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w1dowatrace · 1 day ago

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The Call

Chapter 7: Eyes On Me | 2.1k

Summary: After everything, you two had grown close to each other—casual flirting level of closeness.

Pairings: Ex-Russian Agent Natasha Romanoff x Senior S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+ sexual tension, casual flirting, making out due to...some circumstances...

Author's Note: Scheduled repost

⧗

It had been months since Natasha returned under you. And you have never been happier, especially you two are back having lunch together. You never gave her a hard time again with work, you slowly caved in, but she received a handful from you from accepting missions from your father.

And now, both of you are assigned on a mission together as partners since she's moving further to Clint's level.

"Hey Y/N, how's it going? You good there?" the redhead's voice crackled through the comm.

"I'm working on it," you muttered into your comm, trying to sound composed. "I'm fine, what does it look like out there?"

The redhead's response made you pause. "Boring without you." You could practically hear the smile in her voice, even though the security cameras failed to capture her full beauty. You shifted your gaze back to the main screen, scanning the files for the necessary intel.

"I see her," you said, watching the monitor as the target approached. It was the wife of a wealthy, well-connected, and definitely not law-abiding citizen who was profiting off of all the art present at the auction, both real and counterfeit. "That's your cue, spider."

She groaned, her voice coming through your headset. "Come on, you know I'm terrible at this," she complained.

You couldn't help yourself, a smirk creeping into your voice as you continued your work. "Terrible? I've seen you flirt Natasha. Up close," you added.

Natasha quietly said, "Let me," retrieving a sparkling glass of champagne for the lady.

You listened to their open comms, hearing the subtle flirting and small talk. The target drank up the compliments Natasha shamelessly lavished upon her, batting her eyes in response.

The target asked, "Are you here to buy one of the works of art?"

Natasha paused, and you knew exactly what she was doing. She was looking down at her feet, then slowly raising her gaze, raising a cool brow; "I see only one masterpiece worth anything right in front of me."

You rolled her eyes at that. "That was terrible."

"Miss Romanoff!" The target's laughter filled the air as she playfully shoved Natasha, but the contact lingered, her hand resting on Natasha's bicep. You watched the moment unfold through the visual feed.

You couldn't resist reminding her to be mindful, "Rein it in, Natalia." You didn't expect an answer since she couldn't respond with the target present. However, you heard her chuckle, enjoying herself far too much.

Natasha then inquired, "Although, should I be worried about the masterpiece on your finger?"

The target displayed a massive diamond, a sparkling band, a symbolically sea-stained masterpiece akin to the space stone you sought.

"Oh," the target tucked her hair back, displaying a hint of shyness. "I...uhm...my husband and I are together by name, I suppose. But he could name the inventory number of this piece before he could remember my middle name," she admitted.

"What a disservice to such a beautiful woman."

You keyed in her commands and watched as the data transfer began. It felt slower than it usually did. "Too much, Natalia, too much."

"And what service should a beautiful woman like me have?"

Your brows raised. You could respect the target for going after what she wanted. It just wasn't allowed to be Natasha.

"How about..." Natasha paused, her stance shifting. Unseen by the camera, you knew the target's hand, hidden by their closeness at the bar, was likely slipping against Natasha's hand, attempting to extract her room key. "I meet you in 20 minutes and show you?"

You watched intently, your finger tapping anxiously against the desk with each step the target made towards the elevators. You manually switched cameras to follow her and couldn't help feeling compelled, observing her every move. The target stepped onto the elevator and began primping, adjusting her hair and dress in front of the mirror.

"Meet you up there?"

You couldn't help but playfully tease her, "Don't you have a hot date waiting for you upstairs? I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Come on, I got the key, didn't I?" Natasha laughed, sounding more like herself as she loosened the buttons on her suit.

You mimicked her earlier words in a thick, drawling tone, repeating, "What a disservice to such beautiful woman."

"Yeah, okay, it was a little much. But it got the job done."

"Toying with the poor woman's heart, Natalia?" you let out a faint laugh as the data transfer completed. You stood, "this job has changed you."

"Hey," she sounded offended, she obviously looked down at her shirt to speak directly into the mic in her collar. "You know you're the only woman for me. And please stop with the government name, please? You're scaring me." Natasha whined.

You huffed, ignoring the heat flushing you cheeks. "Your little pick up lines won't work on me, you realize."

"I realize," she paused for an effect. "They're true when they're for you."

"Luckily the target craves flattery like her husband craves the tesseract," You mused as you headed to an elevator. A freight elevator, but still. "I'll try not to startle your girlfriend."

Okay, maybe you were laying it on a little thick, now.

But Natasha laughed loudly, having the elevator to the lavish suite all to herself. "Well I hope she doesn't mind that I invited my wife."

You rolled your eyes, knowing she could sense the smile lurking beneath your exasperation. She was too charming for her own good, and it both annoyed and delighted you.

But you still kept your distance—emotionally. This is just casual after all.

⧗

You spoke into your earpiece, seemingly to yourself, "Eyes on me?"

"They've never left." Natasha's voice came through, warm and mischievous.

"Tasha." You fought the urge to smile amidst the opulent room, surrounded by art and a-list partygoers. You moved through the crowd, playing the role of an admirer and making a show of appreciating the decor.

You had argued that Natasha would be the better choice to actually roam the party, with her talkative and charming demeanor. She could easily extract clues from attendees about the target, the husband of the earlier target. However, you felt your ability to blend in visually while staying quiet could prove useful, much like you did now, close enough face-wise to another family of guests that a fake name allowed you entry into the party without question.

"Anything yet?" Natasha spoke through the comms from her position at the coat check-in, hoping to get an early look at everyone in attendance.

You took a sip from your untouched glass of champagne, pretending to enjoy it delicately. "No word," you responded. "Any sightings?"

"I've seen the wife, I had to hide. That's no easy not gonna lie, but no sign of her husband himself," Natasha muttered back.

You heard her accept the coat of another guest in your ear and slipped around a corner.

"Oh, he's here."

You heard Natasha accepting another coat, and you slipped around a corner. When she mentioned the target's presence, you gently pulled at the skirt of your dress, moving more briskly through the party toward the coat closet. Taking advantage of the loosened vent panel Natasha had left for you, you slipped through the back, entering the coat closet undetected.

"Good evening, sir," you heard Natasha greet warmly.

"If I see a speck of dirt on that—" the target huffed at Natasha immediately.

"Of course, sir," Natasha responded and probably even smiled at the asshole. "Nothing but the best."

"Prick," You muttered under your breath as you closed and locked the study door behind you and made your way to the corner of the room and up the bookshelf.

"Don't make me laugh, I have to be serious," Natasha slightly hissed.

Well you did your best to keep a straight face and not laugh too, it was hard with Natasha as your partner. You slithered up the shelves into the vent, gritting your teeth at the cramped fit. The old house and its miserable ventilation were less than ideal, but at least modern H-Vac installations made them manageable. As you settled in the vent, you asked, "Meet you in there?"

"I've never had the opportunity to sneak off to the coat closet before," Natasha teased as she made her way away from the front entrance and into the walk-in closet.

Your banter continued as you made your way one room across, replying, "Oh, I've seen you sneak out a lot, spider."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that."

You let out a genuine laugh, finally reaching your destination. Popping out of the vent and catching the cover, you peeked your head out. "Got me?" you asked, Natasha poised to catch you. As you slid down from the duct, still wearing your slippery silk dress, she caught you in her arms like a princess from a fairy tale.

As she bounced you in her arms, making you laugh again, she jested, "Miss, if you needed your coat, you could have just asked."

"This way was faster," you shook your head as Natasha set you down in your stocking feet. Moving through the room, you tiptoed quietly behind her. "Ugh, men like this need to learn that less cologne is more," you commented.

Natasha sighed as she pulled the coat off the rack, agreeing about the cologne, adding, "I know, I feel like it's all over my hands." She checked the real coat pockets, finding them empty, then moved to the lining, explaining, "Nothing at all in the real pockets, but I thought there might be something in the lining."

You ran your hands over both sides of the heavy wool and its satin lining. It was a beautifully made garment, and Natasha was right to be suspicious of the pockets. "In the side, here."

Natasha held it taut for you as you pulled the slit of your dress upward. She averted her eyes, blushing as your reached up to the inside of your thigh.

You shook your head at it as you retrieved the knife you had snuck in. Natasha had quite an innocent side to her—a belief in chivalry even though she is a woman herself, of sorts, even in your line of work.

"Where is that coat girl?!"

"Shit," Natasha cursed, frantically hanging the coat back on the rack. Despite being quite a distance from their exit point and the front doors already open, she apologized, her voice tinged with urgency. "Sorry–c'mere."

You barely had time to ask why she had apologized before she pulled you in, her arm wrapping around your waist. You closed your eyes as your lips met hers, intentional or not, a moan escaped from you.

"Who's in here?!"

Natasha moaned against you in response, her hands roaming to your bare shoulders. She moved her body sensuously, deliberately shaking the coat racks on either side of you as a cover for your movement.

A loud voice demanded, "What are you doing?!" One of the house's main staff shone a flashlight at Natasha, prompting her to quickly come up with an excuse.

"Uh, s-sorry, boss!" she stuttered, hastily turning around and making a show of wiping your lipstick off her skin.

The flashlight bounced around as you made an effort to pull out a few stray hairs from your immaculate bun. The butler scowled, pointing his flashlight at you, scolding, "I do not—Madam!"

You raised a cool brow at him as you dabbed at your lips delicately, maintaining your composure.

The butler immediately bowed to you, apologizing profusely, "I-I-I am terribly sorry to disturb you," before quickly turning down his flashlight and scrambling out of the room.

Both of you waited for a count of five before letting out a breath of relief, your hearts still racing. Natasha sighed, placing a hand on her pounding heart. She glanced at you as you tucked back the hair you had just pulled out, and she apologized, "Sorry to, uh, jump you like that."

You cleared your throat, grateful for the darkened room that hid your glowing cheeks. "It was quick thinking, although I'm sure the staff are already gossiping about the heiress of a prestigious Sokovian family making out with a coat check girl."

Natasha shrugged, "Well, maybe she was just a very charming coat check girl." She pulled the coat off the hanger once again. "Round two?"

You rolled your eyes as you retrieved your knife, readying yourself to cut open the coat seam and find the target's secret dossier of information about the whereabouts of the tesseract. It gave you a task to focus on, attempting to ignore the fact that you were breathing a bit heavier after that kiss.

Is this still casual?

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader

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lincolndjarin · 3 months ago

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hollow star ⊹₊⟡⋆ ch. one

chapter one : when flesh meets steal

ao3 kofi main masterlist (series masterlist coming soon )

pairing: din djarin x scientist!reader

rating: 18+ mdni - check chapter tags for cws

word count : 6.1k

summary: Din agrees to help you when he's sees the credits you're offering in exchange for protection, after all, it's a simple mission. Artifact retrieval and data collection.

That's what you told him.

And why wouldn't he believe you?

tags: strangers to lovers, horror, non-consensual voyeurism, slowburn, psycological horror, fear

70,000 CREDITS - PRIVATE ESCORT DETAIL : FREELANCE OPERATIVES ONLY

SERVICE TYPE: Discreet Escort / Protection Detail

DURATION: 2 weeks (approximately)

LOCATION: Classified - Outer Rim, unregistered planet (coordinates provided upon meeting)

COMPENSATION: 140,000 credits, 70,000 upfront, and the remainder upon completion of the job. (an additional 10,000 credits will be provided for every day of service required after the initial 2 weeks.)

BONUS: Hazard pay negotiable based on situational escalation.

REQUIREMENTS: Combat experience, (soldier or soldier adjacent is preferable) must be familiar with navigation and willing to travel through hostile terrain. Preferably a ship that does not require a crew and has a solo operator. (negotiable) Must not be affiliated with the New Republic, or any Jedi-aligned factions.

Private client requiring an armed escort for the purpose of a personal research trip. The objective being artifact retrieval and/or data extraction. No combat is anticipated but the client requests protection against potential scavengers or environmental threats. Client will not be armed. No questions asked, no answers expected, discretion is non-negotiable.

There’s several blocked lines of text at the bottom of his monitor, encrypted information about the client that makes him furrow his brow. The black screen flickers a bit, his thoughts accompanied by the quiet hum of the space that surrounds the Razor Crest. 140,000 credits is nothing to scoff at, it’s the type of payment he’d expect on a high risk job, or something far more sinister than this. That kind of money is often offered up for jobs that most people wouldn’t choose because of its morality. Hit’s put out on children, or the defenseless. Or at the very least something that would take well over a few months.

Not this, not a simple in and out escort job.

The redacted information is concerning. Too concerning, even with the payout promised. His fingers type into the system for a few moments, trying to push through what he knows to be simple defenses put up by the guild before the screen blinks and the text is easily revealed to him. With a pleased sigh he sits back in his chair and reads.

Client shows signs of previous Imperial affiliation, though not flagged for war crimes. Known history with a classified archives division. Linguist, no combat personnel history. Last known activity listed as an unexplained incident with a vault located at Station Mourna 2. (now sealed.) Was assigned to the Imperial Historical Recovery Taskforce, or I-HRT, division 12. No last known location. No existing warrants or bounties on head.

The Imperial affiliation stands out to him but it reads like they had very little to do with anything more than their history department. Which seems benign enough and would explain the exorbitant fee. They can simply afford it.

But there’s just something off about the listing.

It should be so simple, it’s a clean cut job, a bit clinical, but nothing of the sort would be required of him. It’s the top left corner of the screen that makes him the most hesitant.

36 applications received, 0 accepted.

The client clearly requires someone experienced, it can’t even be seen by anyone without a certain guild clearance level but 0 acceptances out of 36? It’s unheard of, even with the pickiest clients. Anyone who would have applied at this point would have been more than qualified.

Maybe the client is particular about certain things, or maybe they already found someone and forgot to remove the listing. Either way it’s simply too tempting to resist any longer. He needs the money, or at the very least he needs the distance.

He can’t just keep waiting here, burning through fuel, for something that is never going to happen.

He enters his guild code, fingers lingering above the send button before finally clicking it. Rocking back in the pilot's seat he lets his head fall back. Accepting the fact that he won’t be receiving a response before the message has even been fully sent out.

So the immediate chime made by the ship's notification system is more than a shock as he sits back up.

Congratulations! Your application has been accepted! The client will be waiting for you on : CORUSCANT

Attached you will find the message provided by the client, best of luck!

I would like to be retrieved as quickly as possible from the Kaelen Memorial Travel Port. Payment will be exchanged immediately after boarding. Your haste is appreciated.

Dr. Thorne

The response makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He can’t place the sense of dread this all fills him with but unfortunately his mind is made up. A lot of things fill him with dread these days, so he might as well make a little money.

It’s not like he has anything left to lose.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Sleep doesn’t come easy to him.

It never has, but especially not these last few months. Almost always it’s just simple restlessness, a refusal to turn off the hunters instincts and relax. Waking up in a sweat after a dream of just barely snagging a bounty, or finding himself at the end of a blaster being wielded by one of the many nameless faces he’s turned in over the years.

Tonight is different though. Tonight he sinks into sleep slowly, but deeply.

When he wakes up he’s met with a feeling he hasn’t felt in decades.

The wind.

Cold, and sharp against his face as he cautiously gets to his feet. He’s standing in a field of ash, no visible sky above, only more grey and smoke.

He manages to pull himself together enough to realize he’s dreaming but it doesn’t make him any less disoriented. His hands find his face, scratching at the unfamiliar sting of air on his flesh. Looking around and trying to take in his surroundings proves fruitless until something slowly slips through the smoke above him. Swaying back and forth in the breeze until it gingerly lands in his open hands.

A feather.

A dainty, black feather.

When he shifts his gaze upwards to find the source he finally finds something else in the endless expanse of space around him. A star.

Although it’s barely that at all.

Hanging from a mess of wires is a poorly made steel outline of a star, desperately trying to stay together as a few sparks twitch out of the exposed cables within. It tries to flicker, to turn on but all it manages is a pathetic glow from the hollow space within. It isn’t a normal light it emits either, he immediately recognizes it as the same glow made by the darksaber, instinctively he reaches for his hip to find it but only grabs air. Looking down in search of it forcefully makes him drop down a foot into the ash.

Before he can find his footing he sinks again, another jolt down so that he’s up to his knees in ash. Frantically, he tries to hold onto something, anything, but there’s only more grainy ash, he finds no purchase as he sinks, quicker, and quicker, unable to hold on any longer he takes a deep breath, preparing for the punishing lack of oxygen he’s about to be faced with.

And then he wakes up.

Gasping, and clawing at the single sheet that lines the mattress in his bunk.

It’s a tight squeeze when he leverages himself out, falling to his knees in the cargo hold of the ship, wildly ripping his helmet off before the air can properly depressurize, giving himself a sharp pain in his temples. He’s too desperate for air to care about the headache he’s gonna have for the rest of the day.

⊹₊⟡⋆

It’s late.

The port you’ve requested boarding at isn’t one he’s familiar with. Coruscant is a large planet though, and there’s plenty of places in the galaxy that he’s never been to. As he approaches the first thing he notes is how dark it is. The entire planet is lit up, especially from a distance. The mass of cities and the vibrant nightlife keep the planet well lit. Unfortunately for him, it seems you’ve chosen the only dark patch on the entire planet. It isn’t easy to calibrate the landing because of the lack of light, he can’t see anything clearly but it appears to be completely empty so he picks a random spot and prepares himself.

The ship hovers above the crumbling refueling station, slowly descending before landing with a hiss of air. For the price attached to the job he certainly wasn’t expecting to dock in such a shitty spot. Unsure of what to expect he makes his way to the loading dock and lowers the ramp, before it even reaches the stone pathway a pair of boots land on the edge.

Instinctively his hand twitches to his blaster as he assesses the figure.

Alone, cloaked, and calm. Before him stands who he is certain must be his client. He was expecting a stony faced doctor, someone older, someone that looked like they’d spent plenty of time out in the field.

Which is why he’s taken aback by the sight of you.

Doe-eyed, looking out of place in the dark robes that adorn your body, the only out of place thing about you is the small pale scar along your jaw. In one swift motion you drag a large suitcase up onto the platform behind you.

“Worn, but efficient.” Are the first words out of your mouth as you take in the sights of the ship, as if he isn’t standing directly in front of you. “I suppose this will do.” Nodding to yourself you finally let your gaze settle in him, a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes adorns your face. “Hello, Mandalorian.” It’s almost posed as a question, you want confirmation that you’re in the right place despite the fact that he’s standing before you in full beskar armour.

He isn’t sure how to respond. The client information section of the listing flashes through his mind as he stares.

Imperial affiliation.

Your outfit surely suggests that but the rest of you screams inexperienced. He hasn’t ever seen someone who looks so unprepared for a field job. And he finds himself experiencing a feeling he’s only ever felt a handful of times in his life.

Surprised.

But you can’t know that.

He’s supposed to be the seasoned bounty hunter who can handle anything thrown his direction. At least that’s what you’re paying for. Convinced his voice will betray him, he only nods at you.

“Good, I’m Dr. Thorne, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Stepping further up onto the ship you hold your hand out towards him. With robotic movements he gives you a quick and firm handshake before immediately withdrawing. Even through his gloves he can feel just how cold you are.

With every passing second he’s regretting this decision more and more.

“I appreciate your punctuality.” You rock slowly, back and forth on your heels as you size him up, making no attempts at being subtle. “And you’re taller than I expected. Not an issue, just something of note.” You force a laugh but he still doesn’t speak. Partly because he isn’t the chatty type but also because he just doesn’t know what to say. Your tone is too clinical, like he’s a patient and you’re his doctor. “And you haven’t interrupted me once, which is… polite, I suppose.” He can’t decide if you’re joking so he continues to nod.

Everything about you is odd, it gives him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is why he doesn’t usually take escort jobs. They require too much talking, it’s been so long since he’s had someone aboard that wasn’t a bounty he can’t even discern if this is typical conversation. You’re too clinical, too detached from your words, if it weren’t for your constant twitching and unpredictable muscle spasms he’d have thought you were a droid. He has to remind himself that you’re just a person, and he’s met plenty of people, some over twice your size, and never once felt intimidated.

With an indiscernible shiver he shakes off the feeling, after all there is no direct threat here, just discomfort, and he’s more than well equipped to handle a little discomfort.

“Would you mind directing me to my chambers so that I might deposit my belongings before we proceed?” The naivety of your statement makes him scoff, and briefly his walls break down. You’re about to be in for a rude awakening as he tilts his head to the left, the airlock doors open on a small storage compartment. Clearly a space used to store weapons or fuel, that has been cleaned and haphazardly refurbished with a cot, a steel dresser, and a storage trunk.

But you are completely unshaken.

Despite your neatly kept robes and hair pulled back is a strict tie you show no signs of distress at the tiny living space.

“Well this is easy enough.” You grunt a little, dragging your large bag forward, tossing it into the compartment before turning to face him once more, riffling around in your robe pockets and presenting him with a large satchel that jingles with the sound of credits as you hold it out politely towards him.

“You don’t seem up for conversation so I suppose we should just get on with it then.” You click your tongue, softly, it doesn’t seem like you even realized that you did it. “Perhaps I should try speaking your language. My plans are as follows; I would like safe and comfortable transportation to my desired location. When we arrive I would like you to accompany me as I conduct my research. It is nothing of great importance, more of a personal project of mine, I’d like to retrieve an artifact for my personal collection. It isn’t considered particularly valuable by any means, it’s just something significant to the niche of research that I’ve devoted my life to. While I am willing to share more information on it I’d rather not and I’d be willing to bet that you don’t want to hear it anyway so I think it would be for the best to keep it that way. I am not anticipating a need for protection, the site was condemned ages ago, but I find that preparing for the worst case scenario is best. You will accompany me. I will examine the ruins, collect samples and data, and when I’m done, we will board the ship and you will bring me back here.”

Your eyes dart down to the credits and then back up to his visor.

“70,000 credits, as promised upon arrival. With another 70,000 to be transferred electronically automatically at the end of the two week period along with a bonus for your discretion.” The end of your sentence drifts off to a whisper as you wait for him to accept.

You barely breathed during your ramblings and his brain is fighting to process everything at the same speed as your voice.

A moment of eerie silence swallows the space around them, something of significance that he can’t quite place, nor can he discern if you feel it too. A sour taste in his mouth and the feeling of bile rising in his throat, a feeling of being watched, all eyes on him. Waiting for him to make the choice, the right choice.

And as he thinks it over you react with enough tiny tells to finally let him know that you’re just as nervous.

You’re in a constant state of motion, even when you appear to be still, as if there’s something under your skin keeping you going.

But it was foolish of you to even think you could hide from him, he was trained to do this, to read a situation like this with deadly precision, despite how low stakes it might look to an outsider he can feel the weight of the situation, heavy on his chest as his eyes roam the oncoming storm that is you.

The way your jaw ticks, the subtle flex of the muscles in your cheek as you fight the urge to grind your teeth. Your nails chewed down to the quick, and the skin around them red and angry from nervous scratching and picking. The color of your undereyes is just a little too bright, you’re covering up something with makeup, almost certainly dark under eyes. The scar that runs along the bottom of your jaw is barely visible when you’re facing forward but he can tell it’s old, it healed long ago but everytime you look in the mirror you’re reminded of whatever it was that gave it to you. Oddly enough, the culmination of all of this is enough to finally relax him a bit. It’s what finally makes you human in his eyes.

You put on a good show.

At first glance he was entirely convinced that you were this mysterious, calculating Imperial doctor, but he can see through all of that with a closer look. You’re a survivor. You’re scared of whatever mission it is that you’re about to embark on, but you’re not the threat you try to discreetly present yourself as.

“Trust is expensive out here.” The stare of wide eyed innocence you give him makes up his mind as he holds his own hand out and accepts the credits. You visibly exhale when he does. “I just hope that with this, I’ve earned yours.”

The nod he gives you provides no promises, you’d be stupid to think that he trusts you, but at the very least you’re putting some trust in him.

And that’s enough to make him speak his first words to you. The question that’s been on his mind since he saw your listing.

“Where are we going?” He can immediately tell that how ragged his voice is from disuse is startling. He can’t seem to recall the last time he had to speak.

Politely, and anticipating this question you reach into your robes once more before producing a small slip of paper with coordinates neatly written on them.

“I don’t know the name of the planet, it’s old and I haven’t been able to find many records of an official title.” He’s quickly realizing that you speak like you rehearsed this all, it’s an odd, robotic, tone. It makes him want to ask more but he knows that he probably wouldn’t like any answer you gave him, the way you speak unsettles him. Instead of dwelling he tries to map out in his mind how long the trip will be from here to this mystery planet based on the coordinates.

“Should be about two days of travel, is there anything else you need before we leave?” He has rations set aside for the two of you but with the possible end date of this job being ambiguous it’s troubling to think that all you have is one bag. “I have enough rations stored away for four weeks worth of travel, with four days total in round trip travel time I’d advise you to make sure you’re properly equipped.” You aren’t looking at him anymore, instead your eyes wander and begin to study the ship around you.

“I have everything we’ll need.” He watches as your temperature rises, just a degree or two, wondering if it’s your nerves that are causing this reaction. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

There’s no reason to draw this out any longer than necessary, with his pockets weighed down with his payment he makes a beeline for the bay door panel, with a deafening groan the steel doors slide shut. Ignoring the feeling of your eyes on him he pushes a series of buttons, ensuring a proper seal on the airlock. No going back now.

“Shall I join you in the cockpit? Perhaps I could properly brief you on the mission and we could exchange pleasantries.” You give him a polite smile but he shakes his head. The last thing he wants right now is more conversation with you.

“Get some sleep, it’s gonna be a long trip.” He tries to control his tone, attempting a cordial manner of speaking.

He can’t get to the cockpit quickly enough. Careful to lock the hatch behind him he starts to set the course. It’s a fifty hour trip there, fifty hours until the unknown. Setting the ship for an auto pilot trip he leans back in his chair, taking deep breaths until the blinking light on the control panel breaks him out of his silent meditation.

The ship's motion detectors.

He’s never used the security system, he’d had it installed as a sort of baby monitor for the kid but he’d never needed it. He so rarely has anyone on the ship to monitor.

He fiddles with the controls briefly until the monitor to his left hums to life with the grainy image of you, standing alone right where he left you.

As you look around the room, taking your time to note everything around you he finds himself fascinated by the sight of you. Being able to watch you from the outside makes you much more interesting.

When you finally move it isn’t too rushed to your chambers.

Instead you move slowly, drinking in the space. You lift your hand and your robe flows like water around you, and you touch the closest wall. Pacing, circling the room you brush your hand up against everything, not searching or scheming, just feeling. Mapping out the space. You pause in front of one of the many supply lockers crammed in against the interior wiring of the ship, tilting your head as if you’re listening for something. A small, private smile tugging at the corners of your mouth before you move on.

His gloved hands flip through the switches, cycling through the different feeds until you’re back on the screen, stepping lightly into a cargo hold.

You’re so careful. You don’t pry or rummage through his things, instead you just do a lap around the room, fingertips dragging along the seams of the walls that conceal panels, the cold steel of storage crates.

You linger over things like the emergency oxygen masks and the first aid kits, like you’re memorizing their placements. Everything in the room feels your featherlight touch as you slowly trace every edge and curve. He feels like he watches you move from room to room for hours until you finally make your way into your quarters. Instinctively he changes the feed again only to be met with static. A frown forming on his face until he realizes why.

When he’d purchased the ship he had to calibrate the system to his liking, and he’d marked any rooms used as sleeping quarters as private. He didn’t normally have guests on the ship but he wasn’t a creep. His thumb hovers over the manual toggle anyway, and a thought crosses his mind.

He shouldn’t be watching you, you clearly have no ill intentions. It would be wrong to keep watching.

But you’re wearing all those layered robes.

A concealed weapon isn’t just a possibility, it’s smart. And with your intelligence it should be expected.

And of course he hadn’t searched you upon boarding, you’re a paying customer, it would have been rude and might have lost him the job.

He flexes his hand.

Something about you was off, even the listing had been strange. The wise decision here would be to make sure that everything appears typical. His mind argues back and forth with itself as he tries to justify this, eventually his curiosity gets the best of him.

Just until you’re done changing, he tells himself. Just to be sure.

The feed cuts to an unblurred view of your room.

For a moment you just dig through your bag, and his jaw tightens. You pull out a few notebooks and pens, tossing them onto the cot. Your movements are so much more fluid now, without rush, more natural looking than you’d been in front of him.

Standing with your back to the camera your fingers find the ties at your waist, loosening them, the fabric falls off your shoulders. Slowly and methodically you slip off each layer, catching them before they hit the floor, and folding them neatly. It’s a long and arduous process as you go layer by layer until you’ve got a stack on your dresser and you clasp your hands together, finished.

Now revealed is a thin underlayer, a close fitted tunic and pants that end just above your knees. Clothes meant for sleeping, nothing else. Tight enough to make it obvious that you’re concealing nothing.

He tells himself again that this is all just a precaution

His throat feels terribly dry.

He should turn it off. But he can’t.

Reaching up, you undo your hair, arching yourself back in a stretch that makes his entire justification for watching you suddenly feel twisted and dirty.

There are no weapons. Nothing hidden.

Nothing but you.

And then, you froze in place.

Halfway through a groan of relief as you stretch, you turn towards the wall.

Head tilting up until your gaze is facing the camera.

Not just towards it, right at it.

Your eyes are calm, not accusatory, not shocked.

That somehow makes him feel worse. A bead of sweat sliding down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose.

And you tilt your head to the side, just a smidge. Like you’re staring right at him. Like you’re the one observing him.

He cuts the feed.

Turning the monitor off entirely as the cockpit goes silent and he’s staring at his own reflection in the now blank screen. Helmeted, emotionless, guiltless.

He certainly doesn’t feel that way, as shame is starting to set in like cement in his chest.

Leaning back in his chair he exhales slowly.

He certainly isn’t going to sleep soundly tonight.

⊹₊⟡⋆

The familiar scent of the motel room fills your head as you rush back in, slamming the door shut behind you with a panicked breath, scrambling for the lock before relaxing.

It’s a shitty place to stay, with even shittier neighbors. Your research is too important to be kept here, you know that, but you don’t have any other choice. This was and continues to be the cheapest option. Just as you’re setting your bag down your tablet across the room chimes. For the last three months you’ve felt your heart race at the sound of that notification dozens of times, only to immediately be disappointed. Tonight is no different. Your breath quickens immediately, almost to the point of hyperventilation as you dart across the room, kneeling in front of the bed as you type your password into the device.

[ YOU HAVE : 1 NEW APPLICATION - WOULD YOU LIKE TO REVIEW IT? ]

Out of habit you’re tapping the space where the “yes” icon is going to appear before it’s even there. The screen changes to the applicants guild code, but that’s not the information you’re after, your eyes skip over it the redacted information portion, you’ve already put a system in place that reveals it and you desperately search for the one word you’ve been waiting for.

And for the first time since you put out this damn listing, you find it.

Mandalorian

It feels like your heart stops, you know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but this could be the one.

Male, 40 years of age, (estimate) combat capable, well experienced, specialties in location and extraction of bounties, Mandalorian, solo operation.

He fits all the parameters, even if they’re vague. It isn’t a guarantee that he’s the one you’ve been waiting for but you don’t even think about it as you type in your response, signing it with the name you were given during your time serving the Empire.

Dr. Thorne

You hurriedly pack everything you can into your bag before laying down, heart racing, the moment you get a response you’ll be checking out of this hell hole. If the guild member arrives and isn’t the Mandalorian in full silver with a mudhorn signet on his pauldron you’ll just turn around and try again.

…

In the morning you have an estimated arrival time and it’s all finally coming together. You tell yourself over and over again to not get ahead of yourself. It’s more than likely that you’ll be checking back into hotel hell tonight.

There’s nothing left to do at this point but wait. So that’s exactly what you do, you sit by the small window and wait for the sun to set, your eyes locked onto the clock on your tablet. Until finally, a little after ten o’clock there’s another notification chime and you know he’ll be landing soon.

You dress yourself in the only nice clothes you have left, your robes, and travel to what you know to be an abandoned space port. Pulling your cloak more tightly around yourself as the cold settles into your bones. You aren’t standing in the dark for long, soon enough there's a rush of hot air as a ship materializes out of the darkness, landing directly in front of you. You’re absolutely wired at this point. It feels like there’s an electric current running under your skin as a loud hiss fills the quiet air around you and a large ramp lowers itself to the ground and you can see the soft golden light within.

You’re too fired up to wait for it to hit the ground, careful not to lose your balance you hoist yourself up. Taking in the sights of the ship, forcing a smile, preparing yourself for the wave of defeat that will wash over you when you see him.

And then you do.

And he sees you.

And the weight of the world is lifted off your shoulders.

Your brain stops working but thankfully your mouth doesn’t, you’re on auto-pilot, introducing yourself, shaking his hand, greeting him.

Him.

Standing before you just as you’d dreamed. In a full suit of silver armour, the signature Mandalorian helmet adorns his head. He’s taller than you thought he’d be, more menacing. You aren’t scared of him though, you couldn’t be. Your eyes drift to his shoulder, the mughorn symbol visible from where you’re standing.

You finally manage to shake off the sense of awe and ask him where your chambers are and he scoffs, how odd. He nods to an open room to your left and you drag the bag carrying your entire life over, tossing it in. It’s a palace compared to the types of places you’ve been living in. It’s clean. It’s safe.

He doesn’t seem to want to talk to you yet, that’s fine, he needs to warm up to you. You just need to get him to accept the payment and then there’s no going back. You grab the credits, the precious compensation that’s going to be your salvation and hold it out towards him. When he doesn’t react, panic starts to rise like bile in your throat.

He’s just staring at you.

Suddenly you’re terrified.

Terrified that he’s changed his mind.

Terrified that he’ll want to negotiate for more money, something that you can’t afford.

Terrified that you’ve said something that’s convinced him that this isn’t going to work.

And most of all, you're terrified that he sees right through you.

That he can see this facade you’re putting on solely for his benefit, this image of a weak and helpless girl, desperately in need of help. You’ve worked too hard to look broken, like a damsel in distress, you’ll be damned if this crumbles now.

“Trust is expensive out here.” The words tumble out of you before you can stop them. Stupid! He just needs a little time, if you keep pushing him you risk losing everything before you’ve even begun.

Your heart flutters as he closes his hand around the bag.

Of course he accepted. He’s going to protect you now, you knew he was the one.

“I just hope that with this, I’ve earned yours.” You give him a much more relaxed smile. Of course he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s perfect. None of this would work if he trusted you immediately. It needs to be slow, gradual, and earned. It needs to be real. And with what likely awaits you at the station you know you will need that trust soon.

You know you shouldn’t push it, you should go to bed now and leave him to his work but you want him to trust you now, you want him to be everything you know he can be.

But he doesn’t want that.

He isn’t ready.

He tells you to get some sleep but you aren’t tired, how can you be expected to sleep at a time like this? You don’t argue though, and you don’t follow him when he retires to the cockpit. You know you likely won’t see him until you land so you familiarize yourself with the ship.

Taking deep breaths to ground yourself.

You can’t remember the last time you felt at ease like you do now.

You’ve spent the last decade in and out of highly hazardous working conditions, and then for a few years after that, you were in and out of the worst hotels in Coruscant. Always running from the thing that just won’t leave you be.

It’s a breath of fresh air to enter your chambers and know that you can sleep soundly tonight.

Careful not to wrinkle your only presentable clothing, you fold it all neatly, setting it aside for the days to follow. You’re ready to get into bed when the hair on the back of your neck stands up mid stretch. The all too familiar feeling of being watched.

That can’t be right, not here, not now.

Nothing should have been able to follow you here, turning and scanning the walls of your room you don’t see any obvious signs of danger.

A patch of discolored paint in the corner catches your eye. It vaguely resembles a shadow and your blood runs cold, ever so slowly you tilt your head, trying to see if it’s a trick of the light. Slowly, the feeling of being surveilled eases. It’s just paint, dark patches of paint.

It’s normal to be nervous. That’s what you tell yourself.

Good things don’t happen to you.

They never have.

You deserve to enjoy this fleeting sense of peace, for however long it lasts.

After messing around with the buttons near the door you manage to turn the lights off. Leaving you in complete and total darkness as you slide under the wool blanket that’s been left on your cot.

You have no control over the smile that creeps across your face as you deeply inhale the air on the ship, allowing yourself to savor it.

Oil, iron, gunpowder, sweat.

With the lights off and your vision completely obscured, your other senses are enhanced. You don’t just smell his sweat, you taste it. The distinct and metallic tang. Him.

A combination of flesh, and leather, and something deeper, something so uniquely him. So familiar.

Something that lit up that sharp and all consuming fire inside you. It started as a quiet hunger but has been growing for days, for weeks, for years.

You feel your pulse quicken and fight to keep your breathing steady. How are you supposed to maintain your composure when you aren’t afraid? When was the last time you didn’t feel a constant underlying sense of dread? Unable to contain yourself any longer, you whisper into the silence of your cabin. The name that you’ve been repeating in your head for ages.

“Din Djarin.”

The name that has lived only in your mind reverberates around the small space, as if the galaxy itself was whispering it to you. You’d never spoken it aloud before now. You’d been saving it for a special occasion, it had taken time to learn it, patience, a deep dive into records, and rumors. It had taken quite some time but it hadn’t been hard. Not for someone who knew where to look, not for someone who was meant to know it, not for you.

You’ve spent nearly a year on his trail, your studies, your life's work, they'd all lead to this moment. To him.

You don’t have to be afraid anymore.

He’s real, he’s here. You can feel his presence here, taste him, smell him, feel him. All of him, as he fills the space, you bury your face in the blanket and deeply inhale. The stress and the panic that have been building in your chest for Maker knows how long, starts to melt away bit by tortuous bit.

You found him.

And he’s going to save you.

a/n : I'm super super rusty so if this is bad let's blame it on that and hope it gets better lol, love y'all and thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

#lincolndjarin #hollow star fic #the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin #slowish burn #eventual smut #strangers to lovers

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kenyatta · 1 month ago

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The world of corporate intelligence has quietly ballooned into a market valued at over $20 billion. The Open Source Intelligence (OSINT) market alone, valued at around $9.81 billion in 2024. This exponential growth reflects an important shift: intelligence gathering, once the exclusive domain of nation-states, has been privatized and commodified. [...] The methods these firms employ have evolved into a sophisticated doctrine that combines centuries-old espionage techniques with new technology. Understanding their playbook is important to grasping how democracy itself is being undermined. [...] This practice is disturbingly widespread. A report by the Center for Corporate Policy titled “Spooky Business” estimated that as many as one in four activists in some campaigns may be corporate spies. The report documented how “a diverse array of nonprofits have been targeted by espionage, including environmental, anti-war, public interest, consumer, food safety, pesticide reform, nursing home reform, gun control, social justice, animal rights and arms control groups.” The psychological doctrine these firms follow was laid bare in leaked Stratfor documents. Their manual for neutralizing movements divides activists into four categories, each with specific tactics for neutralization: 1. Radicals: Those who see the system as fundamentally corrupt. The strategy is to isolate and discredit them through character assassination and false charges, making them appear extreme and irrational to potential supporters. 2. Idealists: Well-meaning individuals who can be swayed by data. The goal is to engage them with counter-information, confuse them about facts, and gradually pull them away from the radical camp toward more “realistic” positions. 3. Realists: Pragmatists willing to work within the system. Corporations are advised to bargain with them, offering small, symbolic concessions that allow them to claim victory while abandoning larger systemic changes. 4. Opportunists: Those involved for personal gain, status, or excitement. These are considered the easiest to neutralize, often bought off with jobs, consulting contracts, or other personal benefits. [...] Some firms have industrialized specific tactics into product offerings. According to industry sources, “pretexting” services — where operatives pose as someone else to extract information — run $500-$2,000 per successful operation. Trash collection from target residences (“dumpster diving” in industry parlance) is billed at $200-$500 per retrieval. Installing GPS trackers runs $1,000-$2,500 including equipment and monitoring. The most chilling aspect is how these costs compare to their impact. For less than a mid-level executive’s annual salary, a corporation can fund a year-long campaign to destroy a grassroots movement. For the price of a Super Bowl commercial, they can orchestrate sophisticated operations that neutralize threats to their business model. Democracy, it turns out, can be subverted for less than the cost of a good law firm.

#corporate espionage #civil society #surveillance #privacy

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itsappleexpert · 2 months ago

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#MacBook battery replacement fast service #Repair Mac keyboard Calgary today #Replace faulty Mac keyboard Calgary #Recover deleted Mac files Calgary #Retrieve lost Mac data quickly

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dostoyevsky-official · 5 months ago

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Musk’s DOGE seeks access to personal taxpayer data, raising alarm at IRS

Elon Musk’s U.S. DOGE Service is seeking access to a heavily-guarded Internal Revenue Service system that includes detailed financial information about every taxpayer, business and nonprofit in the country, according to two people familiar with the activities, sparking alarm within the tax agency. Under pressure from the White House, the IRS is considering a memorandum of understanding that would give DOGE officials broad access to tax-agency systems, property and datasets. Among them is the Integrated Data Retrieval System, or IDRS, which enables tax agency employees to access IRS accounts — including personal identification numbers — and bank information. It also lets them enter and adjust transaction data and automatically generate notices, collection documents and other records. IDRS access is extremely limited — taxpayers who have had their information wrongfully disclosed or even inspected are entitled by law to monetary damages — and the request for DOGE access has raised deep concern within the IRS, according to three people familiar with internal agency deliberations who, like others in this report, spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss private conversations. [...] It’s highly unusual to grant political appointees access to personal taxpayer data, or even programs adjacent to that data, experts say. IRS commissioners traditionally do not have IDRS access. The same goes for the national taxpayer advocate, the agency’s internal consumer watchdog, according to Nina Olson, who served in the role from 2001 to 2019. “The information that the IRS has is incredibly personal. Someone with access to it could use it and make it public in a way, or do something with it, or share it with someone else who shares it with someone else, and your rights get violated,” Olson said. A Trump administration official said DOGE personnel needed IDRS access because DOGE staff are working to “eliminate waste, fraud, and abuse, and improve government performance to better serve the people.” [...] Gavin Kliger, a DOGE software engineer, arrived unannounced at IRS headquarters on Thursday and was named senior adviser to the acting commissioner. IRS officials were told to treat Kliger and other DOGE officials as contractors, two people familiar said.

the holocaust denying 25-year-old neonazi now has access to your bank information

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saywhat-politics · 5 months ago

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Feb. 16, 2025, 7:38 PM MST

By Garrett Haake and Megan Lebowitz

WASHINGTON — An Internal Revenue Service employee who is affiliated with the Department of Government Efficiency has accessed an IRS system that houses sensitive taxpayer information, according to an administration official.

The employee was granted access to the Integrated Data Retrieval System, which allows IRS employees to access taxpayer accounts.

The IDRS allows employees to have “instantaneous visual access to certain taxpayer accounts,” according to the IRS website. The system can be used for “researching account information and requesting returns” and “automatically generating notices, collection documents and other outputs.”

IDRS users “are authorized to access only those accounts required to accomplish their official duties,” according to the IRS website.

The person with access to the IDRS is an IRS employee who started during the second Trump administration and is affiliated with DOGE, the official confirmed. The official said that the employee was carrying out the "DOGE mission" and acting “legally and with the appropriate security clearances.”

#donald trump #second term #elon musk #doge #irs

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yossariansliverpain · 18 days ago

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i think fazbear entertainment was trying to get rid of arnold by sending him to MCM, and already planned to fire him if he survived. this theory comes from a stream by ryetoast and friends on twitch/youtube, which i added my own analysis to.

talked abt it in another post but putting it on its own here for readability

so in arnold's van, he has a certificate for completing his training as a fazbear technician. it expires 1979, the same year the game takes place. specifically the game takes place in september, so we could prob assume by january he wouldn't be able to keep working as a tech without being retrained

if u think about it, it makes no sense for them to be sending arnold to MCM in a genuine attempt to complete the task. he's extremely sleep-deprived and exhausted, going to a place where every other tech (maybe even teams of techs) have been killed. they knew very well that the mimic was in there and deadly but didn't forewarn him at all, and in fact ran bets on whether he'd be killed before he could even reach the security office. they were sending him there to die

and in the bad ending, arnold gets fired for not answering his radio-- but at this point, dispatch/fazbears should KNOW m1 hijacks their signal to the techs. M1 says she's done this with the other techs. this wasn't legitimate, it was a lie just so they'd have a valid-seeming excuse to fire arnold. and when i first heard it, i thought dispatch's "so you admit it?" line about losing the data diver sounded weird, bc he hadn't even accused arnold of that yet, but now it really seems like he was grasping to find another excuse to fire him bc arnold argued back abt answering his calls

this all implies that even if the secret ending was canon, and arnold retrieved the schematics and the whole-ass repaired mimic, he would just get fired anyway bc fazbears planned to do so from the start. he could never have a happy ending

---

the one thing that niggles me abt this is that paying to train a replacement for arnold would prob cost the same as just retraining arnold, but there are some possibilities:

they weren't gonna train a new tech, and would just overwork their current ones even more to save money

arnold's certificate specifically says it was a "fazbear entertainment alternative education program", so maybe it was a specific program for undereducated people (eg. highschool dropouts), while they also hire ppl with qualifications who require a lot less training

arnold might've been entitled to a raise for his longterm service, or might already be at a higher salary than a fresh employee, so it would save money to replace him with a newbie

they 100% thought arnold would die which would mean they wouldn't have to pay him a severance package for firing him

#fnaf #sotm #arnold fnaf #secret of the mimic #WAIT I HAD ANOTHER THOUGHT #dispatch and fazbear ent. KNOW M1 hijacks the signal bc shes done it w like every tech #but they didnt even TRY to find a workaround so they could keep in touch w their techs #were they just using the mimic as an organ grinder for techs they wanted to get rid of!?????

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resurgentclass-stardestroyer · 8 months ago

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Soooo I've been obsessed with the image in this post since I first saw it, and decided to hunt down the source [Star Wars Character Encyclopedia: Updated and Expanded (2016 Edition)]. Here's Mitaka's page, and a close-up of that image; unfortunately it's tiny!

Feel free to use, edit etc.

Update: here's the best digital version of that image that I can find, slightly edited [maybe I'll clean it up someday..]:

Additional notes and transcript below:

[Google lists Mitaka's actor Sebastian Armesto at 5'8" and the fact that they added 3" to him makes me giggle. Let him be a little short!]

The fact that Mitaka's homeworld is listed as 'Uknown' is interesting to me. I wonder it's something thought out by the writers, or just hand-waving [guy didn't even have a name in the movie credits, iirc]. I've long hced that Mitaka was born on a starship to Imperial parents - but it's also possible that Mitaka was taken into the FO at a very young age and simply doesn't remember his home planet.

As most Mitaka enjoyers know, Mitaka graduated at the top of his class in the Academy. Despite being appearing terrified when facing Ren, he's evidently very, very good at his job. And, I know "Ren's unforgiving command style" is being tongue in cheek, but it does implicate a contrast to Hux's command style, which is apparently not-so unforgiving.

Something I see some get wrong — Mitaka is part of the FO Navy, not the Army. He's in charge of starships rather than ground forces, and he would make the ranks of Commander, Captain, and Admiral rather than Major, Colonel, and General.

So apparently Mitaka was indeed, under Hux, the one in command of not only recapturing Dameron and Finn, but also the retrieval missions on Jakku, and giving orders — which to me seems quite a step above the responsibilities of a mere Lieutenant and why I hc Mitaka as a Lieutenant Commander, but I digress. It makes sense then why it was specifically Mitaka who was designated to tell Ren about their failure to capture both the droid and the 'fugitives' — though it's also my hc [have lots of those] that Mitaka could have put this on an underling, but chose to face Ren and take the blame personally out of a sense of duty and honor, despite being terrified.

Editing note, because I'm a graphics nerd at heart: the half-tone dots in the close-up are predictably driving me bonkers, but from what I can tell, there's not much that can be done about it other than a time-consuming paint/smudge over, or messing with PS plug-ins [as far as I know -- I'm very new to scanning print]. I tried some descaling and blurring, but of course you can't do much of that without a loss of quality and clarity, and that's something I hate to sacrifice. I'll keep messing with it. Or, if someone has any idea of another source for this picture you would be my savior ! This is the only instance I can find of this image.

Transcript:

Lieutenant Mitaka First Order Officer

Data File Affiliation: First Order Homeworld: Unknown Species: Human Height: 1.8m (5ft 11in) Appearances: VII See Also: First Order TIE pilo; Finn; General Hux; Kylo Ren

Dopheld Mitaka is an attentive young officer serving aboard the First Order flagship Finalizer. A top graduate in his Academy class, Mitaka is not prepared for Kylo Ren's unforgiving command style.

The First Order naval uniform is descended from the sharp, authoritarian styles worn by officers of the Old Empire. The charcoal gray fabric signifies naval service, while the flared breeches and stiff boots help in maintaining a rigid posture. The command cap carries the starburst symbol of the First Order.

Tough Job After failing to recapture the escaped prisoner Poe Dameron and the deserter FN-2187, Mitaka continues to oversee the progress of search teams scouring the desert wastes of Jakku. Mitaka has the unenviable task of updating Kylo Ren on the search after the fugitives flee Jakku aboard the Millennium Falcon.

[Image Caption] Mitaka issues orders on behalf of General Hux to stop the escaping TIE fighter carrying Poe Dameron and FN-2187.

#dopheld mitaka #hux #star wars #the force awakens #first order #image #archive #my archive

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

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I don't think you'll ever have to find out (Carlos Sainz)

The lack of contract for next season has been pushing Carlos to extremes and friends and family have noticed it

Note: english is not my first language. First Carlos big piece 🫶 I hope you enjoy reading it 😊

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions some anxiety and burnout symptoms

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Hmmmm", you hummed as you felt the mattress move a little before the warm sheets approached your body instead of the warm body that laid under them before.

"Shh, it's just me, cariño", Carlos lulled you, "go back to sleep, it's still early", he kissed your forehead softly as the tucked you in properly.

"Where are you going since it's still early then?", you wondered groggily, "I'm going for a run, I'll be back to have breakfast with you, okay? I love you", he kissed your forehead again before he grabbed his workout clothes and stepped into the ensuite.

When you woke up a few hours later, you could hear water running from the shower, assuming Carlos had got back from his run.

Opening the windows and pulling the sheets to the end of the bed so the whole room could air out, you put on your slippers and one of your boyfriend's hoodies, heading downstairs to start on breakfast. After a quick look at the meal plan left by his trainer, you retrieved the ingredients from the pantry and fridge, toasting, whisking and flipping what you needed to when you heard footsteps joining you on the kitchen.

"Good morning, beautiful", Carlos said as he hugged you from your back, his lips kissing under your ear softly before he looked at what you were making, "smells nice", he murmured before you turned your head slightly so you could kiss his cheek.

"Here you go", you smiled as you handed Carlos the plates to carry to the table while you carried your drinks.

"Gracias, my love", he smiled back as he sat down, taking a sip from his mug and starting light conversation between you two.

"I need to go to the school to get some forms from the secretariat service and some of the kids' tests I forgot to bring home", you began telling him your plans for the day, "I'll mark them when I get home, but we might have some time to spend together in the afternoon".

"I have a meeting with my engineers to analyse data and then I have a sponsor event as well, I have to go there, give an interview and hang around for a bit - I think I'm going to be home for dinner though", he explained his schedule, "but you can use the office, don't worry", he smiled, kissing the top of your head once he finished eating, taking both plates with him back to the kitchen.

"I love you, handsome, have a good day!", you said, kissing his lips once you left the house, knowing he wasn't going to be there when you arrived back from school.

The secretariat services were quicker than usual in getting you the paperwork you needed so you were able to go to your classroom next. As you were making sure everything was in place and none of the kids had left anything out during the holidays, you looked for the tests.

"Hi, Y/N! What are you doing here?", your colleague from the classroom next to yours wondered after she announced her presence with a light knock on your door.

"Hello! I could ask you the same thing, hm?", you chuckled, "I left the tests here and they're not going to mark themselves", you waved the folder in your hand.

"Carlos isn't racing this week?", she asked. You had been classroom buddies for over five years so you had gotten to know eachother pretty well and felt comfortable enough around eachother to ask such questions.

"No, he's racing next weekend though, I'm flying out to see him and then flying back in a hurry so I can teach without taking many days off", you offered.

"Sounds good then! Good luck with all of those, my little ones had some trouble with these last tests, I must say", she added.

"I haven't even looked at them properly to be honest, but I'm sure they did their best", you recalled, waving at her as she said goodbye before putting everything you needed in your bag and leaving as well.

When you arrived back home, you walked straight to the office, arranging your desk in a way that your organisation system worked: to be marked, marked, and the double checked tests, along with space for you laptop so you could insert the data straight on the platform.

The pause you had for lunch was spent on the balcony, soaking up the sun rays while you ate and allowed your mind to escape the math problems and the water cycle drawings your little ones made.

It started when you were a teenager and wanted to earn a little extra money, wanting to buy things yourself and the small independence that came with it, so you started offering help to your neighbours' kids with their homework in exchange of a small amount of money. Over the years, it got a little more serious and grew outside of your neighbourhood because you enjoyed it so much and the kids and their parents loved the work you did, and when it to came to choosing a career you'd see yourself working in happily, teaching little ones sounded perfect. Years later, it still brought a smile to your face every single day.

You were measuring the rice quantity for you and Carlos when he arrived, "cariño, are you in the kitchen?", you heard him ask once he shut the door.

"Yes, my love, just getting dinner ready", you called back, washing your hands once you were done while he stepped closer to you. Drying your hands on a kitchen towell, you left it on the counter once your boyfriend joined you in the room, "did you have a good day?", you mumbled against his lips before stealing a big kiss from him.

"It was good, did what needed to be done, and you? Are your little geniuses getting good grades this term?", he smiled, lacing his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"They did so well! I'm so proud of them, they barely had any spelling mistakes and they drew these pretty drawings on the side - I have to show you, come look!", you pulled his hand to follow you to the office, feeling his tiredness in his movements and stalling, "I can show you later - how about a cuddle in the sofa while dinner cooks?", you suggested as you noticed him nod, "sounds nice", he kissed your hand as you pulled him to the living room, letting you rest your body against his for a little bit as he told you a little more about his day.

"Sounds tiring", you mumbled, tracing random shapes on his clothed chest, "it's fine, part of the job", he shrugged as he looked at his watch, "dinner should be ready soon, no? I'll help you with the table", he kissed your forehead before you got up and sorted the meal for the two of you.

By the time you were done, cleaning up was easy and quick. Carlos suggested you retired to the bedroom early, doing your night-time routines before cuddling on the bed.

"How about a movie?", you suggested, flickering the streaming platforms to find something to watch.

"I might fall asleep in the middle of it, you won't get too mad if I do?", he smiled, kissing your cheek multiple times.

"Of course I won't be mad, love! I'd never be mad for that", you cooed, looking up at his eyes as he tried his hardest to blink the sleep away, "I'll keep the volume down and the brightness low, you sleep all you want, okay?", you checked with him, sealing your request with a kiss on his lips, "sleep well, my love".

Carlos pulled you closer to him, your scent and steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep quickly, leaving you to smile at his peaceful features when you glanced away from the screen every now and again.

"You look so gorgeous! My teacher was never this stylish!", Blanca said as she greeted you once you stepped inside her car, setting your bag on the seat next to yours and squeezing her shoulder as well as her mother's, "hello hello! Thank you for inviting me, I've been needing a wardrobe change now that the temperatures are warmer", you smiled as they squeezed your hand back before you put your seatbelt on.

"It's been a while since I've seen you, dear, how have you been?", Reyes asked you while her daughter drove off to the spot where they wanted to spend the afternoon shopping.

"The little ones have been keeping me busy, now that they're on school break, it's a little bit calmer", you replied.

"That's nice, you shouldn't run yourself to the point of exhaustion - no matter how much you love it, you should also take care of yourself! You and Carlos are very much alike on that - your work ethic is excellence", she winked through the rear view mirror.

You agreed with your boyfriend's mother. Both you and Carlos worked extremely hard to get to the point you were in now and sometimes you needed someone - often eachother - to pull you out of a overworking spiral.

When Blanca was trying on a dress, you and Reyes sat on the small sofa while you waited for her and conversation flowed easily like usual, "how has Carlos been? It's been a while since I've seen him too", she wondered.

"He's been working a lot - being without a contact prospect for next year has obviously had a big impact on him", you began, "to be completely honest, I worry he is overdoing it. It's meeting after meeting, then all the workouts he goes on - I'm happy he's healthy for it, but too much of something is never good, right?", you shared.

"I've noticed it, too - I wasn't just asking", she smirked softly, "but I wanted to confirm it with you, a mother's instinct is always worried for her children and maybe part of me was hoping I was just exaggerating".

"I've tried to make sure he feels all the support he has and just be there for him, but I think it's all him, pushing to be better and better", you expressed your worries.

"What do you think about us having dinner at your place? Not to invite myself - even though that's what it is-, but maybe he would feel better and more inclined for a yes? Last times I invited you two for dinner with us he said he had things planned and the plans fell through", she said.

"Sounds nice, don't worry about inviting yourselves in", you chuckled as she gently squeezed your shoulder, "I'm going to suggest it to him, thank you", you squeezed her hand.

"We should be the ones thanking you", Blanca said as she stepped out, leaving you to assume she heard some of the conversation, "you've been his safe place for so long and continue to do so no matter the conditions", she smiled, "you're making sure my very hard headed brother is looking after himself and being looked after - the love you have for eachother is all we could've wanted for Carlitos", she hugged you, "now do we think this looks nice as it is or is it borderline making me look like a cloud?", she looked at the piece of clothing on her body.

You were pulled out of sleep when you heard Carlos mumbled something incoherent, and turning to face him, the sweat on his forehead evidencing that he was probably having a nightmare.

"Amor, hey - wake up, amor, wake up", you shook him awake, "it's just a nightmare, you're okay, you're okay", you coaxed him as he opened his eyes, turning on his bedside lamp while you held onto his hand.

"I woke you up? I'm sorry", he apoligised, voice groggy as he tried to catch his breath and bring his heart rate back to normal.

"It's okay, amor", you smiled, kissing his cheek and brushing the hairs away that were stuck to his forehead, "do you want to talk about it?".

Did he want to talk about it? The nightmares that kept occurring and keeping him up, only until now they had only woken him up? They had been happening for about a month now. He would wake up all sweaty and his breathing erratic, and more often than not, he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, so he stayed awake thinking about all the possibilities of how his employment situation would be for next year and all of the ways he could improve his performance.

"It's fine", he gulped, "let's go back to sleep, okay?", he encouraged.

You knew better than to push him at that moment, so you cuddled up to him, holding him too as you kissed his chest, "I'm right here, nothing bad is going to happen to you, I'll make sure of it", you whispered before he turned the light off, wanting to believe you so badly and to sleep without his mind running a million miles an hour.

It really was taking up a lot of his mind - as well as your and his family's worries - and how it was soon going to be too much if he didn't manage everything well, and after his mother's conversation with you, you knew you needed to do something.

"My love, can I talk to you for a second?", you asked as you walked inside the office, seeing his sat in the long sofa instead of at the desk, "sure, come here, cariño", he urged, tidying some of the papers and notebooks so you could sit.

"I'm not going to bat around the bush, this is going to be straight off the bat - me and your family are concerned you're running yourself harder than you should, and if you keep going at this rate, you're going to burnout soon", you tried, rubbing his thigh softly and encouraging him to really think about it.

He pondered his words for a bit, "I have to do all I'm doing, Y/N, if I stop, I'll fall behind - it's bad enough as it is", he argued.

"But it's not doing you any good, handsome, you're more tired, you barely spend time with your family, with me even", you argued back. You didn't want to play that card or make him feel like he was failing you, that wasn't the point, "you're not doing the things that bring you joy outside of your work, and it shows", you attempted again.

"I have to keep working, I can try and make more time for them, but I can't miss my workouts and these data analysis sessions", he reasoned, "there's so much at stake here and I can't miss any of it because I'm unprepared or unfit".

"Handsome, I never wanted you to stop all of a sudden - and I knew you wouldn't anyway, I know who I'm dating, believe it or not", you smiled, "all I'm saying is you need to protect yourself too, have a place to just be yourself and let loose for a bit", you grabbed his hand and brought it to your mouth, kissing his knuckles.

"I will try my best", Carlos stated, "I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you", he said and you shook your head.

"No worries, now come and help me because your parents are coming over for dinner!", you have him a cheeky smile, pulling him to the kitchen and away from work for the rest of the day.

"This had my mother's hand on it, didn't it?", he wondered.

"She told me she was worried, and I agreed - so I took matters into my own hands because we knew you wouldn't let your mother tell you half of what I told you", you pulled him to you, hugging him tight, "we love you so much, I love you so much - and things are going to work out for you, I know they will", you kissed his clothed chest before looking up at him, "we all want you to be happy at what you do and you're doing the best you can - the universe will do the rest, amor".

"What would I do without you?", Carlos asked, kissing your lips passionately.

"Lucky for you, I don't think you'll ever have to find out", you smiled.

#carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fic #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader

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catierambles · 5 months ago

Text

Once in a Blue Moon Ch. 9

Samantha was sitting out on the porch on the bench swing, scrolling through her phone. She probably should have gotten a pre-paid burner so he couldn’t track her, but it had been easy enough to transfer her data over to a new SIM card that didn’t have a tracking program built into it and if she kept location services off she should be good. Though it was nice to think about what the others would do if Jonathan suddenly showed up. Not that he had the stones to come himself. No, he would get someone else to “retrieve” her.

An odd feeling at the base of her skull had her looking up from the phone screen and she froze when she saw the massive pitch black wolf sitting at the base of the short stairs. Glacial blue eyes regarded her with trepidation and it gave a low whine the longer she stared at it.

“Oh for fuck—Mikey!” Sy said, coming out of the cabin. “I told ya not to do this! Not until she went through her first shift!” The wolf whined again, shrinking away slightly.

“That’s Mike?” She asked, not taking her eyes from the wolf.

“You don’t recognize’im?” Sy asked but she shook her head.

“Didn’t really get a good look before—” She watched him walk up the stairs slowly, and she leaned back in the bench as he approached her. His ears drooped and he laid his head in her lap, looking up at her. Setting aside her phone, her hands shook slightly as she laid them on his head, moving over his coarse but still soft fur. He seemed to melt under her touch, sitting down at her feet and giving a sigh that shook his chest. “I forgive you.” She said, “It was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose.” Picking his head up, he licked her cheek, making her smile. “Also, you’re adorable. So how could I hold it against you?” His tail started wagging back and forth, thumping against the bars of the porch railing. “More of a golden retriever than a wolf.” His head tilted to the side slightly, one of his ears perking up and she snorted, leaning forward to press a kiss between his eyes.

It was late, everyone having gone to bed and Samantha woke to gentle kisses to her face and eyes.

“Walter?” She asked, her eyes opening, but it was Jonathan not Walter and his hand came up too fast, fingers wrapping around her throat.

Fear jolted her awake and she sat up, rubbing at her neck, still feeling his hand around it.

“Love?” Walter asked, reaching out to touch her gently, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” She said immediately, “Bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

“Come here.” He said, opening his arms for her and she hesitated a moment before going to him and letting herself be enveloped in his warmth, accepting the comfort he was offering. “I'll protect you.” She didn't say anything, relaxing against his chest and breathing in his scent. It didn't take long for him to go back to sleep, but it was a little more elusive for her and she was awake until the dawn sun started to peek through the curtains.

She stood at the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee maker, fatigue pulling at her eyes. Even after she had managed to go to sleep again, it was fitful, with vague nightmares of Jonathan popping in every time she managed to slip fully under. There was a presence at her back, strong arms wrapping around her waist, and she knew who it was without turning around. She was wearing one of Augusts’ shirts, her legs and feet bare, and they loved when she wore their clothing, covering herself in their scent. His arms tightened as his mouth buried in the bend of her shoulder, holding her close and making her smile.

“You're so damn sexy, you know that?” He asked, his mustache tickling her skin.

“So you all keep telling me.” She said.

“Fuck.” August said, his mouth moving over her skin, “I could take you right here.”

“I’m sorry, I didn't sleep well last night, so I'm a bit tired.”

“Walter keep you up?” There was no hint of jealousy in the question. They had no problems with her being with the others, no issues that she and Geralt had already slept together and they hadn't yet. At least, seemingly no problems.

“Nightmares.” She said, shaking her head, and he hummed. “I’ll be fine, just need some coffee.”

“You need sleep.” August said and reached past her, turning off the coffee maker.

“August...” She sighed, but he ignored her, picking her up in his arms in a bridal carry and carrying her from the kitchen and back up the stairs to his room. “You guys need to stop just scooping me up and carrying me off like a bunch of cavemen.”

“Be grateful we’re not throwing you over our shoulders.” He said and she snorted. Laying her down on his bed, he got undressed and climbed onto it with her, covering them both with the blanket and pulling her into his arms. He was so strong, and warm, and she fell asleep with his scent in her nose and his heartbeat in her ear.

Her rest was more peaceful this time and she woke later to August pressing kisses to her face and neck. Sensing that she was awake, he pulled one of her legs around his waist and her breath hitched as he pressed between her legs, thick and hard.

“Oh, Alpha.” She breathed, the words coming from an unknown place and he groaned, his hips rolling into her. He took her mouth hard, pushing his tongue past her lips as his fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt that she was wearing.

“Fuck it.” He growled and tore it open making her gasp. He rolled her onto her back and went to his knees between her legs, pushing the shirt open and mapping her body with his hands, palming her breasts and squeezing gently. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” A hand went between her legs, his thumb going under the fabric covering her center, finding her with almost laser precision and starting to circle around her clit. “So soft, you’re getting so wet.” Pushing aside her underwear, he slid two fingers into her as he leaned over her, pumping them lazily as he continued to work at her with his thumb.

“Fuck, August.” She whined, reaching up to grab his pillows above her head as her hips moved against his hand. “Please August. Please Alpha.”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll take care of you.” He said and slid her small clothes down and off before parting her legs again. He pushed his own boxer briefs down only so much as to free himself, taking himself in his hand and stroking as he looked at her spread out under him. With a hand under her hips, he pulled her into his lap, looking between them as he aligned them. Holding her still, he rolled his hips forward, shuddering as she parted for him, spreading around him in tight, wet, heat.

“You’re so big.” She whimpered and he pulled back only to push forward again, working himself inside her until they were joined fully, his base pressed against her smooth mound.

“Fuck.” He breathed, basking in the feeling of them together before he started to move, rocking into her rhythmically, his eyes fixed on where they were joined, watching as he vanished into her again and again, his hands around her hips as she started to move against him. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

“You feel so fucking good.” She said, and he wanted to ask if he felt better than her husband in a spat of pettiness, but figured that would ruin the mood. Leaning over her, her hands went to his hair and shoulders as he kissed her, grunting into her mouth. “Yes, just like that.”

“I want to feel you come, Samantha.” He said, “Be a good girl, come on my cock.” The movement of her hips against his increased in speed as she began chasing her release and pulled him into a kiss of her own as she pushed flush against him, almost sobbing against his lips as she pulsed and clenched around him. “God fucking damnit.” Going back up onto his knees, he held her hips in his hands, pounding into her at a relentless pace before giving an almost vicious snarl, seating himself in her fully as he released into her. His lungs burned as he fought to catch his breath, almost collapsing next to her on the bed. Her lips pressed to his chest, tasting the sweat on his skin and he held the side of her jaw, pulling her into a kiss.

“You’re still hard.” She said and he nodded. “Let me help you with that.” August pushed his boxer briefs off the rest of the way, watching as she swung a leg over his hips, sitting up on him and easing down onto him with her hands pressed against his lower stomach.

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #hellraiser mike #geralt of rivia #once in a blue moon

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