fairly good listener.”

Din sat forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his gloved hands together and looking down at his worn boots before finally speaking. “I noticed that (Y/N) didn’t seem herself yesterday. Has she mentioned if there’s anything that’s been bothering her or if she’s unhappy?”

Bo-Katan glanced away from the controls to spare him a look. “You don’t know?” When he only stared back at her, she shook her head and sighed. “She’s not unhappy, Din, she’s insecure. For her entire life, she’s always been sure of herself and her abilities; she adapted to her circumstances – being orphaned, growing up as a smuggler, taking up arms against the Empire – and her great capacity to adapt is what helped her survive. Now that she’s found herself living amongst a covert of Mandalorians, she’s finding it difficult to adapt to our lifestyle.”

“I…I had no idea.”

“I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it too much if I were you; (Y/N)’s a proud woman who hides her emotions behind a mask of strength,” The Nite Owl replied with a noncommittal shrug, turning her attention back to her controls with a hint of a smile in her voice. “So, we’re obviously nothing alike.” Din chuckled at that. “She just wants to fit in, Din, and in time she will. You’ve just gotta be patient with her until she finds her place in the covert.”

While they journeyed back to the covert, Din considered Bo-Katan’s wise words and in no time, they were initiating the landing sequence and touching down on the lakeshore just past the cave. Paz and Ragnar walked down the Gauntlet’s gangplank accompanied by the celebratory cheers and the clanging of beskar vambraces, and Din and Bo-Katan followed after them; (Y/N) was standing off to the side of the gathering of Mandalorians with Grogu nestled in her arms, the both of them looking happy that their mission was a success but also a little self-conscious, and the sight of them caused Din to take longer strides to reach them quicker.

“We knew you’d be able to do it!” (Y/N) beamed and passed a squirming Grogu over to Din once he was standing before them. “Didn’t we, Grogu?”

The child happily cooed and snuggled his face against Din’s cowl, making him chuckle and gently pat his back. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, kid.” He cupped (Y/N)’s cheek with his free hand and leaned forward to press his forehead against hers in a Keldabe Kiss. “How were things while I was away?”

“Very insightful, actually.” The captain pulled away far enough to look into the visor of his helmet. “Sweetheart, there’s something I have to talk to you about-”

“I know, alor’ad, and I understand.” Din took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I promise you here and now, I’ll do whatever I can to help you find your way here.”

(Y/N)’s brow furrowed but before she could reply, Paz and Ragnar walked up to them and the older Mandalorian bowed his helmeted head in respect. “Captain (Y/L/N). While he recuperates from his ordeal with the raptor, my son Ragnar wishes to learn the basics of piloting until he can resume his drills. Would you be willing to take him on as a student?”

A smile tugged on the corners of Din’s lips as he watched (Y/N)’s brows raise in surprise and her face brighten with unabashed happiness. “O-Of course, I would be honored to teach him.” Giving Din’s hand a tight squeeze, she focused her attention on the blue-helmeted boy standing beside his father. “If you’re feeling up to it, Ragnar, we can start bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“This is the Way,” Ragnar replied and, just as Paz had, bowed his head in respect before looking up at his father. “Is it dinnertime yet? I haven’t eaten since yesterday!”

Paz huffed out a chuckle. “Of course, son. Come, we’ll fix you something to eat.”

With one last nod, the older Mandalorian led the foundling into the cave and without warning, (Y/N) laughed in delight and threw her arms around Din’s neck. “This is perfect! If everything goes well with Ragnar, I’ll be able to put my piloting skills to good use and teach all the children how to pilot!”

“Ner mirdala alor’ad. My clever captain, always thinking five steps ahead of everyone else.” He wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and held her close, beyond thankful to the Maker that she’d found a way to feel more secure about herself amongst the rest of their covert. “Just one of the many, many things I love about you.”

(Y/N) arched a brow and bit her lip to keep from grinning as she finally released him. “Well, as much as I’d like to hear the rest, we should probably find something for Grogu to eat before he goes after one of those hatchlings you brought back. And speaking of the little guy, there really is something important I have to tell you about him…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next week, they were beginning to fall into a routine of sorts. (Y/N) would begin the day teaching Ragnar and a small handful of apprentices the basics of piloting while Din worked with Grogu on his drills, and the both of them would spend the evening helping Grogu practice using the Force; the other Mandalorians, seeing how willing the captain was to both teach all she knew about piloting and to learn all she could about their culture, warmed up to her presence and welcomed her into their covert, and they treated Grogu with the same level of respect as any other foundling among their ranks. In their spare time, Din and (Y/N) used their beat-up holopad to research Naboo and Kelleran Beq, the Jedi who rescued the child from the Jedi Temple at the end of the Clone Wars, but to no avail; they couldn’t seem to find any information on why the Jedi was assisted by the Naboo Royal Guard and Grogu seemed reluctant to show them another Force vision, so they decided not to push the issue with him.

Their peaceful bubble that they were slowly becoming accustom to was eventually shattered by the arrival of an X-Wing piloted by a familiar Adelphi Ranger. As word quickly spread throughout the covert, Din and (Y/N) followed the troop of Mandalorians that volunteered to block the officer of the New Republic from stepping foot into the cave, an unsettling feeling beginning to take shape in the pit of Din’s stomach.

“Captain Carson Teva, Adelphi Rangers. I have a time-pressing matter to attend to.”

“Clear out, Blue Boy,” Paz commanded as the other Mandalorians fanned out on either side of him. “The New Republic isn’t welcome here.”

“Sorry for dropping in unannounced, but if I’d given warning, your settlement would’ve cleared out before I ever hit atmosphere.”

Exchanging a wary glance with (Y/N), Din stepped out of the cave and weaved past the blockade of Mandalorians while the captain followed close behind. “How did you manage to find us? Mandalorians pride ourselves on our secrecy.”

Captain Teva, looking the same as he had when he’d saved their lives on Maldo Kreis and nearly arrested them just outside of Tatooine’s atmosphere, gave them both a small smile. “Fortunately, someone I served with in the Rebellion is amongst your ranks.” Din’s brows rose in surprise and he scanned the group of Mandalorians standing behind them, only stopping when he spotted their anxious astromech droid rolling to a stop beside (Y/N) and sighing in exasperation when he greeted the pilot with a series of chirps and whistles; unaffected by Din’s annoyance, Captain Teva saluted R5-D4. “Thanks, R5.”

Din placed his hands on his hips and stared down the unflinching officer. “The entire covert will now have to relocate.”

“Or we could kill him,” Paz gruffly offered. “Stay right here.”

Fighting the obvious urge to roll her eyes at the older Mandalorian’s dramatics, (Y/N) shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “Din, need I remind you that Captain Teva here once helped us out of a very sticky situation and is the sole reason why we’re alive right now?”

“Of course, alor’ad, you’re right.” Din glanced over his shoulder at his fellow Mandalorians. “This man cut us a break once, and now I’m returning the favor.” He turned back around to face the officer. “Clear out, Blue.”

Ignoring Din’s order, Captain Teva patted the pocket of his orange flight-suit’s pocket. “Greef Karga sent this holo-message.” (Y/N) stepped forward but when the officer reached into his pocket, the Mandalorians raised their blasters to defend the captain in case of any subterfuge; Captain Teva cautiously withdrew a black puck from his pocket and slowly handed it over to (Y/N) before continuing. “Nevarro is under siege by pirates. He’s asking for help.”

Biting his lip, Din hesitated a moment before joining (Y/N) and quietly asking, “Why are you really here?”

“They’re about to blow Nevarro to hell.”

“Then call in a strike; we don’t even have ships.”

“Coruscant doesn’t care,” Captain Teva pointed out as the three of them walked down the beach towards his X-Wing. “Karga is your friend; you won’t let him die.” He glanced over at (Y/N) and pointed at the Rebel Alliance symbol stitched onto the shoulder of his flight-suit. “And a veteran of the Rebellion won’t just sit back and let innocent civilians get hurt.”

A line formed between (Y/N)’s brows as she silently pondered the officer’s words and Din pursed his lips beneath his helmet, a part of him still wary of his intentions. “What’s in it for you?”

Captain Teva looked between Din and (Y/N) as he lowly replied, “The New Republic has to know that the Empire is growing again.”

“And you think the Pirate King has something to do with it?” The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth was turned downwards into a troubled frown. “Gorian Shard’s a menace, but I can’t see him willingly taking orders from Imps.”

“I can’t say for sure, Captain (Y/L/N), but something doesn’t smell right.” Din and (Y/N) exchanged another look and the officer sighed. “Look, it’s not your fight. I just came to tell you your friend’s in danger and I thought you should know.” Captain Teva climbed into the cockpit of his X-Wing and he slipped his flight helmet on as Bo-Katan strode across the lakeshore towards where they stood. “I know you’ll relocate anyway but you have my word, I will not reveal your location. Sorry to intrude.”

“May the Force be with you, Captain Teva,” (Y/N) called out over the noise of the X-Wing’s engine and the officer saluted her before lowering the windshield and taking to the sky. “I should’ve kriffing known that Gorian Shard would retaliate against Nevarro…”

Din wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close. “It’s not your fault, alor’ad.”

“So, what’re you guys thinking?” Bo-Katan asked.

Sighing, Din looked down at the black puck clutched tight in his wife’s hand before answering. “He’s right. We’ve gotta help the guy.”

The Nite Owl nodded. “Well, you can’t do it alone. I think it’s time we called a council meeting, don’t you?”

Din watched the X-Wing grow smaller on the horizon, his mind already decided on their next course of action; convincing the Mandalorians who’d once taken up arms against Karga to help him won’t be easy, he thought to himself with an inward sigh, but we owe it to him to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Din paced before the bonfire burning in the center of their covert’s council chambers, he felt a surge of gratitude that there were two supportive faces sitting amongst the crowd of gathered Mandalorians. (Y/N) was seated beside Bo-Katan and Grogu was nestled comfortably in her lap, his large eyes bright with curiosity as Din addressed the chamber.

“Now, many of you don’t know Greef Karga and those that do fought against him when you rescued me from his ambush many cycles ago on the streets of Nevarro.” Din’s gloved hand tightened around the Armorer’s forging hammer while the Mandalorians quietly muttered amongst themselves, taking a deep breath and remaining calm for the sake of his argument. “Since then, he’s had a change of heart and has risked his life to save mine as well as my riduur and the foundling in our charge. I stand before you to petition an intervention, to help rescue Nevarro before it’s too late. I am in no position to ask any more of you, however-” More indistinct chattering interrupted Din’s words, but he merely raised the hammer in his hand and spoke over his fellow Mandalorians. “However, the enemy that decimated this very covert were Imperials, not Greef Karga’s bounty hunters. Greef Karga is now a High Magistrate and has offered my riduur and I a tract of land on his independent world.” He smiled beneath his helmet at the look of surprise on (Y/N)’s face; he’d spent so long living with the guilt of not providing the captain with the peaceful life she’d always dreamed of – a stable home and the ability to open her own seamstress shop as her late mother once had on Naboo – but now, that weight was taken off his shoulders as she beamed in happiness at him from across the chamber. “Perhaps it is time for us to live in the light once again on a planet where we are welcome, so our culture may flourish and our children can feel what it is to play in the sunlight.”

There was a tonal shift in the murmurs amongst the gathering of Mandalorians as Din handed the hammer over to the Armorer and took a seat beside (Y/N), lacing his fingers through hers and letting Grogu crawl over to sit on his lap. “Does anyone else wish to speak?” The Armorer looked around the chamber and held out the forging hammer for the next person to take.

“It’s up to them now,” Din quietly remarked.

(Y/N) squeezed his hand but silently watched as Paz stood and crossed the chamber. “I do.” He took the hammer from the Armorer and waited for her to take her seat before addressing his brothers and sisters-in-arms. “I was there on Nevarro that night. I fought against Greef Karga and his hunters. I saw my brothers and sisters fall at the hands of the Imperial butchers that hunted us in the sewers. I saw many die to save the life of this one, tiny foundling.” From his place on Din’s lap, Grogu softly cooed and (Y/N) ran a soothing hand over the top of his wrinkled head. “And now we are asked to sacrifice yet again. The question we should be asking ourselves is, ‘Why? Why should we lay our lives down yet again?’” Paz paused to let his words sink in but as Din braced himself for an argument against intervention, he bellowed, “Because we are Mandalorians!” (Y/N) and Bo-Katan exchanged a look and Din straightened in his seat as the older Mandalorian gestured towards him. “I have had my disagreements with this man, but he risked his life to save my son. Captain (Y/L/N) fearlessly volunteered to join the rescue party, without a single piece of beskar armor or years of combat training to protect herself. And Bo-Katan Kryze did not give up on my child’s life, even when the rest of us did. These three are asking us to take up arms in the name of a brighter future, and I for one will take up arms to fight by their side.” The gathered Mandalorians nodded in agreement and voiced their approval of Paz’s rallying words as he raised the forging hammer high. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” The assembled Mandalorians echoed.

The Armorer nodded. “This is the Way.”

As the Mandalorians talked amongst themselves and filtered out of the chamber, Bo-Katan let out a long sigh. “Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. I’m gonna go and check on the Gauntlet, make sure it’s running smoothly for our mission on Nevarro.”

Patting Grogu on the head, the Nite Owl stood and walked out of the chamber and (Y/N)’s eyes were sparkling with joy as she turned to face him. “Have I told you that I love you today?”

“Once or twice, but I could always use a reminder.” The captain giggled at his reply as he gently pressed his helmeted forehead against hers. “Your culture deserves to live on through you, alor’ad, and you deserve to live the life you’ve always dreamed of. Just as you honor and respect our Way, I honor and respect your people’s traditions and I will do anything to ensure that we can walk both paths together. Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika alor’ad.”

“And I love you too, my honorable Mandalorian.”

The clan of three sat alone in the council chamber and enjoyed their moment of solitude before leaving to begin planning their new mission, eager to save their friend and the citizens of Nevarro and establish a new home and permanent home for their son and their people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mando’a Translations:

Alor’ad-Captain Ner mirdala alor’ad-My clever captain Riduur-Spouse Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika alor’ad-I love you, my darling captain

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! Oh, and I’ve created a Spotify playlist of all my favorite music from the world of Star Wars, so if you’re interested in checking it out the link is down below!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KuSKJhVOPPvxdJ9YHeo4M?si=2977ff31bf0c4bdd

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty​​​​ @sinon36​​​​ @seninjakitey​​​​ @thatonedindjarinfan​​​​ @ginger-swag-rapunzel​​​​ @mostclevermiss​​​​ @momc95​​​​ @welcometothepedroverse​​​​ @sarahjkl82-blog​​​​ @elinedjarin​​​​ @itsnottilly​​​​ @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​  @goldielocks2004 @wondergal2001​​​​ @groovy-lady​​​​ @impala1967666​​​​ @fluffy-canada-pancakes​​​​ @icee228​​​​​ @siimiasoi​​

[ghouljams]

Alright someone asked me ages ago if I would write a Bimbo!Reader and I had no clue wtf that meant or what the appeal was but I think this might technically fall into that vibe so...

Here you go.

(cw: poly!141 x f!reader, self pussy inspections, self praise, supportive but befuddled 141, cannot stress how vane this reads as but y'all should be doing it)

You're having your required phone time post shower. You're all primped and pampered and lotioned up. You're even doing your affirmations between tiktoks as you scroll, leaning over your bed to look at yourself in the full length mirror on the back of your closet door to tell yourself: "I'm so pretty, the world is lucky I'm in it."

You hum, laying on the bed, towel tucked under your head so your hair doesn't get the duvet wet. Maybe you should get dressed. You've got company coming over. Big company. Big company that actually wouldn't mind if you opened the door naked except for the fact your neighbors might see. You glance at yourself in the mirror, and arch your back a little. You smile at the figure you strike and make a kissy noise at your reflection. "You're so hot," You tell your reflection, "what do I have to do to get you home baby?"

You laugh to yourself, blowing another kiss and squeezing your tits together. God the boys are lucky to have you. Actually, you should remind them of that.

You sit up and scramble to get yourself in front of the mirror. You hold your phone up to record as you open your legs and rub your fingers through your folds. You're neatly trimmed up and soft from that oil Price got you, but most importantly: it's so cute! Awww. You spread your pussy open and coo at yourself in the mirror. She's so cute. Cute little pussy. You're going to have the boys kiss it when they get here.

You sort of forget you're recording as you watch your fingers in the mirror, spreading and rubbing, you circle your hole with your fingertips and slide them up over your clit. You can feel how wet you're starting to get, see the way your pussy drools and glistens are you rub the slick over it. God. Adorable, really, it's so pretty. You're kind of obsessed.

You toy with the hair, scratching your fingers through the curls before running them back down to your folds. Yeah, good shit. You rub little circles over your clit the way Soap always does, tipping your head to watch the way the bundle of nerves stiffens. Wet and tight, fuck when are those losers getting here?

Your phone pings with another notification and you finally remember the recording. You stop it and forward the video to the group chat. You barely get a second text in before Gaz is responding.

Gaz Me Up: "It's so cute" Soap Sudz: "Look how cute it is" You: Hey I was gonna say that. Gaz Me Up: We know love.

Rude.

Your phone pings again.

Mostly Ghostly: Be there in ten. Want me to kiss it? El Capitan: Can be there in five. Gaz Me Up: Damn I'm 15 out. Soap Sudz: Isnae a race Soap Sudz: But Ahm winnin'. Soap Sudz: Two away, leave the door unlocked.

[luvlyycy]

"you good?" he breathes heavily as he looks down at you, hands on either side of your head. he pouts when you don't respond, before realizing you're honestly way too fucked out— he lowers his right arm to his elbow, using his left hand to wipe the drool from your swollen lips.

vane lets out a quick laugh, one of his earlier loads of cum seeping from your still-filled hole as he snaps his hips forward once, eliciting a whimper from you. "aayy, you're still alive 'n kickin' ahh? come onnn, look at me, babyyy.." he wraps his arms around your body, pressing his cheek against yours— his imaginary tail wagging.

"vane, it's t'much... too full..."

i mean, your tummy might be bulging a little buuutt..

"c'monnn, you can take all of me right? my dick is so hard.. and i know you wanna help me right??? riiiigghhhht???"

you whine before sheepishly nodding.

[vane-writes-things]

Marauders Era Masterlist

Taste — Wolfstar x OC 00 | 01 | 02 | 03 ❝Moony is perfectly happy with his boyfriend, the charming King of Gryffindor, but Sirius isn't his first love. Jealousy picks at the edges of the seemingly-perfect relationship when a familiar face appears unexpectedly at Hogwarts' Slytherin table at the start of fifth year.❞

main masterlist

[somedaylazysomeday]

Captured

Captured

You disguised yourself as a man to safely cross the ocean. Unfortunately, your ship was taken over by pirates who allowed you a place on their crew as an alternative to death. You keep your disguise, working as a clerk on the Ranger under Captain Charles Vane. When he discovers your true identity, the two of you share an encounter that shocks you both. 

(Part One is an homage to classic bodice-ripper romance novels and contains many of the classic tropes that they contain. Please mind the warnings!)

Part One - Warnings for virgin reader, unrealistic first time, dub-con, some non-con, canon-typical violence and threats of violence, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv, creampie.

Part Two - Warnings for multiple mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, brief non-consensual sexual touching, mentions of fighting, graphic description of violence and death, mentions of slavery, fingering, brief oral sex (male receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie.

[safination]

Partners in Death…and Life

Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself

| Part 1: Radio's Not Dead |Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should be Trusted| Masterlist | ao3 Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason.

Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Hello, I’m back :D This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got busy. Anyway, thank you for all the likes so far. It motivated me to really finish this chapter. Also once again, I have everything planned out, it really is just a matter of writing it down. *Updated 28/02/2024 Just added some stuff that I thought made sense*

Flick . . .

Flick . . .

Flick . . .

Lights flicker above you with a slight buzz. You drape an arm over your eyes when the gleam of the bulb blind you. The hardwood floors chill your skin, but it’s the sensation of casual loose clothing on your back that warrants your exhale in peace. Just a second. You just need a moment on these hard and chilling floors to ground you . . . just . . . one . . . single . . . moment to . . .

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

A stray feather pricks into your arm. The vane tickles, but the barb digs your skin. You’ve called this body ‘ yours ’ far longer than your human one, yet the feathers that grow on your skin still astound you. You twirl it around your fingers, and wave it in the air like a wand—it’s a proper animalistic feather.

Your nose scrunches into a hard scowl, and you jump up, stomping into the kitchen toward that untouched coffee mug on your counter. Grabbing it, you splash the contents down the sink, letting it flush down the drain. The sponge is rough against your hands as you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub a̵̯͒n̴̤͝d̶̫͌ ̶͚̇y̶̤̎o̷͔̓u̶̢͐ ̸̓͜s̵̪͗c̸͎͂r̷̀ͅṳ̴̎b̸͖̀ ầ̷̩̯͍̙̳̍͗͘ń̵̰̞̰̕d̴͇̻̮̫̝̓̎̈́ ̶̡̬̬̮̺͗͒́̌͑y̴̙̘̻͇̿̉̐͆ǫ̷͉̟̍̅̑̏ŭ̸̖͓ͅ ̴̛̝͇̭̥̌́́̂s̸̠̑̽̏́c̷̥̺̃̾̊r̶̲̯̈́̈̄͆͊u̵̼̝͕̼̇̍̈́͘b̶͍͖͖̐̾͝.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You rinse the mug, slamming the cupboard door shut when you drop it next to your own clean one. Fingers run through your feather-hair . . . hair-feather, or your ‘ whatever that grows on your scalp’. Some questions you’ve stopped asking.

An audible grumble . . . well, uhhhhh . . . grumbles from where your stomach is placed in this body, and you munch on your lips to keep the inhumane screech from erupting into the kitchen and breaking all kinds of glassware and little knickknacks that Alastor filled your home with. (These days, the old trinkets collect dust on your shelves. There haven’t been any new ones in years.)

Chopping Hell’s equivalent of carrots calms you. (It’s honestly the use of some type of razor-sharp object that calms you. You’d prefer a different razor-sharp object, but a sharp knife is a sharp knife, no matter the size.) You chop until there’s enough food to make a proper and decent meal that your stomach will accept.

You crash on the couch, dinner secured on a plate, and flip the television switch. Light flashes into the room when you do.

Ad about some impish business—Not interested.

‘Yeah, I fucked your sister, So what?’ — Boring.

Cooking Venison with Vox— Lame.

Settling on the lifestyle network, you munch on your food. Some poor slimy creature flashes across the screen, and it's her home that will be remodeled because of . . . something . You’re not sure what that something was. You don’t care enough to find out.

The sounds from the television swap with the silence of your living-room as you take each bite. It’s one of the sadder habits you’ve picked up since purchasing this noisy picture box. Your eyes wander to that half-filled coat rack, while your ears listen in on the show and that woman did not just say that pink would go with brown . Only your singular coat drapes on the hinge, when this particular design was made to hold two.

A commercial plays for some-thing called the Hazbin Hotel.

Your eyes are stitched to the screen until the final note of the song plays, and a different advertisement takes its spot. You take a sip of your drink.  Just ą̷̖̯͈͂ ̷̡̧͚̤̩͎̙͇̞͓̟͈̤̝͉͉͉̘̉͐̓́̆́̇̍̐̿̈̄͜͜͜͝͝s̶̨̢̛̥̣̻̱̰̬̩̹̥̞̟̳̝͔͓͙̗̗͕̟͇̆̉̿į̴̡̢̠͇̱̤͔̙͎͕͛̑̓̒̀̔͆̓͂̃̚͘͘͠ṗ̶̡̢̨̳͙̦̮͍͓̻͎̲̪̲͕͛̔̐́̐̈́̒̒̉̎͛̆̈́̈́̉̔̑̃̕ͅ.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You blink, and you find your keys locking your front door.  Already, your legs are trekking down the garden stones. A flower snarls at you as the gate locks with a click.

Another blink.

Huh . . . you’re on the bus .

The sign says it’s headed into the city. Living on the outskirts has always been beneficial for you. Not today, though. Today, the one-hour commute makes your feathers bristle. You read the barely eligible address scribbled on the note, and pat your hair, smoothing the flared feathers sticking out. It seems . . .

Hmmmmm.

It seems you did not think this through. How . . . how are you going to get to the hotel?

Tagatha calls you a fossil for using one of those flippy telephones. You considered purchasing those fancy telephones with the lights and screens, and loud robotic voices telling you where to turn left, but learning to use a flip-phone brought enough stress for two lifetimes. You’ll happily stay a fossil.

Turns out, you don’t even need the address.

The Hazbin Hotel sticks out. It’s a humongous building with its name written across what you call the sky in blinding neon lights. Your vision zooms in, and you see that the hotel rests on a giant hill at the other edge of the city. Three large neon-lit arrows point to a crudely attached radio tower. Below it, a wooden ship hangs to the side. Circus light bulbs flicker with electricity.

The Hazbin Hotel is an eyesore – it’s exactly what Alastor prefers.

You reach the dinged-up metal gate on the bottom of the hill and reset your hand on the rusted latch. Trekking through the city took a lot, and you were already here. So, why are your legs frozen to the cement? Why does your heartbeat thump in your ears?

“Excuuussseeeee me.”

A snake towers over you. It’s your first time seeing such a slithery specimen as large as him. His hat rests on his hold, and it blinks at you. His hair . . . or was that skin . . . puffs out with two red sets of eyes.

“Can I help you?” you say, warily. Sinners are in hell for a reason.

“Yessssh,” he says, his tongue slithering out. His flaps stick out, all four eyes staring right into your own. “I’d like to be a guessst at this hotel!”

You glance at the eye-sore that’s called a hotel. “I don’t work here.”

His flaps droop. The snake takes a deep breath, and slides the gate open, slithering in with determination in his . . . er . . . snake body.

You follow in silence.

The snake matches your pace. “Will you be a guest at this establishment as well?” he asks you. “Or were you given the same sssssuper secret mission?” Just like before, his tongue slithers out—what a funny little odd man.

Bangs grab your attention. When you focus your vision, you see an inky shadow servant striking a nail into broken wood. “Not at all,” you say slowly. “I’m just here to visit someone.”

His flaps open, and three pairs of eyes and a hat meet yours. “I am the great Sir Pentious!” he says with a proud hand on his puffed-up chest. “Inventor. Architect of destruction. Villain extraordinaire!”

You give him your name “ . . . Doctor.”

“It is only the coward who attacks a battler of health.” His flaps droop as he sinks into himself. “You cannot be my rival, I’m afraid.”

“I guess that makes you brave,” you say, humming. The decorations for the hotel are rather dull. Drawn on the middle of the hill, a giant pentagram is etched on the ground. The flowers dwindle on the cliff edge, and do little to combat the grayness surrounding you. “What a shame to hear—I rather love good rivalries.”

The eyes on Sir Pentious’ hat brighten at the same time his own do as well. “Ssssso do I!”

One of the inky shadow servants waves at you.

You wave back.

Light streams from the glass doors. You blink a few times, adjusting to the sudden change of brightness. Circus-themed stained glass decorate the front entrance. One of the less tacky – but still tacky – designs of this hotel. Sir Pentious taps the glass with the tips of his finger, clinking with each tap, and his eyes water in excitement. His nose crinkles when he takes a deep breath. You weren’t aware he even owned a nose. Sir Pentious fiddles with the flap of his hat, and bangs on the door.

Your smile strains after a minute of banging.

A young lady with long, white hair creaks the door open. You recognize her from the commercial.

Sir Pentious’ flap open and close with each word as he says, “Why, hello, my dear –”

A punch to the face is his reply.

“Oh dear!” you screech. Sir Pentious drops to the ground, and you kneel next to him, a steady hand on his slimy shoulders. “Have you no manners?”

This insolent girl points her spear and stomps a foot on Sir Pentious. She snarls, and her glare hardens.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sir Pentious’ tongue slithers out as he holds a peace-sign. “I come in peacccccceeeee”

“What are you doing here?” Her spear inches closer.

“Vaggies,” another voice calls out. A blonde with a red pantsuit and a bowtie pokes her head, eyes in a squint. O-oh! You know this lady from the commercial. The Princess of Hell . . . Cady . . .Char . . . Charlie Morningstar! “What’s the problem?” Charlie’s eyes widen when she spots you and Sir Pentious, an honest smile drawn on her face. “Oh, hello again! And hello to you as well!”

“Can you please tell this insolent girl to get her food off this gentleman,” you spit, tilting your nose into the air. Your feathers sharpen when you bristle. “And your weapon away from my face .”

Vaggie takes her foot off Sir Pentious. She holds the spear close, but it’s away from your face.

Sir Pentious straightens into a stand, and the group prattles on.

No one bothers to help you. A huff escapes, and you brush the dirt off your skirt. Absolutely no manners. Insolent and ill-mannered.  Would Alastor stay in such a place?

You’ve never laid an eye on someone as unique as this Vaggie. Her hair patterns are similar to wings. It’s almost unheard of to see such a prominent ‘ x ’. Her flared eyelashes resemble a bird. It strikes you silly. Almost everyone in hell resembles a human body with animal characteristics hidden somewhere. This insolent girl doesn’t appear to have any of that – only miniscule feathers made to appear native to Hell.

“Absolutely!” Charlie exclaims to who you think is Angel Dust. (The porn-star, not the drug. Obviously.) Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile on his face. There’s a squeak every time he bobs his head. That hat of his looks nervous.  “This place is about second chances and who deserves one more than this . . . slithery . . .slippery . . . special little man.” Charlie takes a peek at you. “Oh, and this feathery . . .sheddy . . . and round-eyed woman.”

You do not shed.

You smile at Charlie, and give her your name, “ . . . and I expect it to be used.”

Angel Dust whips to Vaggie. “Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” he says and turns to you. “How are we even sure we can trust this lady – no offense, toots.”

“None taken,” you say, dryly.

Charlie’s eyes water when she turns to Vaggie, who easily relents with a sigh.

You’re thrust through the apple and circus-themed doors, squinting at the chandelier. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the design—it reminds you of those old rolled films. Charlie leads you and Sir Pentious further down the hall, all but pushing you in. Vaggie and Angel Dust lag a few steps behind.

Charlie waves her arms to go into an enthusiastic point. “So, this is our bar,” she says. Husk drops his drink, a scowl on his face, “and the bartender. This is the curtain, and this is the new wall after Sir Pentious broke the last one. And this is—”

Vaggie calms her down.

The bar clashes with the red wallpaper of the hotel. It’s almost as if someone just dropped it there, and etched it to the very wall. The wood is firm underneath your touch and feels exactly like what wood should feel.

You turn towards the bar and take your seat. Husk focuses on his drink. “Hello,” you say with a gentle voice that should not be mistaken for kindness. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Husk chokes and splatter out his drink, but you only smile at him. He coughs and his ears droop low. “Yes . . .,” he starts. “Good to see you as well.”

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

You run your finger across the skeleton wrapped around the bar post. A memory tickles your brain. This is one of the many specimens you owned. It took one whole month to strip the muscle off its tight hold on the bones, and another month just to clean, bleach, and wire together. The heads above the bar sign were a gift to you, and the skeletons were your gift back.

The neural spine pokes your finger as you tap each one. “I see you’ve set up shop here.”

Husk scowls, taking another swig of his drink. “Not much of a choice.”

“And tell me,” you start, “how long have you been here?”

Husk doesn’t answer you.

Charlie calls your name, and waves you over. “Over here,” she says pointing to where Niffty plays with some kind of one-eyes cat, “we have our maid—Niffty!”

Niffty hops on Sir Pentious. “The bad boy is back!” she exclaims, pulling him closer, eyes wide and shaking. A bead of sweat drops from Sir Pentious’ hat. “Never leave me again.”

“We’re about 80% sure she’s harmless . . .” Charlie prattles on.

“Hello, Niffty.” You smile at her.

She jumps off Sir Pentious, landing with a small ‘ humph’ , and strides to you with her pointy short legs. She calls out your name.

You squat, meeting her eye. “It’s great to see you again—Is Alastor forcing you here?”

Her eyes shine with an innocent type of glee. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She claps her hands. “I get to chase all the bugs here.” Nifftly leans closer to you, giggling. “Can I be strapped to your table again? I love it when you slice me open.”

“Maybe next ti—”

Charlie grabs your arm, hauling you forward. “Oh! Uh, Alastor! Our gracious facility manager! You've met our newest guest Sir Pentious . . .hehe . . .,” she tells him. Charlie keeps pulling you, only stopping when you stand before a grand staircase. “These two will be our special wonderful guests!”

Alastor does little to show you what he feels, there’s just that same empty grin.

He bought a new coat, you note. This new one has white streaks on the new collar and less stripes. Guess some things were more important than others.

You slip out of Charlie’s tight grasp. “I think you’re mistaken, my dear,” you say. “I’m not a guest— just a visitor.”

You hold your husband’s gaze and greet him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“It’s good to see you,” you say, a smile drawn on your lips. “How are you doing on this wonderful morning?”

Alastor turns to you, drops an item into his grocery basket, and blinks. “I am amazing!” he says. He grabs your hand with his gloved ones and shakes it. His hands are warmer than you expect them to be. “Alastor. Pleasure to meet you. Quite the pleasure.”

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I’m aware of who you are.”

“Oh, how lovely!” He waves his fingers. “ are you on of my many fans?” His smile strains, and there, you see it, on the corner of his cheek. His nose flares and his smile takes the appearance of a snarl. Maybe it was the other way around.

“A bit,” you admit, adjusting your hold on the basket. “How are your stitches, Sir?”

His eyes widen—brown eyes, you note. “The good doctor!”

“I think you mean the good nurse.”

“Oh yes, yes,” he hums and inches the basket away from your gaze. “I’ve been taking my medicine, and replacing my dressing every three days, just like you said.”

“Good—that’s great to hear. No more accidents?”

“None!” He laughs. “And if one does happen, I’ll be sure to present you with an injury that is only hours old.”

A giggle slips through your lips. “That’s even better to hear,” you say. You clear your throat, tightening the hold on your basket. “I’d hate to take even more of your time. I’ll let you go on with your day.”

A firm grip on the basket handles keeps your feet planted on the glossy floor of the general store. “Not so fast, my dear. I think you still owe me,” he says. Your teeth bare into what you hope is a polite smile. “You promised to show me your marvelous embroidery the next time we meet! You’re not the type of lady to go back on your word now, are you?

“You sure do know how to put such ladies into a tight spot.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light. “I assure you; I don’t mean to. I tend to get very excited about art

“Well, with you holding my integrity hostage, and the addition of such lovely enthusiasm, I find myself having trouble refusing.” You reach into your purse and pull out a clean handkerchief. “Sadly, I wasn’t expecting the general storm to be an art gallery, so this will have to do.”

And there it is again, that same breathy and light laughter. “They really do have everything in here

Alastor takes your handkerchief with steady enthusiasm, studying each stitch carefully. It’s one of your simpler designs—tiny flower bouquets scattered across the fabric. Your eyes are drawn to the contents of his basket: rope, strong acids, latex gloves, rolls of plastic wrap, and other such interesting items.

“You have such beautiful handiwork.”

“You can keep it if you wish,” you tell him. “I have thousands back home, and I’m always weak to such flattering compliments— a real boost to my ego.”

“Splendid!” Alastor slips the handkerchief into his coat. “I love receiving gifts from fans.”

You smile at him to hide your frown. You are not some fan-girl. “Of course.”

Alastor is following you.

The conversation ended several beats of silence ago, but he trails behind your every step. You skip the aisle where they sell produce, stop to grab some eggs, ask the butcher for 50g of chicken liver, and smile back when he smiles back. You sigh and lead Alastor to the end of the general store, and into an aisle.

You snatch a glass bottle of chemicals off the shelf—they really do have everything here. “Going for a hunt soon?” you ask, and read the label.

His smile brightens as he says, “Why yes! There was this wonderful prey that I spotted the other day, and I’m just dying to have his head hanging on my wall.”

You offer him the bottle. “You have a lovely coat. It would be a shame for it to be ruined by stains,” you say. “This always does the trick when dealing with the redder parts of my job.”

He takes the bottle from you.

“Take this as well,” you say and reach into your basket. “It’s the last bottle of 12% hydrogen peroxide in this store, but you need it more than I do. A ratio of fifty-fifty of this and a bit of hair developer in a bucket of water should brighten up your bones. Just let it soak for a day. Oh . . . and just in case, those two chemicals are safe to mix. You should avoid doing so, but an accident wouldn’t hurt you.”

Alastor offers his basket, and you drop the bottle along with the other hazardous substances. “You sound certain.”

“That is because I am.”

Fate has granted you a humorous shopping companion, and you decide to stop fighting it. Alastor follows you to the bread aisle.

You point to the top shelf. “Can you . . . ?”

He drops the bread into your basket, and stares at you with what you think is curious tenacity.

“My father works as a butcher,” you say, sighing. “He prides himself on catching the venison he sells. We don’t believe in wasting a precious body, so we use it until there is nothing left to give. He came back from his own hunt and wanted to add another antler to his display

Alastor hums. “Won’t you need these then?”

“There’s still a bit leftover sitting in his workshop. I just came to get an extra bottle.”

Alastor continues to follow.  “Do you often aid your father in his work?”

“Not as frequent as when I was a teen, but I still aid him when I have the time to do so,” you say. “It’s how I got to be so normal around a knife —the sharp ones are the best, they cut right through the skin, and with enough force, the bones as well. I keep a little collection of bones at home.”

“Such interesting hobbies you have.”

You pick up two coffee bags and hum. “Thank you.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him and reach out to straighten it. Alastor jerks away and spins to reach into the shelf behind you. “I rather detest owing favors, and you have done me two,” he says, offering you an entirely different brand of coffee beans. “I suggest you try this one. It’s flavors are far richer.”

You offer your basket and Alastor drops it right in.

You eye his basket once more. “Will that be all you’re purchasing?”

He nods, smiling at you.

You smile back.

Well, isn’t this just lovely? Well-dressed gentlemen really are your favorite.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie whips her head, mouth wide as she stares at you and then at Alastor. Angel Dust has an arm on his hips, his brows furrowed and mouth quirked to the side an awkward but rather cute frown. Sir Pentious’ hat squints at you with what you assume is confusion—you can’t really tell. Sir Pentious’s tongue sticks out of his bewildered and crooked frown.

“Oh! How nice,” Charlie says after a beat. “So, you two know each other?”

“Partners,” you say

“Friends,” Alastor says

Your smile strains as you say, “To be called a friend by the Radio Demon is quite the honor.” Alastor wipes his monocle with a proud puff.

Angel Dust whistles, leaning on the railing with the first set of arms crossed, and the second propped on his hip. “Didn’t think Freak would be the type to have friends.”

“Neither did I!” You say with a loud laugh. “Well, that’s what I am – a f̵̼̎r̴͔̃i̶̦̍e̶͕͠ṋ̸̀d̶͚̋ .” You smoothen your puffed-up feathers. “Apologies.”

More introductions are done. Charlie insists on giving Sir Pentious his first lesson on apology. It goes about as well as you think.

Charlie winces a bit “Ooooookay,” she says and inhales to plaster a huge smile. “Why don’t we . . . uh . . . take a look at the kitchen!”

Angel Dust takes one look at Charlie’s enthusiasm, winces, and says he’s getting a drink.

Charlie’s death grip on Sir Pentious stays firm as you trudge to the kitchen. She stalls at every painting to explain its history, and introduces every crack on the wall, showing it off with an enthusiastic glee. Even the water-stained wallpaper gets its own special moment during the tour. (Where is that ill-mannered girl when you need her?)

You lag a few steps behind. “Alastor . . .”, you say as a greeting.

Alastor matches your pace, using his microphone as a cane. With the very tip of his fingers, he plucks a stray feather off your hair with a coy smile that reaches from ear to ear. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering how I’ve been fairing these last few years,” he says, spinning that microphone of his and waving his hand like some kind of street performer.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, I know I’ve been absent for some time,” he starts. “It’s nothing serious; I assure you. It’s nothing I cannot handle as well.”

 “My goodness, and here I thought you were occupied at work.” Your teeth flash when you smile. “But in any case, it’s quite . . .kind of you to soothe what little worry this friend might have for you.” Alastor and his microphone laugh at you, but you hum with satisfaction when his eyes narrow into a glare.

Charlie and Sir Pentious wave their hands, calling you from across the hall, and you hasten your steps.

The kitchen intimidates you. So many large and metallic machines. You’re sure it would be a living hell should you ever need to operate such an unorthodox set of appliances. Copper-red tables fill the space, and similar colored cabinets stick to the wall. Such peculiar stoves they have in this establishment. There seems to be no space for the gas tank, nor a gas burner, just some flat glass with weird markings. You prefer the appliances stashed at your home.

“This . . .,” Charlie starts, winding her arms to a point, “ . . . is the kitchen!”

Sir Pentious’ flaps extend, his arms rocking with excitement. “Such lovely metallic inventions.” He slithers to counter with a dip that appears to mimic some kind of skin. There’s some type of yellow liquid. “This bubbly torture deviccceeee is my favorite.”

“Uhhhhhh, I love that you love the kitchen appliance,” she says with an honestly gentle smile. “But that’s actually an oil fryer.” Charlie crosses her arm into a big ‘ x ’. “But no torturing is done here, no siree.”

“What a peculiar shape for an oil fryer to be,” you say, taking a look. Alastor glances over your shoulder to take a peek as well. “And there’s so much metal around—did you run out of paint, perhaps?”

Charlie frowns, her shoulder dropping low. “I’d love to add different colors to the machine, but Vaggie says it would take up too much money and time.”

Her frown lasts a second before she’s smiling again.

 “ Oh oh oh! You should take a look around. See if there’s anything you might want to add.” Charlie drags you towards one of the cabinets at the back. “We each have a shelf dedicated to our own snacks, but I always love to leave cookies on the communal snack pantry.”

Charlie prattles on, introducing each section of the cabinet. You watch Alastor warily when he shows his teeth. He wiggles his fingers across the air, reaching towards the shelf where Charlie just mentioned Vaggie storing her personal snacks. You slam the cabinet door before he reaches them.

Soft static fills the kitchen air.

“Go on,” Charlie urges. “Take a look around – I know some species of Sinners have specific dietary needs.” She props a hand on her chin. “Like Angel! He can’t seem to be able to have any milk—I wonder why? But he just keeps drinking it anyway for some reason.”

Does the Princess of Hell not know what Lactose Intolerance is? Maybe because she’s never lived as a human . It’s quite humorous, you suppose. A hell-born trying to guide a human, with little to no insight about humanity. Could this be the reason why she’s so naively optimistic?

Sir Pentious’ smile widens, and so does his flap. “You’re . . . giving . . . me permission to poke around?”

“Er . . . yes?”

You open a random cabinet door, and huh . . .

On the shelf, towards the back, you have the same set of spices in your own kitchen. One of the bottles here has its label stained and fraying at the edges. Another bottle is nearing empty, and the corner of the cap has been chipped off. There was a time, when your own set of spices was stained with oil, and its label frayed because of the constant picking to the edges.

Yesterday, you threw out a set of unopened bottles of spices, its seal still clinging to the caps and brimming with unused flavor, and replaced it with the same set of sealed spices. It’s a waste of your money to keep throwing out something that you never use, but . . . but . . . you find it in your grocery basket every single time .

Alastor closes the cabinet with a gentle click.

Your smile fades, and he holds your gaze.

“You are shedding all over my kitchen floors.” Alastor presents you with a bundle of your feathers bunched up on his palm. His grin mocks you.

You turn away, heading where Charlie and Sir Pentious converse. You do not shed.

Alastor pops out of your shadow, towering over you as he inches closer. “Long day?” he says with a hum, that smile still on his face. “You don’t usually start molting until the mid-summer.”

“Oh yes,” you say with a hum, that frown still on your face. “This day has been quite long. How very generous of you to check up on this friend of yours.”

He holds the feathers he’s collected, examining them with a careful eye. “With this rate, you’ll be able to gift a whole pillow.”

Your frown deepens. “Lovely,” you murmur. “I’ll make sure to do so.”

Alastor twirls his microphone and lands it with a soft thunk. He studies you for a second. “Rosie’s last husband got eaten by a shark,” he says. “Not even a loan shark—just a proper dead shark. She swore vengeance on the creature for taking a bite before she had a chance to.”

“ What?” you say, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Is that what happened to him? She would be so vague about it when I ask.”

Alastor draws a line along his face, mimicking a smile with his fingers. “Much better, indeed.”

Charlie insists on showing the view from the top of the Hotel. Her arms cross around your own as she chatters about everyone and everything. It’s refreshing to meet a soul as honest as hers.

The elevator ride is painfully slow. The music strains your ears, and this battered metal death box jerks with every floor.

Sir Pentious and his hat scowl at the ‘ absolutely inferior ssssmmelting of this handle, Charlie’ and ‘ this piss poor wiring. The endsss are not aligned to the proper sssssafety guidelineeeesss’ or something. Charlie listens in on every word, nodding to indicate that she hears each and everyone. It makes you smile. Alastor picks at your stray feathers with the tip of his fingers, preening the areas you have difficulty reaching.

Moments too late, the elevator doors open with that heavenly ding.

“The view up here is helltastically a-mazing! ” Charlie informs the group. “Alastor, you often hide up here or inside the radio tower. It’s really good, right?”

Alastor switches his hold on the microphone, swinging to catch it. “Quite helltastic indeed!” he says. “ I get to see the whole city underneath my very feet.”

Sir Pentious nods. “I, too, would love to sssseee the city underneath me!”

Alastor swings a door open, gesturing for the group to enter like a gentleman.  Charlie whispers an audible ‘awww’ at the sight and saunters right in. Sir Pentious follows along, slithering behind her.

He shuts the door when you take a step forward, separating you from Charlie and Sir Pentious.

There’s still that never-ending smile on his lips as Alastor strides to the other end of the hallway, playing with his microphone. You follow behind in silence. Alastor opens a different door, and this time, you step through.

Alastor closes the door, leaving you and him together, alone, on this flimsy balcony. He beams at you, taking a step forward—

You slap him.

Radio static glitches from his microphone. There, on the corner of his cheek, you see the strain in his smile. His eyes harden into a glare, his nostrils flare, and his smile takes on the appearance of a snarl.

The air around you starts to gray with static. Symbols carve themselves into the space.

You slap him again, staring down at him.

“Is that all you came to do?” Alastor says to you with a low snarl, but the symbols dissolve and his antlers shrink.

You turn towards the view, propping a hand on your chin. “Such harsh words for a friend,” you say with a sarcastic smile. “It’s a wonder why you don’t have more with such a dazzling personality. At any rate, it’ll be impossible to find yourself a wife.”

His eyes twitch, and Alastor strikes the ground with his microphone. “Well, consider it an honor,” he says, inching closer, mimicking your smile. “Not many can say such words to me, much less be able to strike my flesh

“Maybe they should—someone certainly has to.”

Alastor still has a smile—he always has a smile. You watch as his eyes morph into radio dials, and the absolute audacity of that man to look at you like that.

Your feathers sharpen and crack at the sight. “D̷̝̈́o̷̞͊n̷̟̂'̷̗̏ť̵͔ ̴̱̀f̷̳̓u̴͍̓c̷̛͕ḳ̵͝ ̴̲̽w̸̞̑í̵̞t̴̼̐ḥ̷͝ ̵̫͌m̸̻̔e̸̡͘!— you never have, so don’t start. Don’t test me—not today, my deerest,” you say, hissing at him. 

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he says, glancing down at you. “Unless you are a child, I expect you to use your words.”

“You know I’m not just some friend — you do not allow yourself to make such connections. We’re partners,” you tell him, and you don’t know why you remind him when he should already know. Was it in fear that he forgot? “But you left without as much as a word.”

“Was it that I left? Or was it that I left you?” Alastor says with casualty as if to show you such dismissal, and oh . . . yes, your husband can be a cruel man, indeed. Time and sweet smiles made you forget.

You rub your hands on your face, taking one deep breath. “I want what I deserve—an explanation,” you say. “That’s all I need as your wife.”

It’s his silence that makes you turn away. 

“I see.” Your face falls. “Perhaps, it was a mistake to seek you out. A fool’s errand.”

You study the sinners below. The whole city really can be seen from underneath your very feet. (You ignore the trembling of your fists. You’re a doctor, for fucks sake. Your hands don’t tremble . . . at least, they never have before.) 

Hesitant, but gentle touches pick at your feathers. Alastor preens you with warm hands. “You are not a fool, my love,” he says. “I would not be yours if such were the case.”

You harden your heart for you cannot let this man see the cracks. “This is not what I wish to hear,” you say, voice steady.

Alastor does not answer you.

“Will you just stay silent every time?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you meet his gaze. You hold it as much as he holds yours. “ There is not a thing in this world that you do not do without reason,” you say slowly. “However,  I’m not sure if your silence is because you cannot or if it’s because you will not explain yourself to me. Which is it?”

There is nothing on his face that you can read, just a small steady smile that tells you nothing. “I will not.”

“I know you, my deerest, and I know that you’ve never once led me astray.” Your grip on the railing tightens painfully. This day has been long. “Then all I need is your word that you will return to me with that smile of yours when you’ve accomplished what you need to do.”

Alastor smiles at you, twirling his microphone. “We can even shake on it.”

You shake your head. “This is not a deal,” you say. “This is your wife demanding that you do so.”

“Then it shall be done,” Alastor says, inching close enough for his warmth to spread.  He turns to you and pokes his cheeks to indicate a smile. "You look much more radiant with one."

You bare your teeth at him, giving a dry smile. “Much better?”

“Indeed.”

You study the sinners below once more, but this time your hands stay steady next to Alastor’s own. Well, Charlie was correct, the view is helltastic. The entertainment district blinds you, but only for a second. And when you sharpen your vision, you can faintly make out acid clouds forming on the outskirts of the city. You should have grabbed an umbrella on your way out.

“I heard you on the radio today,” you say.

He glances at you, his smile widening ever so slightly with smugness. “And you came all this way for me?”

“Well, that is what good friends do for each other.”

Alastor points his nose to the air with a huff.

“I only jest, my deerest,” you say, chuckling at him. “ I came all the way here to see if I’ve been widowed a second time, or just dumped like a common rag.”

“Is that so?”Alastor hums with dissatisfaction. “I’m sure you mentioned something about not noticing such a long disappearance.”

You hold his gaze, inching your hand to cup his cheek. You stop inches above his skin, and your palm hovers enough for Alastor to feel the warmness you hold on your hands. “Don’t pout, my deer,” you tell him, softly, oh so very soft as you caress the air. “Of course, I noticed your absence.” 

You clap your hands together with the brightest and most innocent smile you can muster.

“But if I told you that, my deerest,” you start, “I feared that big head of yours would implode if I fed your ego.”

Alastor laughs, and his real voice bleeds in as he does. “That humor of yours has been my most wonderful companion all these years.”

You smile with satisfaction. “My, my, you make such fine compliments.”

His smile relaxes. “I do, indeed!”

“Just as you say that my humor makes a fine companion,” you say as you laugh, bright and heavy, “that smile of yours has been mine.”

A knock breaks the moment.

The door swings open, slow and hesitant. Charlie pokes her head, and her hair droops to the sideways. Behind her, Sir Pentious waves at you. You wave back.

“Oooooooohhhh . . . yikes,” Charlie says, shrinking deeper into the door. “Am I interrupting? I could just go an—”

“Not at all my dear,” you say. “Come right in. You have such a lovely view, and things like this are better when shared.”

Charlie swings the door wider, sauntering right in, and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “You could live here as well!” she says. Behind her, Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. “We accept everyone.”

You flicker your gaze to Alastor. “I already have a home,” you find yourself saying. “And this place is far too close to the city. So much honking and blasting aren’t good for my ears.”

Charlie pouts, but she doesn’t press you.

The view is better when shared. Charlie points at every detail and explains everything you see. The sky darkens to a red, and too soon, it’s time to leave.

There’s a warm, but firm, hand resting on your back when you walk out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. Alastor keeps his hands steady, even when you reach the common room.

Vaggie is the first to greet your group—well, it’s more appropriate to say she greets Charlie, and you just happen to be there. There’s a bag by her feet. “I was able to find the costumes you need for the exercise,” she says. “Even the giant lollipop is here.”

Charlie squeals. “ Thank you thank you thank you! ” Her excited gaze filters to you. “I have this wonderful game in mind, and then we could fo a bit of some of that good ol’ roleplay.” Angel Dust quirks a smile from the couch. “You should totally sta—”

“I’m afraid not,” Alastor says, drumming his fingers on his microphone. “I think it’s time for our visitor to head home. She’s had quite a long day.”

“Oh, of course. No worries!” Charlie says, giving you a bright smile—a real genuine and honest smile. “Feel free to come by anytime. The Hazbin Hotel’s doors will always be open should you change your mind.”

Vaggie scratches her face. “Before you go, I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she says. “It wasn’t right of me to be so hostile—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, my dear. I understand,” you say quickly, ignoring the static behind you. “You were protecting something you cared about. I find great value in those who do.”

Vaggie smiles, and maybe she’s not too bad after all. “Thank you.”

From the couch, Angel Dust props his legs and waves at you. “And you’re welcome to open these doors any day.”

Alastor leads you to the door. You wave back at Niffty and Sir Pentious, whose eyes water as he frowns. Alastor’s hand stays firm as you trudge down the hill, past the rusted gate, into the city, and to the correct bust stop.

“You sure know how to find the most interesting groups of people, my deer,” you say. “Charlie and that hotel of hers are wonderful.”

Alastor adjusts his monocle. “Well, you know me. I see potential, and I follow it wherever it leads.”

“Should I be worried?” you say, chuckling. “The last time you saw potential, it ended with us married.”

“Not at all, my love.”

“You should continue to stay at the hotel,” you find yourself saying. “There’s just something about it—I think you’ll pick up quite a lot from your time there.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him, and reach out to straighten it. Alastor inches closer. The fabric is smooth underneath your touch. There’s stray lint on the shoulder of his coat, and you brush it away. You grab his lapes and adjust its fit, smoothing the fabric beneath your fingers.

“Much better?” he asks.

“Indeed,” you say softly.

“I will see you soon,” he says, and you hear the unspoken promise and question hidden beneath his words.

“Good.”

Alastor tilts your chin with the tips of fingers. (And oh . . . oh . His gloves are off, and his hands are warmer than ever) He presses his lips on your cheek.

That blasted bus arrives too soon. You step inside, but turn to your husband and say, “Next time, when you disappear for several years, I expect to be informed and not just left with a vague note,” you say with a huff. “And when you return, I also expect to be the first to be informed.”

“Of course.”

“See to it that you keep your word.”

The bus door closes, and you take your seat. You smile to yourself and lean back on the crusty bus fabric. Patting your pocket, you take out a single gold band, slipping it on your finger.

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That habit of recklessness in moments of excitement was something your father hoped you’d grow out of. Thinking things through never really was one of your many strengths when such an exhilarating opportunity presents itself.

You scold yourself for not double-checking for gloves. Measure twice, cut one, and all that. But no matter, you’ll push through as always, clawing and digging to unearth the treasure left behind.

Your scalpel fits into your palms. Throughout this Earth, no . . . not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You sigh, breathy and exhilarated, and begin.

‘First, do no harm’

But this . . . this does not harm a single living being.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should Be Trusted| If you guys know who Octavia and Stolas are, that's what I imagine when I think about the reader's hair. Also, maybe some of you noticed, but I'm very relaxed when it comes to formatting my writing. Its why I use quite a lot of ellipses and em dashes and utilize italics and spaces. But the one thing I was very strict about was not to use the word, "miss". So there are no "You miss..." and "I miss..." But the words are there and spoken beneath actions and thoughts, hidden and unspoken, but known. My inbox is always open because I'd like to know what your favorite unspoken "I miss you" is/are. I have my own favorite ones as well.

[the-house-of-auditore-frye]

To this day, I can't watch this cutscene without laughing at his impression - the combination of the weird high(er) pitch voice and his facial expression makes me lose it each time😂

“My own idiot Father liked to brag about how he meant to purchase a Ship of his own. ‘I’ll get a privateering Contract, Charlie. Your old Dad will be a Captain.’ Drowned in a Whiskey Bottle before he ever left Shore.” - Charles Vane

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Thirty-One)

Summary: (Y/N), Din and Grogu pay the Mandalorian’s old covert a visit before journeying to Nevarro and meeting an old friend of theirs to ask for a favor.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi guys! Now that Season 3 is over and we’re all in need of a little comfort, it’s time once again to catch up with Din, Alor’ad and Grogu’s adventures! Thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-One The Apostate (Previous Chapter)

While the swirling lights of hyperspace surrounded the gunmetal-silver Naboo N-1 Starfighter, (Y/N) continued on with her stitching and hummed an old lullaby from her homeworld to herself, mindful of her two companions still fast asleep. One of the many similarities that Din and Grogu shared was their ability to sleep anywhere and everywhere, a skill that (Y/N) couldn’t help but envy them for; even during her days as a smuggler, she found it challenging to get any sort of decent sleep while traveling in hyperspace. I guess there’s one thing that bounty hunters do better than smugglers, she thought with a small wry smile.

Right on cue, her husband’s arms tightened around her waist and he let out a deep yawn as he shifted in his seat behind her. “G’mornin’, alor’ad. You get any sleep?” When she didn’t answer, he heaved a sigh and brought a gloved hand up to gently coax her into looking at him. “You’ve gotta try to start getting more sleep, (Y/N); you haven’t been sleeping much since we left Naboo and it’s beginning to worry me a little.”

“I know, sweetheart. I think I just got so used to living a quiet life that returning to all this was…I guess it was a little jarring.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the cockpit of the starfighter; as their blissful honeymoon on Naboo came to an end, Din confided in her that he wanted to redeem himself in the eyes of the Mandalorian covert who’d taken him in as an orphaned child and while she supported his decision, it was no secret that she didn’t believe he needed to be redeemed for anything. In her eyes, he was a Mandalorian through and through and nothing the Children of the Watch said could ever change that, but over time he felt differently. They searched for proof that Mandalore hadn’t been entirely destroyed during the Purge and once they found what they needed from a Jawa trader, they set out to locate Din’s covert and show the Armorer that his redemption was possible. Din knew how she felt about their new quest and conversely, she knew that he felt guilty for shattering the brief moment of peace they’d found on Naboo to achieve his redemption.

Setting down her stitching, (Y/N) turned her head as best she could and gave her husband a relenting smile. “When we leave your covert and start our journey to Nevarro, I promise I’ll get some sleep.” She reached up and lifted the edge of his beskar helmet far enough to press a soft kiss onto his lips, smiling as he relaxed in his seat and instantly kissed her back. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika riduur.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika alor’ad,” Din murmured against her lips, giving her one final kiss before pulling his helmet back down over his face. “So, what’ve you been working on?”

“It’s a knapsack for Grogu. He’s got more robes than he’ll ever be able to wear, so I thought that a matching knapsack would be nice…just as long as he doesn’t start using it to store bugs and other little critters he wants to eat.” The starfighter dropped out of hyperspace before the innocuous-looking planet, and (Y/N) arched a skeptical brow. “This isn’t exactly the sort of planet I’d choose to grow a covert on; it’s mostly barren.”

“I suppose they’re just grateful to be anywhere that provides privacy.” The Mandalorian took the controls and piloted the starfighter down into the planet’s upper atmosphere; while they flew through the pale blue skies over the rocky terrain, Grogu began to stir in his domed compartment but before either of them could address the child, they were met with a concerning sight. “Um, I don’t think this planet’s as barren as you thought it was…”

In the distance, an enormous long-toothed reptilian was attacking a gathering of Mandalorians on the sandy lakeshore; the creature barely registered the blaster fire as it roared and charged at the fearless warriors, who refused to back down despite their obvious disadvantage. Stubbornness must go hand-in-hand with the Way, she thought with a sardonic smile, bracing herself as Din fired at the creature and spun the ship around for another pass. Din fired another shot, which connected with the creature’s hide in a fiery explosion and resulted in its lifeless corpse collapsing onto the shore of the large lake.

“Nice shot, sweetheart,” (Y/N) praised as he expertly landed the starfighter on an empty stretch of sand, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the chunks of smoking meat and bloody intestines littered the lakeshore and flicking the switch to open the windshield. “You think that’ll make them a little happier to see us?”

They both looked over at the Mandalorians gathered across the way and Din released a heavy sigh. “Only one way to find out.”

After hopping down from the starfighter and onto the sand, Din helped her descend from the cockpit and let Grogu out of his compartment in the back, and the three of them walked across the shore to where the Armorer stood; the other Mandalorians watched them pass by and some even murmured to one another, but none of them stopped them from standing before their de facto leader and (Y/N) refused to cower under the intense weight of their stares. “Din Djarin, Captain (Y/L/N).”

“My riduur and I humbly request an audience with you.” Din’s hand move to rest on the small of her back as he addressed the Armorer. “It pertains to our last interaction on Glavis.”

The Armorer silently studied them for a moment before giving them a curt nod and leading them to the entrance of a nearby cave. Beside (Y/N), Din breathed a small sigh of relief before leading the way and all around them, the Mandalorians began to disperse and clean up after their battle with the reptilian; (Y/N)’s eyes found the familiar helmet of Paz Vizsla, the Mandalorian she’d butted heads with during their short time on Glavis, and she stubbornly held his gaze until they stepped into the cave, wordlessly showing him that she was still not an aruetiise to be trifled with. Her husband’s gloved hand flexed but stayed in its usual place against the small of her back and the child trotted along behind them as they followed the Armorer through the network of tunnels.

They found her standing in her cavernous forge beneath a beskar Mythosaur skull mounted onto the wall, leaning against one of tables and facing away from them as she quietly gathered her thoughts. “You have removed your helmet. What’s worse, you did so of your own free will.” The Armorer turned around before continuing with an air of finality, “You are no longer Mandalorian.”

Grogu softly cooed and (Y/N) flashed him a reassuring smile while Din took a step forward and stated, “The Creed teaches us of redemption.”

“Redemption is no longer possible, since the destruction of our homeworld.”

“But what if the Mines of Mandalore still exist?”

The Armorer shook her head in impatience. “All was destroyed in the Purge.”

Biting her lip to keep from voicing her more irritated thoughts, (Y/N) reached into her coat’s pocket and withdrew the thick shard of green-hued crystal. “Is this inscription not Mandalorian?”

While she set the artifact down on the table separating them, she could feel the Armorer’s eyes trained on her and sense her surprise as they took a seat to wait for her answer; after a brief moment’s hesitation, she moved to sit across from them at the table. “Where did you come upon this?”

“Jawas,” Din replied while (Y/N)’s fingers smoothed over Grogu’s wrinkled forehead. “They came upon it by trade from a traveler who claimed to have visited the surface of Mandalore.”

The artifact was only a small tablet inscribed with Mandalorian writing and embedded in crystal, but the Armorer picked it up and examined it as if it were a faulty thermal detonator. “Then this relic only proves that Mandalore’s entire surface has been crystalized by fusion rays.”

“But a traveler was able to retrieve this…so perhaps, it is not poisoned.” The Armorer remained silent and Din took it as a sign to continue. “If we visit the planet and we can bring you proof that I have bathed in the Living Waters beneath the Mines of Mandalore, then by Creed, the decree of exile will be lifted and I would be redeemed.”

(Y/N) had spent enough time around Din to master the ability of reading the emotions of anyone who donned a helmet and as the Armorer sat across from the three of them, she knew that she was considering more than just Din’s transgression and status as an apostate. But she held her tongue and merely watched the Armorer shift in her seat before finally speaking. “This is the Way.”

Din’s shoulders sagged in relief and once they got to their feet, he lifted Grogu into his arms and gave the Armorer a firm nod. “Then we will see you again.”

The both of them turned and began making their way back through the network of tunnels, and (Y/N) glanced over at her husband with a knowing smile on her lips. “So, Nevarro?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s time to recruit a little help for our new quest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Welcome to Nevarro, independent trade anchor and Outer Rim Hyperlane port. Please state the purpose of your visit.”

“We’re here to meet an old friend,” (Y/N) answered, expertly piloting the starfighter over the bustling city and easing into their descent as she took in the wondrous sight before them. “When we heard talk that Nevarro was thriving as of late, I had no idea that it’d be like this.”

“You should’ve seen what it looked like back when the Guild still operated here.” Din’s modulated voice was filled with awe and he leaned forward to get a closer look at the planet he’d once spent most of his time on. She landed the starfighter just beyond the city’s archway where dozens of other ships were stationed and allowed the Mandalorian to help her down from the cockpit, tilting his helmeted head down to give him a Keldabe Kiss and activating the mechanism to release Grogu’s floating pram from the ship.

The two of them walked hand-in-hand through the city’s archway while Grogu drifted along beside them, quietly admiring the thriving community that successfully emerged from the remnants of the Empire better and stronger than before. Vendors sold their wares along the streets to eager shoppers of all manner of species – (Y/N) craned her neck to see if there were any selling fabrics and sewing materials while Din gave her shoulder a loving bump – and stalls of chefs preparing various delicacies filled the air with mouth-watering aromas. She chuckled when she noticed Grogu staring up in interest at a tree filled with chattering Kowakian monkey-lizards and she listened in as they walked past a stationed white protocol droid.

“Welcome to the port of Nevarro, gem of the Outer Rim. Our esteemed High Magistrate welcomes you and hopes that your stay will be a prosperous one.”

“Greef Karga seems to be as humble a man as I remember,” (Y/N) remarked with a giggle as Din shook his head in exasperation. “Let’s just hope he’s not as big of a flirt; I’m a married woman now, after all.”

“He’ll get over his disappointment.” Din’s voice was filled with enough snark to make her chuckle and give his pauldron a reassuring kiss.

“We invite you to visit our shops and markets, enjoy local delicacies, marvel at the black lava canyons, or soak in the geothermal springs.”

Her brow arched in interest at the protocol droid’s spiel while they passed by; she knew it had been a while since they’d experienced the luxury of real lodgings, and nothing sounded as good to her in that moment as a relaxing bath and a good night’s sleep in an honest-to-Maker real bed. Maybe we’ll be able to spend a night before the next leg of our journey, she thought with a glimmer of hope.

Beside her, Din hummed in interest as they strolled past a street band and a group of children at play. “A lot has changed around here.”

They came upon the city square, where a statue of an IG-series assassin droid stood tall atop a jagged pedestal; Din and Grogu’s adventures with IG-11 happened long before (Y/N) joined their quest but she’d heard plenty of stories about the droid that saved both of their lives from Moff Gideon and his Imperial forces. IG-11 was the only droid that Din had ever called a friend and with the knowledge of the horrors he’d experienced when he was a child as the sole survivor of a Separatist droid attack, she understood why the droid’s noble sacrifice meant so much to him.

“It was thoughtful of Greef to erect a statue of him,” (Y/N) remarked as she studied the droid’s worn parts. “Now, all of Nevarro will remember the droid who sacrificed himself to rid their planet of Imperial remnants.”

Her husband nodded and glanced over at Grogu. “Do you remember your old friend?”

The child’s large green ears fell and when he let out a saddened coo, (Y/N) patted the top of his wrinkled head and gave him a comforting smile. “It’s okay, little guy.”

“Mando! (Y/N)!” They both turned to see a beaming Greef Karga making his way towards them, dressed in the elaborate robes of a High Magistrate complete with two droids holding the hem of his cape above the ground. “I heard that the both of you were back, but I didn’t believe it.”

There was a smile in Din’s modulated voice as he gave his old friend a nod. “Magistrate Karga.”

“That’s High Magistrate Karga to you,” Greef chuckled and firmly clasped Din’s arm in greeting before turning to (Y/N) with a charming smile. “But you may call me whatever you’d like, my dear. It’s so very good to see such a beauty once again grace our city with her presence.”

Just as he moved to place a kiss on her knuckles, (Y/N) calmly extricated her hand from his and extended her fingers to show off her wedding band. “You’re very kind, Greef, but I’m actually spoken for now; we were married several months ago on my homeworld of Naboo.”

Greef’s face illuminated with joy and he clasped his hands together. “Congratulations, my friends! Come, we’ll share a drink in honor of the happy couple and catch up on old times!” He looked down at Grogu and gave his nose a gentle tap. “And, of course, we’ll find a special treat for the little one as well.”

The child’s joyful giggles accompanied the trio as they entered the city’s main hall and Din’s helmet tilted to the side. “Doesn’t even look like the same place…”

“I know, we’ve done a lot with it! The citizens have been instrumental in making this all work, and look at this.”

(Y/N) smiled while she followed the High Magistrate upstairs to his office overlooking the sprawling cityscape. “The possibility of communities like this being able to thrive after the tyranny of the Empire was what many of us Rebels fought for. You all should be very proud of yourselves, Greef.”

“You’re far too kind, my dear,” Greef led them into his office and gave Din a mischievous wink. “And you are a very lucky man, Mando.”

“I know,” Her husband replied as he lifted Grogu out of his pram and set him down on one of the desk chairs. “Don’t spin it too much, okay, kid?”

Grogu babbled to himself and started to rotate the chair using the Force, and a chuckling (Y/N) caressed one of his ears while she followed Din and Greef out onto the office’s spacious balcony. “We are now an official trade spur of the Hydian Way. We’ve got a construction boom going on in the city, the belters are mining the asteroid fields at the edge of the system…” They all looked out at the stunning view before them. “There’s a lot of money to be made on Nevarro.”

“I can see.”

Greef’s eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. “I can set you up with a prime tract right over by the hot springs! You two and the little one, you can settle down, you can hang up your blasters, live off the fat of the land.” He turned to (Y/N) and gestured towards her impeccably-handmade clothing. “You’re a self-taught seamstress from a prominent Mid-Rim planet, (Y/N); you could open a shop right here in the heart of Nevarro!”

Taken aback by the casual mention of her life-long dream, all (Y/N) could think to say in response was one word. “Grogu.”

“…Come again?”

Din pointed at the child, who was still keeping himself entertained by spinning his chair in circles. “The kid. His name is Grogu.”

“Oh…If you say so! Come, I wanna show you something…” Greef walked back into the office and they followed, (Y/N) doing her best not to glance over at Din as the High Magistrate’s offer played on repeat in her mind; she’d always dreamed of living the quiet life of a seamstress, with a shop to call her own and the ability to practice the trade she’d studied as a child on Naboo. Din had known about her dream for some time, and (Y/N) didn’t need to see his face to tell he was riddled with guilt over not being able to give it to her. While she watched, Greef walked around his desk and activated a holo-map, smiling in self-assurance as he gestured to an empty portion of land. “Now, as I was saying, there’s a beautiful parcel available right down here by the flats-”

“We appreciate the offer, but we have some matters to look after,” Din interrupted with an apologetic shrug.

Greef’s brow furrowed. “Oh, I’m confused. I thought you two had completed your mission, but you’re still running around here with the same little critter.”

The Mandalorian reached out and held the back of Grogu’s chair to stop its spinning before replying, “It’s complicated; we completed our quest, but he returned to us. I removed my helmet, and now I’m an apostate.”

“Which is all the more reason for you all to stay here with us!” As Greef talked, Grogu used the Force to summon a piece of candy from the bowl on the desk and (Y/N) expertly snatched a second out of the air so he couldn’t eat it. “Where you’re from, you may be an apostate but here, you’d be landed gentry.”

Before either Din or (Y/N) could answer, a golden protocol droid entered the office. “Magistrate!”

“High Magistrate.”

“Y-Yes, High Magistrate, apologies-”

“Your timing couldn’t be any worse.”

“But it’s just that, there’s someone here to see you-”

Greef impatiently waved the droid off. “It can wait.”

“But it’s pirates!” Greef, (Y/N) and Din all froze at the protocol droid’s panicked interruption. “Pirates in the courtyard!”

The High Magistrate’s jaw clenched and he turned towards them both. “Could I ask a favor of you both?”

(Y/N) nodded and set Grogu back into his pram while Din asked, “I take it they’re not friends of yours?”

“They used to be,” Greef replied, and the three of them strode out of the office to the courtyard down below. “That’s the problem.”

Once they reached the courtyard just past the statue of IG-11, (Y/N) split away from Din and Grogu to lean a shoulder against the schoolhouse wall; her husband leaned against a nearby tree while Greef slowly approached the group of rowdy pirates preoccupied with threatening the school’s poor protocol droid standing guard at the door.

“Get out of my way, or I’ll split your circuits!” The droid whimpered in fear at the Nikto’s threat and (Y/N)’s nostrils flared in anger, but she stayed where she was and allowed Greef to talk to the pirates first. “Stand aside, droid, don’t you know who we are?”

“Come on, Vane.” The Nikto and his friends turned around in surprise at the sound of Greef’s voice. “That’ll be enough of that.”

Vane, the obvious leader of the group, opened his arms and grinned. “Greef Karga, my old friend. I knew you wouldn’t insult us. Come, join us for a drink!”

Greef chuckled humorlessly and gestured towards the city’s main hall. “Let’s continue this conversation back at my office. This is a school.”

“Well, that explains why she wouldn’t let me in.” The pirates laughed and (Y/N) bit her lip in anticipation. “I forgot, it was your cut of my boss’s treasure that built this saloon.”

“Pirate King Gorian Shard’s name is familiar to all in this sector.” (Y/N) refused to react to the name uttered by Greef but inside, she was filled with a sudden urge to shudder; she’d had dealings with the Pirate King as a young smuggler – none of them very pleasant for either party – and when she’d become a Rebellion captain, she’d hoped that her days of dealing with scum like Shard and his pirates were well behind her. Apparently not, she thought to herself and refocused on the tense scene playing out before her. “Come, join me for a drink back at my office. We’ll toast to your captain.”

Vane’s eyes narrowed in anger. “We drink here.”

“…That is a school now.”

“I say it’s still a bar. Now, bring us a drink.”

Din tilted his helmeted head to the side and called out, “Is there a problem here, Magistrate?”

“High Magistrate,” (Y/N) corrected as she pushed herself off the wall and strode over to stand near Greef. “There sure looks like a problem to me.”

His brow arched while the Nikto and his friends studied his two companions. “Is there a problem here? What do you think?”

Vane merely shrugged. “Not if you serve me a drink.”

“Not in my school.”

That made Vane chuckle. “You hear that, boys? His school!” The other pirates slowly flanked their leader as he walked into the center of the street. “You paid us for murder and mayhem inside these doors.” He brushed his coat aside to reveal the blaster holstered at his hip. “Sounds like you went soft.”

Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) saw Din push himself away from the tree trunk and stand tall. “You think so?” Greef pushed his robes out of the way to reveal his own blaster. “Try me.”

The mounting tension in the air was palpable as Greef and Vane stared one another down; the group of pirates behind the Nikto held their breaths and hovered their hands over the hilts of their blasters while (Y/N) and Din did the same, both sides waiting for the other to make the first move. In the blink of an eye, Greef shot Vane’s hand just as he started to raise his blaster, causing him to groan in pain and hold his injured hand to his chest while frightened citizens of Nevarro scattered at the sound of blaster fire.

“Tell Captain Gorian Shard that Nevarro is no longer friendly to pirates,” The High Magistrate commanded without lowering his blaster. “Now get out of here.” Predictably, the other pirates started reaching for their blasters but before they could fully draw them, (Y/N) and Din shot all five of them dead while Vane cowered away from the multitude of blaster bolts. “Get out of here, Vane. Now.”

The Nikto threw Greef one final glare before turning and running down the street towards the edge of the city. “Sure you wanna let him go?” Din asked as he holstered his blaster and joined (Y/N) beside Grogu’s pram, resting a gloved hand on the small of her back while she pressed a comforting kiss onto the child’s wrinkled head.

“He’ll let it be known that Nevarro is respectable now and not to be trifled with.” Greef holstered his blaster before turning to address his protocol droid. “Have the service droids scrub up out there.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

Greef led them back down the street towards the city’s square and sighed. “I’ve gotta level with you two, I need a marshal.”

(Y/N) frowned in confusion. “But what about Marshal Dune?”

“After she brought in Moff Gideon, she was recruited by Special Forces.”

Beside her, Din’s shoulders tensed. “And what came of Gideon?”

“He was sent off to a New Republic War Tribunal.” Although (Y/N) was unsurprised by the fate of their old enemy, she knew that a part of her husband wanted nothing more than to see the Imperial officer dead at his feet. “So, what do you say? You ready to put on the stripes and collect a healthy stipend? You’d make a very fine lawman, Mando, and you can even have (Y/N) here serve as your partner.”

It was Din’s turn to be confused. “Why not request one from the New Republic?”

“The last thing we intend is to bow down to yet another far-off bureaucracy,” Greef explained. “No, under my watch, Nevarro will become the first truly independent trade anchor in this entire sector.”

(Y/N) glanced over at Din before giving the High Magistrate an apologetic smile. “While we’re honored by your invitation, we can’t serve as your law enforcement. We have something pressing to attend to.”

“Apologies, I didn’t know you were here on business.” Greef bowed his head and extended his hands outwards. “What can we provide?”

Din turned and pointed at the nearby statue of IG-11. “I need him back.”

Greef’s brow arched as he chuckled in disbelief at the Mandalorian’s request. “IG-11 was destroyed on the lava river. This is just a statue!”

“These are his parts, are they not?”

“…I mean, what’s left of ‘em. We were lucky to recover any of his parts after he self-destructed.”

“We need a droid we can trust to help us explore Mandalore, and he’s that droid.”

The High Magistrate shook his head. “Mando, we’ve got plenty of droids around here, we’ll find you one. I guarantee it.”

“I already tried convincing him to look for a different droid, but he’s insistent that IG-11 is the best and only droid for the job.” (Y/N) looped her arm around her husband’s waist and gave Greef an imploring look. “Please, just let us give it a shot.”

With a deep sigh, Greef finally nodded in agreement. “Very well. Has anyone ever told you that you’re both as stubborn as massiffs?”

“Only once or twice…” Din shrugged and while the High Magistrate began making arrangements to have the droid’s parts disassembled and sent up to his office, (Y/N) kissed the side of his helmet. They were one step closer to completing their new quest and with it, one step closer to finally having peace in their lives again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mando’a Translations:

Alor’ad-Captain Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika riduur-I love you, my darling husband Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika alor’ad-I love you, my darling captain Riduur-Spouse Aruetiise-Outsider

A/N: Since it’s been so long since I’ve written anything for Din, I thought that you all deserved a longer chapter lol thank you all so much for reading and commenting! Oh, and I've created a Spotify playlist of all my favorite music from the world of Star Wars, so if you're interested in checking it out the link is down below!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KuSKJhVOPPvxdJ9YHeo4M?si=2977ff31bf0c4bdd

Chapter Thirty-Two

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty​ @sinon36​ @seninjakitey​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ @mostclevermiss​ @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @elinedjarin​ @itsnottilly​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @goldielocks2004 @wondergal2001​​ @groovy-lady​​ @impala1967666​​ @fluffy-canada-pancakes​

[ryebread0605]

Run Rabbit

Rook Hunt  x female reader

Top!rook, bottom!reader

Have had this idea for a while now and wanted to actually write it out

Cw: predator/prey play, public sex mention

18+ MINORS DNI 

Running as fast as your legs could take you, you panted heavily and gasped for air. You didn’t know how long you had been running for, only that he was following you.

“My dear (y/n)~ wherever are you~?” It seemed no matter how much you ran, he could still find you.

You assumed this was your own fault, having expressed to your boyfriend a fantasy you had of being hunted. All the hunter did in response was smirk and tell you to start running.

Rook was unnervingly silent as he chased you, you were unable to hear him except for the few times he’d call out to you. 

A squeak escaped your mouth as you felt arms wrap tightly around you, 

“Gotcha~”

Without hesitation, Rook’s lips pressed against your neck, sucking on the skin to leave the beautiful marks he loved to paint your skin with. Your legs shook from the exhaustion of running so long and the feeling of his lips against your neck.

The feeling of arousal in between your legs made things even harder, squeezing your legs shut in the hopes the huntsman didn’t notice. Of course, that was in vane and he just smirked and chuckled.

“Oh my dear little prey~ look how worked up you are~” his words only made the situation worse as you whined softly. His hands reached around, sliding under your shirt and groping at your chest. His thumbs brushed against your nipples, smirking in satisfaction at the slight moan you let out. Shivering from each small touch, you failed to notice as the huntsman undid his belt and tossed it aside. A gasp left your lips at the feeling of something hard pressed against your clothed heat.

“I think it’s time I claim my prey, don’t you little rabbit~?” His voice was husky as he spoke directly into your ear, gripping the pants of your school uniform before pulling them right off, leaving you only in your soaked panties. He smirked as his gloved finger brushed against it, relishing in the small whines and moans that escaped your lips. The delicate fabric was torn off of your body as you now lay there, bare under him, with him soon following.

The way his hands held your hips down as he thrusted into you slowly yet roughly made more needy whines escape your throat, Rook simply laughing softly in response. “sois patient petit lapin, je promets de te faire crier~”, he whispered directly into your ear which only made you arch your back, desperate for more.

“Please Rook please, I need it please!” You begged as the huntsman laughed again. “Are you sure petit lapin~? Anyone could find us you know, anyone could hear how desperate you are~”. The moan he got in response was enough of an answer for him as he proceeded to pound into your tight cunt, cock throbbing with each thrust. The noises that came from the two of you would’ve been able to awaken all of NRC had you two been doing this in the dorm rooms instead of in the woods just a bit away from the College. 

“F-fuck Rook- c-close!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as he just groaned and continued to move at the almost brutally fast pace. A loud scream of his name erupted from your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach come undone, him fucking you through your orgasm as his followed soon after, painting your walls white. 

Pulling out and laying beside you, he gently kissed your cheeks and ran his hands through your hair. He held you close as he rubbed your back, smiling softly at the way you gazed up at him with pure love.

The two of you stayed like that, embracing each other silently until you both slowly fell asleep under the night sky.

[the-house-of-auditore-frye]

Oh no. ANYWAY-

your fave is problematic: charles vane

everything

literally everything is wrong with him