#Bounty Hunter reader

[mostholy]

Hello @ashortdork! Thank you for the compliment ･:*:+♥︎ I very much appreciate it! ･:*+.\(( °ω° ))/.:+ ♡☆彡　❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

here:

The reference: (i saw this from pinterest, but no credits, still, credits to the artist!)

[kalixora]

Bounty

Optimus x Cybertronian reader

Reader is cybertronian bounty hunter

Team Prime was currently down in an deep energon cave that Wheeljack had found while coming back to Jasper. It was enough energon to last a whole year the best part was there as no cons. None at all.

"Gotta hand it to you Jacky! This cave is awesome!" Bulkhead exclaimed as he punched Wheeljack on the arm.

"I'm gonna actually agree with Bulk on this one," Arcee commented. “It’s a nice find, how many cons did you have to take out when you found it?”

“None at all, to bad though, I was looking forward to kicking a bunch of scarps today too, but this place was a score for real.”

“This could last us like a whole year! Right?” Smokescreen says while tapping the walls of the cave. In which Bumblebee chirped excitedly while nodding his helm.

Optimus stood next to Ultra Magus still scanning the cave some more. He was proud of Wheeljack about finding the cave, but given everything that they’ve all been through lately in past missions, he was slightly hesitant. Ultra Magus raised his optics looking at the Prime.

“Is something troubling you sir?”

Optimus hummed, “No, but you can never be to careful.” Optimus raised his voice so everyone could hear him, “Let’s quickly grab as much energon as we can and head back to base, Wheeljack excellent work, I gave you my thanks.”

Wheeljack nods, giving Bulkhead a smug look. “No problem boss, just doing my job.”

With that everyone spilt into two or three groups grabbing energon and filling up carts and putting it on Wheeljack’s ship.

Smokescreen, Bumblebee and Arcee walked further into the cave finding the mother load of energon.

“Come on Smokescreen, we have way more than enough,” Arcee says signaling them that it’s time to go back.

“Aw come on, we gotta get a little bit more! You never know maybe the cons might find this place and we’ll never get it back again,” Smokescreen replied back still grabbing more energon.

Arcee sighed, “I understand your concerns, I do, but we've gone far enough into this cave, and I don't like staying in caves for any longer than necessary.”

“But, the more the merrier." Smokescreen objected.

"We have enough," Arcee responded.

Bumblebee attempted to intervene, but the two-wheeler refused. Acree rolled her optics turning around, "Do what you want then."

Smokescreen chuckled and huffed, "Fine by me-“

Bumblebee beeped questioning Smokescreen sudden demeanor change, Smokescreen switched his servo’s into guns pointing in the direction of the energon. Arcee did the same unsure of what was going on.

“I heard something….” Smokescreen finally said after a few seconds of unmoving. Stepping closer Smokescreen became to see a metallic chest plate, he then stepped a bit closer and was lunged at. Stumbling back Smokescreen fired a shot missing his attacker who managed to get on top of him.

“What the-“ Arcee and Bumblebee pointed their guns at the thing. It was a cybertronion animal. But it was a predacon, since a predacon wouldn’t have given Smokescreen the chance to get that close since they’re territorial when it came to energon.

Arcee fired a shot at it and hit it on its sides. It whimpered and shook its helm trying to get up but struggled, letting out a sharp yelp in doing so. Acree stared at it feeling a bit uneasy for having to shoot it. But it was either them or it.

“What the heck is that thing?!” Smokescreen stammered while trying to get back in his feet. His spark pounded against his chest plate looking to see what almost un-alived him.

“Looks like it’s from our planet…” Arcee said hesitantly still trying to examine it.

“Should we call Optimus?” Smokescreen asked.

“Yeah…” Arcee nods while looking at Bumblebee.

After ending the com link Smokescreen huffed, “Maybe shooting it wasn’t the idea…”

“It was you or them,” Arcee huffs as well.

“Arcee?”

Optimus voice echoed through the cave as he came closer to the three, Bumblebee waved him over and pointed at the creature that attacked Smokescreen.

Optimus and Ultra Magnus came closer, inspecting the creature as it whines losing its own energon, Optimus leaned down examining it some more. His optics went wide seeing the creature up closer.

Bumblebee chirped and beeped in confusion while Smokescreen began to start asking questions.

“Do you recognize that thing Optimus?”

“This is a cybertronion hound, only used by Cybertions bounty hunters.”

“Bounty hunters?!” Smokescreen and Bumblebee said beeped at the same time then both looked at Arcee. Arcee’s optics went wide, “Your telling me that belongs to a bounty hunter….”

Optimus turned to look back at the three younger bots with concerns, before noticing a reflection within the energon that captured his attention. He stood up and turned switching his servo to a gun, “Show yourself.”

Optimus narrowed his optics seeing a figure step into his view, his spark rate began to rise at the sight of… you.

You stood there narrowing your own optics at the Prime in front of you, you scoffed in realization.

It was the autobots. And their leader Optimus Prime.

You took aim at his head, glaring at the bot with anger as you fired. Your shot missed as Optimus dodged with precision, his optics meeting yours with a mix of no fear and hesitation.

“Waste of scrap and metal,” you grumbled.

“We mean you no harm,” Optimus says. “My apologies for your friend.”

"My apologies for your friend," he added, acknowledging the unintended consequence of the battle.

The others raised their weapons, with Arcee aiming hers at your hound. Optimus held his servos up, signaling the others to stand down, they all lowered the guns hesitantly with Ultra Magus speaking up. “Is this wise Optimus?”

“I agree with him with on this one sir,” Arcee says. “Bounty hunters hunt. She coukd be working for the cons.”

You rolled your optics, “Autobots, Decepticons, is that all you talk about? I should rip your sparks out and feed it to my hounds.”

“Hounds?” Smokescreen’s optics widened. Hearing growls coming from around them, four more hounds larger the injured one stepped around the rocks of the caves.

“Scrap…” he muttered softly, sensing the tension escalating around them.

“Forgive them, I shall take the blame for their consequence,” Optimus began to kneel down. “Whatever you must do, let me receive it.”

Your largest hound, bristling with protectiveness, snarled as it positioned itself between you and Optimus, a silent but clear warning. The air crackled with tension your other hound gently lifted your injured companion onto its back, carrying it towards you.

You optics shifted towards your smaller hound, scanning over their injures, your spark could rest easy, the femme bot was a crappy shot, missed your hounds vital areas completely.

Steeling yourself, you closed the distance to Optimus, your optics locked onto his with a mix of defiance, grief, and determination. Switching your servo back to your gun, you aimed it squarely at Optimus’s head, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. Arcee’s optics narrowed, sensing the gravity of your demand, while the other Autobots stood tense and watchful.

“Fix him,” you demanded with a low tone, switching your gun back to your servo.

Optimus lifted his helm, meeting your gaze with a steady resolve in his own optics. As you took a step back, allowing him to rise to his full height.

“Very well,” Optimus said with a nod. He placed his digits to his com link, calling base.

[yoitsjay]

Tracker

Pairings: Hunter x Fem! Reader

Summary: you and hunter had a one night stand, and he left you with a child because of it. You never told him, but when you went back to bounty work you ran into each other, and eventually you told him... how will he react?

Warnings: Canon violence, fluff

Word count: 3,265

You had no idea how long you had actually worked for Cid in the past, you weren't contracted but she did give you some exhilarating and high paying jobs. during the clone wars the senate actually gave you most of your bounties, and you would consider yourself a republic bounty hunter, though you held no allegiance to them and that also made you dangerous. But at the end of the clone wars, maybe a month or so later you had to drop from existence on a little backwater planet called Pabu. It was a nice little place, and it was your permanent home, until you had to leave for jobs again… but the only reason you disappeared was because you were pregnant from a one night stand. The other party had no idea, and even if you could reach out, you wouldn't. He didn't need to know, but you remember him vividly.

Tall, tanned And muscular. He had a hard body tattoo resembling a skull, and the skeleton as it traveled down his body. He wore a red bandana, and kriff knows he never took it off… unless it was to tie your hands behind your back but regardless that was one time, the first and the last… and then he left you with a child, the bastard.

So it had been a full 6 months since you had your child, and with all the support you had on pabu you were able to go back to work, knowing your child was safe.

So, you stood in front of Cids parlor, your helmet fastened to your head, having donned your classic armor previously. Nobody knew this but you had Mandalorian lineage, so certain pieces of armor were made if beskar But were formed and painted in a way to make it look nothing like beskar.

Regardless, you were back, and your looks alone sparked fear into those who walked past you. Your mask was not necessarily a helmet, because the back of your hair which was put into a long braid that draped over your shoulder could be seen. But you had two metal bands that were fastened to each side of your temple, and upper cheek, which was strongly magnetized to the mask, which had a voice mod to hide your voice, and was also connected to a small oxygen tank that was clipped to your small backpack, and attached to that was your long ranged rifle, and vibrosword.

You had two blasters in each holster that was strapped to both your thighs, and a few throwing knives were also attached to one other holster, whilst you had a few knives tucked in your boot, or in a hidden holster under your armor plating, and even in your braided hair.

Your armor itself was painted a deep blue with black accents and very faded and worn gold lines in the dips and crevices of your armor, however the thicker Long sleeved undershirt you wore underneath was a dirty cream color, and your pants were a deep brown.

You patted yourself down quickly, nodding to yourself when you recounted everything you had before walking into Cids parlor.

The Bad batch, that is to say Hunter, Wrecker, Tech and omega since Echo was off with Rex, and Crosshair was working for the Empire, were sitting At their usual table, wrecker and omega chowing down on some Mantel mix. Hunter was the first to notice Joe silent the bar suddenly got, but Texh and the others were not to far behind as their attention went to a stranger who walked in, a bounty hunter by the looks of it. To Hunter though, there was a sense and smell of familiarity, and he furrowed his eyebrows watching you walk to Cids office, the door automatics closing behind you. Hunter turned to look at Tech, who also had furrowed eyebrows.

“Why does that Bounty hunter seem so familiar to us?” He asked, typing on his data pad, searching for any info on this bounty hunter. Hunger shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Not sure…” He trailed off, staring at the door for a few seconds until Tech grabbed his attention by showing him the data pad. “It is Y/n L/n, AKA Cicatrix, she was a very famous bounty hunter for the republic during th-”

“-I know Tech, We've worked with her before, before the empire…” He trailed off, memories resurfacing in his mind, memories he pushed down because he got too attached.

In the meantime, you were talking with Cid, your helmet was off, and now attached to your left hip were similar magnets were sewn into your clothing to hold your mask, and you were getting the best pick of the bounties and jobs… until Cid spoke up.

“Yeah one thing Trixie-”

“-Its Cicatrix” You interrupted, and Cid cleared her throat. “Right, one thing, in order to do this big jobs your going to have to work with a few other people, a group I like to work with… The Bad Batch.” She explained, and you narrowed your eyes, gripping the fobs in your right hand. “The bad batch huh?” You sneered at Cid, before grabbing the fobs. “Fine.” You muttered, fastening your mask to your face once more, and Cid led you out of the office, and towards the bad batch.

Your eyes scanned over each of them, some familiar, most of them were except for one… however when your eyes landed on that man… the one with the half skull tattoo on his face, you wanted to turn and run… However, you stayed put as Cid started speaking some nonsense that you couldn't really bother to listen to, because even through your mask he seemed to know where your eyes were, and he wouldn't let your stare go… that was until you felt someone tug at your shirt.

You quickly looked down, seeing the small blonde child smiling up at you. “Hi! I'm Omega, and these are my brothers, Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker! We've read all about you- well at least I have on Kamino, But your so cool! I read one story about you where you and a Jedi were on a mission and you got separated! And a Rancor came out of nowhere and you wrestled it till you killed it- and-” omega was quickly cut off as Hunter rested a hand on her shoulder. “Omega..” he muttered softly, silently telling her to calm down

You chuckled, thinking back to your own child on Pabu before you knelt down in front of her, and took your mask off, clipping it to your thigh once more. You smiled at omega, and pointed to a big scar on your face. “I didn't get out unscathed that's for sure, the rancor gave me a big scar, And I had to get a new eye, luckily for me I had the credits and the connections so now I have a cybernetic Eye, and I can scan my surroundings for infrared signatures, like other people or animals when it's dark out. It's pretty cool.” You explained, winking at her as your cybernetic right eye flashed blue before settling to your eye colour again. Omega squealed in excitement, turning to her brother, Hunter.

You stood up, glancing at him as he stared at you, before standing up. “We can work together, just like old times.” He muttered the last bit, but you heard him clearly, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes. “I'll leave my ship here, and come with you on yours. You stated, resting your hands on your hips as you took a step back, nodding to Cid. “You owe me a solo.” You stated, before walking to the parlor doors. “Let's get a move on, we only have so much time.” You stated, walking outside as the batch gathered their things.

Once all outside, you started walking with them, omega mainly at your side, asking you questions about your old stories, and your weapons… however as you answered, you noticed the crossbow on her back, and it piqued your interest. “Is that an energy bow?” You asked, and she smiled and nodded. “Yeah it is! Though I'm still learning how to use it.” She huffed, and a soft chuckle left your lips. “Well I could teach you? In my youth I was quite the bow slinger myself.” You stated proudly, seeing how her eyes lit up. She immediately turned to Hunter, who was walking behind you.

“Can She teach me after the mission? Please?” She asked her brother, who stopped walking when she did. You stopped as well, turning to look at him with your arms crossed over your armored chest, a smug look over your face. Hunter gave you a look which you weren't quite sure what it meant, before he looked at omega and sighed. “Fine. I suppose some training can be useful.” He stated, and she cheered before running to the Marauder, grabbing your hand and dragging you with her so she could show you around. You laughed with her, the same hearty laugh that Hunter heard all those months ago…

He sighed, and entered the ship, closing the ramp behind him before making his way to his seat in the cockpit where Tech already was.

Tech glanced over at Hunter, but stared right at his data pad while he spoke. “You should talk to her, statistics show that being honest yields better results then not saying anything at all.” He stated, adjusting his goggles. Hunter grunted in response, glancing back at you and omega as she showed you around. “Maybe…” He trailed off, his eyes trailing down your figure. You were muscular, and fit unlike most women he had been with, however you were a bit softer then the last time he was with you… like something had changed you…

Eventually omega brought you to the cockpit just as you were taking off, and you quickly handed the main tracking fob to Hunter, your clothed finger tips brushing against each other as you handed off the fob. A spark shot through your spine, And you quickly cleared your throat and placed your hand on the back of the chair instead of by your side. “Its on a pretty heavy imperialized planet, so we have to be cautious when retrieving the goods. I did some more research and found a map of one of the facilities it's in… though I do have an idea on how we could stealth this, instead of going in guns blazing.” You suggested, staring at Tech as they both looked at you.

“There are rounds of patrols, two or three troopers at a time. And they circle around this mountain pass-” you explain while pulling out a holo map, pointing your finger at the red dot that indicates the patrol, and then the mountain

“If we land around here, a small group, most likely Hunter or Tech and myself can take out the patrol and switch out our armor for theirs. We put our gear in this little alcove in the mountain, and whoever is left behind can come pick it up so it's safe. Anyway, we complete the “patrol” and get back to the facility, getting in like we were one of them. I can use my tools to get into the control room, where we knock out the guards and then take the data, and get out the same way we got in when the next patrol is about to leave, we tail them, take em out and go.” You explained thoroughly, and Tech hummed at the plan.

“That is… one of the best plans I've ever heard. Hunter? What do you think?” Tech asked, and you glanced over at Hunter, noticing that he was staring at you already, a very small smile curled on his lips. “Very good, I'll go with Cicatrix then Tech and omega can pick up our armor and get back to the ship and be on standby in case anything goes wrong.” He stated, and gestured For you to sit down as they were about to drop pit of hyperspace. You did, sitting down behind Tech and across from Hunter.

Soon enough you were docked at the area you pointed out, it was a secluded little landing area, hidden by the mountain, but it gave you easy access to the patrol route. So once landed, you and Hunter headed out Towards the patrol, staying closer to the mountain side and in the shadows, so you weren't seen. You and Hunter rounded the corner just as a patrol did, and before you could even think of what to do, Hunter pushed you into what seemed to be a larger alcove, but one that could hide you both. However it was a tight space, and you were pressed up against each other… at least the armor made it so you couldn't feel his warmth, except from the hands that now found purchase on your lower ribs. And you could feel that warmth radiating from him. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, not looking at him, and instead watching the patrol of two as it walked by. And once they were out of sight you nodded. “Okay let's go” you whispered, and Hunter quickly tore his hands away, and left the alcove, and you followed after, sneaking up behind the troopers before taking them out. You stripped from your armor before donning the troopers armor, making sure your armor was in a neat little stack before placing it in the alcove you were just in. And finally you placed the helmet on your head, but not before tucking your braid up, as if not to give your gender away.

You turned back to Hunter, and he was already done with his outfit change. He nodded to you, and you both made the trek back to the facility. You had completely missed the warmth in his eyes when he had shoved you in the alcove, the contemplation on his face as he was torn between forgetting what he felt, and actually telling you what he wanted to say. You never saw it, and he never knew when he'd actually tell you, and now he wondered if he'd even see you again after this mission was over…

Regardless you arrived at the facility and got in unnoticed. This place seemed less guarded then what you would have expected, and you raised your guard, just in case. Hunter took the lead from then on, leading you to the control room where he stood look out as you started splicing the control panel by the door to open it up. You were going quickly as you could, and you managed to open the door within seconds.

You and hunter walked in, and you closed the door behind you before taking out the guards and workers stationed in this room, leaving it empty and easier to work with.

You quickly sat down at one of the terminals, feeling Hunters presence behind you as you slid a data stick into the computer port, hacking into the network that the imperials used with ease since it was the same Tech used by the republic, and you hacked into the republic networks a lot. Just for security…

Regardless you downloaded the info and pulled it out of the port, standing up and turning to Hunter, tucking the data stick into his belt. you walked to the door, poking your head out to see if it was clear, and you nodded to Hunter, walking out side by side, passing another patrol group, pretending you just got back from your patrol. The plan was working, and you couldn't stop the grin growing underneath the helmet you wore.

This might have been the smoothest mission you've ever been on-

“Hey! Patrolman! wait up.” A voice commanded, and you and Hunter froze before turning around, one of the clone commandos standing in front of you. “You finished your patrol quickly, and you didn't input your report.” He stated, and you sucked In a deep breath, looking at hunter. He quickly spoke up. “Right, apologies sir, we will do that right away.” He stated, saluting, you quickly copied his movements, and the clone commando seemed to buy it before leaving.

A sigh left your lips, and you nudged hunter playfully before the both of you left the facility, acting like the next patrol. And as quickly as you got in, you got out, halfway down the patrol route as the alarms started going off "they found my handy work, about time” You huffed, taking your helmet off and tossing it down the canyon before doing the same with the rest of the white armor you wore, however hunter just tossed his into the same alcove that your armor was in prior, though it had long been grabbed by Tech and Omega.

Before hunter could say anything, you both had reached the marauder, climbing on board where your beautiful armor was waiting. And quickly you strapped it all on again, feeling comfortable with the added weight. Tech then started up the ship, and off you flew, with the info that you needed, though it was encrypted, but that's what Tech was for.

You and Hunter didn't really speak after that, but the atmosphere around you both wasn't… uncomfortable. Just silent. You were back on Ord Mantell in no time, and you cashed in the info and got your cut. You still had a few other fobs, but they weren't as time crunching… and maybe you didn't have to work alone…

Hunter seemed to think the same as he walked up to you at the bar, sitting beside you, silent for a moment before he spoke up, right when you did as well

“I missed you-”

You both said at once and chuckles fell from your lips as you turned to look at him. You sighed, and stared down for a moment before pulling Put a hold puck, sliding it to hunter.

He turned it on, and saw a small child, six months old with thick brown hair already growing from his head, and the same hazel eyes that he had. He looked like hunter, but as a baby of course.

The man turned to look at you, and you sighed. “one year and three months ago we slept together. Apparently my implant had expired the day we had sex and… well… he happened. And to be honest he was the best thing that ever happened to me…” you trailed off, staring at the hologram. “Hunter, I'm so-”

“I'm a father?” He asked, cutting you off. You finally looked at him, noticing the tears welling in his eyes. You nodded, reaching out for his hand, squeezing gently. “Would you like to meet Tracker?” You asked, smiling gently. “You'll be shocked to know that boy has your talents… I hide his toys sometimes, and he tracks my trail to where I put them, I don't know what he sees or feels but- compared to a regular child hes- he's got your senses.” You explained, and Hunter finally looked up at you, before grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into him, his lips landing right on yours. You were tense for a moment, but quickly relaxed onto him as you reciprocated that kiss.

You pulled away, a chuckle leaving your lips. “I'll take that as a yes.” You whispered, resting your forehead against his as he held your hands in his own.

“Yes”

[dindjarins04]

Deception

Obi-Wan X FEM!BOUNTYHUNTER!Reader

Word Count: 1.04k

Warnings: Angst. That's all :/

Summary: You are forced to work a job with the man who killed Obi-Wan Kenobi, the man you loved.

Main masterlist here

Obi-Wan Kenobi masterlist here

A/N: I am so sorry guys for being very inactive for over a year now :( I took a long break because writing wasn't coming to me but now it is, very slowly. So if you have any requests, please send them in to me! Requests are open!! Also, if you have sent a request and it has not be done, please re send them so I can do it! Thank you my sweet summer children xox

You glared at the man with so much hatred you were surprised no one noticed your seething rage. No one but the man himself. The way he looked at you was almost as if he was sympathizing with you. And you hated him so much for that. He killed him. He killed the man you only ever cared about. And here you are, forced to work with him. You hate most beings you have to work with anyway, bounty hunting isn't a fun job. And yes, you would be the happiest person in the galaxy if you could end the life of Cad Bane right now. But he didn't have your current rage. He's never faced it before. No matter how many times you run into each other and pissed you off, you've never felt this angry or upset with him as you are with this man. "Are you oka-"

"Don't speak to me," You growled out. Many people who know you are aware of your short temper and know you're not a talkative hunter at all. You like getting your jobs done. That's one of the many reasons you hate Bane. He presses all the right buttons that make you talk and stall and hesitate and so on. So, no one batted an eyelid at your snap at the man. But Bane knows your sudden dislike for this bounty hunter. He has been teasing you about working with this man since he realized he was going to be trying out for the team.

"I was just starting a conversation,"

"I don't care. Don't speak to me"

"Fine," He scoffed, leaning back in his seat in the transport you were all in. Cad Bane chuckled and leaned against the wall beside the man you hated.

"Don't you get it yet? She hates you because you killed Obi-Wan Kenobi. And our dear friend here," He said your last name in a mocking voice. "Loved Kenobi,"

"I didn't love him," You spat out. "He was just someone who gave me helpful information. That is all,"

"We know your feelings for the Jedi Master," He chuckled. "No need to hide it anymore. Hardeen here killed him. He won't find out now,"

"Shut up," You growled at Bane and watched as Rako Hardeen, the man who murdered the only person you care about, look down in shame. You scoffed at the man and stood up, moving further away from him, forcing Bossk to switch places with you.

~~~

Who cares if the man was good in the box and got you all out alive? He still killed Obi-Wan. He was still a murderer and you still wanted to strangle the man and watch the life leave his eyes. You want him to feel the pain you do. After you, Bane, Hardeen and a few other hunters successfully escape the Box, you all go down to the bar to celebrate. You steer clear of them all and went to your little corner with your drink. But then he comes over to you. "Piss off Hardeen-"

"We need to talk…if we're going to work together…you can't spend the next few days hating me,"

"Yes I can and I will,"

"We need to get this mission done. It's just a few days you have to put aside your anger and sadness,"

"No,"

"Why not? You'll risk the success of this mission?"

"I'm not going to like a murderer like yourself,"

"If I remember correctly, you are also a murderer,"

"I kill bad people,"

"Jedi are bad,"

"No, they are not," He sighed. You were stubborn. He looked down at his drink and then back at you.

"So Bane was right, you loved him?"

"Yes…fuck it…yes, I did. He was the only person who cared about me and I cared about him! And you took him away from me!" He looked shocked. You finished your drink before you left again, stopping the tears threatening to fall. You haven't come to terms with Obi-Wan's death yet. Anytime you or someone else mentions his passing, it's like a saber to the heart. It hurts. And you feel guilty. You shouldn't be hurting but you do. You even managed to worm your way to his funeral. You're upset but you still won't confront your feelings. You can't.

~~~

The mission, of course, went terribly. There was a rat within the group and of course, it was Hardeen who only turned out to be Obi-Wan Kenobi in disguise. And yourself. You were never going to kill the chancellor nor harm your Jedi 'friends'. You were waiting outside of the Temple after flying back to Coruscant to review the attack you were a part of. Once finally proved innocent, you were told to wait outside until you were given the 'okay' to leave. You and Ahsoka were talking, talking about how sorry she was for trying to kill you and vice versa. That's when he came outside. Ahsoka saw and quickly hugged you before leaving you alone.

"I thought faking your death was illegal," You started as he approached you. You crossed your arms defensively over your chest. He looked guilty and he sighed.

"It was to protect the Chancellor,"

"Ah yes, well, congratulations, you fooled everyone and the day is saved," He let out yet another sigh, saying your name and walking closer.

"I…cannot find a way to apologise for the way I have made you feel…for the emotional damage I have caused…but I am so sorry," He kept eye contact and you saw the guilt and the genuine sadness he was feeling for you. You shook your head at him.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Because to me, Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead," He raised a brow, he looked confused and scared. "You're fucking dead to me,"

"You don't mean that-,"

"I mean every fucking word that I fucking say. You're fucking dead to me,"

"I don't believe it,"

"Well, you have to start believing it. Because you're dead to me," You hissed out. He called out your name and tried to reach out to you but you pulled yourself away from the man you loved and walked off, pulling your cloak over your head, not looking back. Walking away from the man you loved for the second time.

[banoonagrams]

Hot on His Trail — Chapter One

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)/Reader

Summary: When you had first met the Mandalorian when you were collecting your next bounties from Karga, you didn’t think much of your encounter. Sure he was interesting and sure, you were attracted to him, but you assumed that the two of you would never cross paths again.

You’d soon come to learn that your assumption had been wrong. Entirely.

Warnings: None

Your feet pound against the cobbled road that you’re sprinting on, the streets beside you lined with outdoor stands and shops of every different color imaginable and selling items that you couldn’t pronounce even if you tried. With the hustle and bustle of people along the streets and adjoining alleyways inside of the bazaar, squeezing between them in an attempt to keep up your hurried pace was no easy feat, but you try your best. You had gotten quite a few curse words thrown at you by now with how many bodies you had accidentally bumped into already, but you don’t stop to say sorry, instead yelling throwaway apologies behind your back. You’re never going to see these people again anyways, and there were more important matters at hand. Matters like catching this Maker forsaken bounty that’s sprinting a ways ahead of you.

A Weequay man by the name of Molorne that your tracking fob had led you to was wearing annoyingly simplistic clothes that caused him to fit in with the rush of the crowd surrounding him, so it was easy to lose sight of the man if you weren’t paying attention. You probably would have lost him by now if it wasn’t easy to spot the angry faces of the people that he had shoved past while trying to get away from you. He was practically carving out a path of pissed off civilians for you to follow.

You ignore the harsh stitch that’s beginning to form in your side from your strenuous pace as you continue to press on, feet slamming on the cobbled road while your bandolier bounces along with your body. A vendor empties the remnants of a colorful cutting board out into the street and you walk straight through the dust cloud that comes off of it, nose tickling for a second before you sneeze loudly from the dust, attracting even more stares than you had already gotten. Ignoring this, you continue on forward.

A flash of movement that differentiates from the crowd comes from Molorne’s direction, and you can see him trip and fall to the ground from your current position. He’s yelling at the customers of the bazaar to help him up while cradling his ankle and pointing at you, screaming even more. The two citizens that had bent over to help him’s gazes follow where he’s pointing and see you sprinting towards him, eyes instantly widening in panic and putting their hands in the air in submission. Perhaps being decked out in all kinds of combat gear with a crazed look in your eyes isn’t the most friendly way to approach someone. Just spitballing here.

Snorting to yourself breathlessly in amusement at their reactions, you finally reach Molorne, glaring down at him in a mute warning for him to stay put. He, however, decides to ignore your niceties, attempting to crawl away from you and back into the anonymity of the bazaar. Rolling your eyes, you swiftly snatch your blaster out of its holster and turn off the safety, purposefully blasting a stone directly next to where his head was. He stops in his tracks, snapping his head over to you with eyes as big as moons.

“You’re crazy!” He says while baring his teeth at you, voice accusational. You scoff at his accusation.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the one who stole money from a Hutt.” You hold your hands out to emphasize your words. “I mean, of all of the people in the galaxy to steal from, you choose one of them? Not the brightest idea.”

He squints his eyes angrily at your response, attempting to lunge at you feebly from his place on the ground. In response, you immediately push the sole of your boot against his torso and force him on his back onto the ground, not hesitating for a second. He struggles beneath the pressure of your foot against his chest as the people in the bazaar move around your scene, steadfastly ignoring you.

“Listen, dumbass. There’s two ways that we can do this.” You spin your blaster around with your hand while you talk. “You can either get on my ship like a good little quarry, or you can make me have to lug your stiff body all the way to the loading bay. Which one’s it gonna be?”

The Weequay visibly gulps, eyes snapping in every which direction in a futile effort to find someone who would help him out of his predicament.

“I don’t have all day.” You press your boot harder down upon his torso and he gasps, slapping his hands on your ankle to try and get you off of him.

“The second one,” he croaks out, hands still smacking against you.

You smile in triumph, motioning your hand upwards as you lift your leg up and off of him and back to the ground. “Right choice. Now get up.”

He takes a deep breath, dusting off his clothes before slowly scrambling himself to be upright, back hunching over in defeat. As he puts weight on his injured ankle he winces, trying to shift the pressure put on it to his other foot. You don’t give him any special care just because he’s injured. He’s the one who ran away from you like an idiot. Ankle or no ankle, he was going to be turned in. You haven't lost a bounty yet and you sure as hell weren’t going to have your streak broken by this guy.

You grab a pair of stun cuffs off of your belt and slap them onto his wrists, adjusting them to him so that they’re tight enough to leave light impressions in his leathery blue skin. He curses quietly, grumbling under his breath and thinking you won’t hear him.

“Kriffing bounty hunters.” 

“What’d you say? You wanted them to be tighter?” You say sarcastically, adjusting the cuffs so that they now pinched at the Weequay’s skin. He mumbles incoherently again but doesn’t say anything else. “Walk.”

He follows your order, heading forward into the crowd with you mere inches beside him. The bazaar slowly fades into the distance behind you as you reach an older section of the city, reaching the lot where your ship was currently parked.

“Where’d you get your hands on one of these? I haven't seen one around in years,” the man says in reference to your ship, obviously surprised. He begins to stare at the little designs that you had painted on the outside walls, and you ignore him, annoyed that everyone is always fascinated that you don’t have a state of the art star fighter like some people have nowadays.

Entering the code to open your ship’s doors into the number pad, you keep your blaster trained on your bounty’s side as you wait for the door to open. She was a bit slow in the hinges due to age, but everything else worked just fine. No need for a new ship if your current one still served its purpose.

Stepping behind the Weequay man once again, you push him forward with the end of your blaster, causing him to stumble forward onto the ramp and into the ship. It was at this point in time that he began to try reasoning with you for his freedom, like they all do eventually.

“You know, I have a good amount of credits left over from my, well… dealings with the Hutts. I could buy you a better ship—“

“I don’t need a new ship.” You say with an irritated tone, closing the door before turning towards him with a scowl. You cross your arms over your chest, blaster still pointed at him, and try to predict what he’d say next in your head. Maybe he’d try to give you some cold hard credits instead? Or perhaps he’d try offering his body to you like that one Zabrak guy did. People try insane things to not get turned in. Understandable in their situations, but you never budge.

“What if I got you away from this life? You’re a pretty girl, I’m sure I could find you a place somewhere.” Damn. That would have been your third guess. ‘Offer to whisk you away like a fair maiden of yore.’

Stepping over to your carbon freezer, you begin to input the man’s information into his slab. “You know, as enticing as that sounds, I think I’m going to have to disrespectfully decline.” You bite your tongue to hold in a laugh as his expression shows how shocked he is that you would ever even say such a thing. “Say your full name for me real quick, would you?”

You had already forgotten his first name. Usually, all that you needed to hunt someone was their last name, what they looked like and their tracking fob, and you were set to go off and find them. But you did need to put every bounty’s name into the freezer for record purposes, which is why you’re asking him his name. You could always just fish his puck out of your bag, but you’re feeling lazy at the moment.

Looking confused, he stutters when he speaks again. “I— Quen Molorne. Why?”

Typing in the last of his information, you lightly grab onto his shoulders, smiling at him. He immediately smirks down at you, and you’d say it’s not far-fetched to say that he’s assuming you’ve suddenly changed your mind about setting him free just because he offered you bribes.

“So that I can freeze you, idiot.” Roughly jerking his back towards the freezer, you shove him inside, slamming the confirmation button and watching his surprised expression be etched into the carbonite. The texture of the carbonite displaying all of your captured quarries' faces is less than flattering for all of them, but then again, it wouldn’t be flattering for anyone. You giggle to yourself at his perpetually shocked face before you crack your knuckles and stretch your arms out in front of you, groaning into the air at the feeling before adjusting your posture.

Molorne had taken a pretty damn long time to catch. He wasn’t your record longest, but he had taken almost two weeks to find. On average it took you a little over a week to find a regular bounty, but Molorne had been extra tricky, only using public freighters to travel and not staying in the same place for a continued amount of time. Once you had caught him though, it had been comically easy. You’d have expected him to put up at least some kind of fight other than his one laughable lunge. Maybe he just knew who would win a fight between the two of you. Smart man.

Walking over to the front of the ship, you settle yourself into the pilot’s chair and spread your legs out underneath the dash. One other pro about this ship: the foot room for when you were piloting.

You start to power up the ship, flicking a couple of switches on the overhead to start the engines before strapping yourself into your seat. Placing your hand on a lever to your right, you adjust a couple of other things on the dash before inputting the coordinates for Nevarro into the nav comp. Molorne was your last puck out of the bunch that you had received last time you had met up with Karga, so now it was time to collect your earnings.

You do a quick survey that everything you need to take off is ready before pushing the lever in your right hand forward, lifting the ship up and into the air, passing by the ozone layer before reaching space.

Checking your coordinates once more, you nod your head to yourself in verification before activating the hyperdrive, the lines of hyperspace showing up before you quickly surge forward. Nevarro was only a little ways away, but you weren’t the most patient woman, and if there was a way to get somewhere quicker, you’d take it. The trip won’t take long, maybe ten minutes at most before you’ll leave hyperspace and appear in front of Nevarro, so that gives you a little bit of time to cool off for a moment and refresh yourself.

You head over to your room and dig through your dresser for whatever shirt catches your eye, deciding on a white tank that looks incredibly comfortable in comparison to the heavy, dirty shirt that you’re currently wearing. It’s an aggravating process to remove all of your gear from your body just to take off your shirt, put on another one and then put all of your weapons back on again, but one that’s definitely worth the struggle for the ounce of comfort you feel as the cool, clean fabric rests against your skin. In the fresher, you grab a rag and put it under some cool water from the sink to dab at your hot face. The eyeliner in your waterline had thankfully not budged from your sweat, so your eyes were still strikingly outlined. You liked wearing heavy eyeliner on the job, as it made you look more intimidating to bounties and their hunters alike.

But as you double check that your makeup is still intact, you now see that the red powder you had walked through earlier had coated your left arm in little clusters. Dammit. 

You take the rag that you had just been using on your face and begin to scrub at the powder along your arm, wanting to get rid of any residue that was left so it wouldn’t stain anything you own. Just as you finish getting off the last specks of red, the quiet beeping to signal that you’re exiting hyperspace comes from the cockpit, and you plop back into your chair to get ready to go into manual.

The ship slowly floats forward for a moment as you appear in front of Nevarro before you take control of navigating yourself once more, moving through the skies of the planet and onto the ground of a familiar loading bay that you had landed on more than a handful of times by now.

You softly guide the ship onto the bay floor, moving it a smidge backwards so that you’re straight. The landing gear hits the ground with a soft thud, the walls inside shaking for a second before ceasing once the ship steadies itself. When you had first started using this ship, anything that you had hanging on the walls fell down everytime you landed, which was a total pain in the ass. Now you had everything bolted into the walls so that they didn’t budge when the ship shook.

The familiar crackle of a voice speaking into the comms sounds off into the small room, and you wait for the static to fade out before you can hear what they’re saying.

“This is Base to ship number four hundred and thirty seven. Please state your name and reasoning for landing.” 

You flick the button next to the comm to activate your own speech option. “This is the Imminent Bodkin, here for a meeting with Karga.”

“Copy. Your ship will be emptied of all bounties as soon as we get confirmation from Karga.” 

Base’s comms cut off without a second’s pause and you turn off your own, stretching in your seat again before standing up. Walking over to the main section of the ship, you open a hidden closet that’s tucked neatly into the wall and grab a brown leather jacket, the tolls of use prominent on its surface. It was always annoyingly cold in the cantina that Karga and other bounty hunters liked to hang around inside of, so you always wore a jacket inside just in case.

You adjust your belt and make sure your weapons have their safety on before opening the ship’s door once again, leaving it open when you exit for the crew that’ll be taking your frozen blocks of people out and away. Everyone on the street didn’t make eye contact with anyone else and was walking on their own, the likelihood of a fight stemming from looking at someone wrong by accident a prominent fear. You walk along with them but forego the fear of eye contact, staring around aimlessly in different directions at the names of locally owned restaurants or sketchy alleyways where the silhouettes of people doing illicit activities lurked.

When you finally reach the cantina and push the door open, it’s already bustling with people, lively conversations blending together to create a light racket that greets you as you step inside. A couple people had drinks in their hands and stood by the walls while others sat at tables or booths to relax.

Karga was standing up next to a booth and conversing with an overtly armed Rodian man that you hadn’t seen around the Guild before, chuckling heartily and tapping his hand on the man’s shoulder. When you get closer to the pair, Karga’s eyes flip over in your direction before he instantly holds his arms out towards you in a welcoming manner, saying your name as if you were the life of the party and not one of the other dangerous individuals inside of the cantina. Nevertheless, you shoot a grin back at him.

“Glad to see another friendly face! Here, this is…” Karga gestures to the Rodian that he had just been speaking to, only to find that he had moved to another side of the room and was flirting with a Twi-lek woman whose name you faintly remember being Yvonne. Karga chuckles once again, albeit less energetic, before dropping his hand. “Nevermind, then. Seems he’s preoccupied. What brings you here today?”

“It’s payday. I’ve got all the bounties on my ship.” Karga nods in acknowledgement, gesturing to the booth to your right. You slide inside, him seating himself in front of you.

“I’ll get my crew to collect them,” he says, crossing his hands on top of the table. He nods his head at a man standing by the door, the man reciprocating the gesture and exiting the bar. A waitress comes by to ask if either of you would like something to drink, and Karga orders a Bespin Fizz. You only order water. This bar was damn overpriced, which is probably why a lot of the Guild liked to meet here in the first place. Everyone got to show off how much money they were making and order more expensive drinks than the others in a silent little contest.

You lightly place the four tracking fobs from your previous jobs on Karga’s side of the table, and he takes them in his hand before tucking them into his right pocket. In return, he places a small stack of imperial credits in the middle of the table. You instantly give him a look, raising your eyebrow at him in incredulity. Karga remains firm in his stance, not budging or moving to retract the money and replace it with something better than some shitty credits that were used while the Empire was in place, so you take the credits with a sigh before tucking them into a pouch of your bandolier. Karga and his dirty fucking money.

Running a hand through your hair, you lean against the back of the cushioned seat, positioning your elbows on its crown so as to get more comfortable. “So, who else do you have for me to hunt?”

Karga reaches into his pocket, pulling out eight pucks from its depths and slapping them on top of the table’s surface. The waitress brings the two of you your drinks simultaneously, the red of Karga’s Fizz reflecting off of the table. Karga takes a sip, smacking his lips together in satisfaction before answering.

“There’s a few bail jumpers, a wanted murderer, a wanted smuggler, and two people running from their debts.” He taps each puck along with the type of job it offered as he lists their names.

“The killer and the debtors sound fine,” you say, reaching over to take their pucks. Karga reaches his own hand out to try and stop you, but you had already gotten the pucks, tucking them into yet another pouch.

“Don’t tell anyone that I let you take three jobs. They might think I’m picking favorites,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. He discreetly hands you the three tracking fobs to go along with your pucks across the table, and you store them along with their compatriots.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you respond, drinking a small amount of your water. At least it tasted fresh, even though it was practically the price of an entire meal.

As you take another gulp of your water, the babbling around the room comes to a hush, incredibly light footsteps coming from the direction of the door. Karga’s eyes move to a spot behind where you were sitting, and he sets his drink down. The footsteps near your table until they stop directly next to you, to which you allow yourself to get a peek at their owner by flipping your eyes to the side and… up. They continue to go up for what seems like forever until you finally reach the man’s helmet covered head.

A man donning a Mandalorian helmet paired with intricate but worn armor and combat gear stands next to you, his arms hanging at his sides with his helmet tipped towards Karga. You join Karga in setting your drink on the table, the man’s presence being incredibly overwhelming even though he’s at least a foot away from you.

“Mando! Good to see you,” Karga says, voice notably tighter around this armour-clad man.

The Mandalorian says nothing, grabbing five tracking fobs seemingly out of nowhere and holding them in his hand. Karga looks at you with his eyes wide, jerking his head ever so slightly as if telling you to get a move on and out of your seat.

Feeling offended by his silent command and deciding to be stubborn, you instead choose to adjust your body towards the Mandalorian, extending your hand towards him in a friendly manner and introducing yourself. His helmet turns towards you and he stiffens at this, but otherwise he doesn’t move.

“Are you going to hang me out to dry here?” You joke, your hand still extended in the air. You can practically feel Karga’s eyes burning a hole in your head.

“I— no.” The Mandalorian’s voice was deep but smooth, the modulator crackling as he spoke. His thumb twitches at his side before he hesitantly shakes your hand, his grip strong even though he didn’t slide his hand in all the way against yours. He stares at the place where your hands are interlocked before suddenly remembering himself, moving his arm back to his side and reflexively sitting against his blaster.

“I assume you’ve come here to collect your credits?” Karga asks, shifting in his seat. The Mandalorian nods marginally towards Karga.

“I was just leaving, so you can take my seat,” you say, gulping down the last of your water before setting it on Karga’s side of the table. The Mandalorian’s helmet tips lower towards you. He was blocking the end of the booth, and you can’t get out until he moves, so you wait patiently for him to step to the side. No such move is made. 

After a few seconds of him continuing to stay unmoving, you chuckle in amusement, looking up at the Mandalorian with a grin. “You’re going to have to move if I’m to get out, you know.”

His helmet snaps up as if he were surprised, and he takes an uncharacteristically clumsy step to the side to let you pass. “Right, yes.”

You scoot yourself out of the booth and past the man, standing up and heading towards the door. Before you leave, you take a quick peek behind you at the table that Karga and the Mandalorian were now sitting, the latter placing the tracking fobs on the table. You huff to yourself, opening the door and leaving the cantina behind you. That man was interesting. You’d of course heard of a Mandalorian member in the Guild from the gossip of acquaintances, but had never actually had the luck to meet him. He wasn't as scary as you’d thought he’d be.

Patting your pockets to reassure that all of the things that you had received from Karga were still there, you head down the street and into a small corner store. You’re friends with the owner of the shop because you always come here after having a meeting with Karga, picking up a few sweets but also gathering rations for the time that you’d be out hunting. She never overpriced anything or tried to swindle people into giving away too much money for something stupid, which worked in your favor when you were stocking up on food.

“Hey Risha,” you say to the owner as she stands behind the counter reading an article from the Galactic News Service on a disposable holo pad. She waves at you with her hand while not ungluing her eyes from the article, her tied back magenta lekku shaking in the process. You have to wrestle a basket out of a pile of its brethren by the door before you can actually start shopping.

Heading over to the produce section, you bag a few familiar fruits and vegetables as well as some that you’ve been wanting to try before heading to the canned goods. It had taken a while to find them, but you had discovered some non perishable items that tasted like actual food instead of some kind of bantha fodder in a can. You grab a few more food essentials plus a handful of lollipops for an on the go snack before setting your basket on the counter, Risha placing her holo pad to the side and scanning each of your items. 

The two of you don’t say anything, instead letting the jingle of a rock tune humming throughout the store fill in the silence for you. That’s another thing that you liked about Risha; she didn’t fuck around with small talk. The two of you were close for that reason. You both talked when you had something to say, not just because you felt like you should speak because you were uncomfortable. You’d met a lot of people who you felt uncomfortable sitting in silence with, blabbering on about nothing in order to fill in the empty void between you, so the fact that Risha and you could have silence without getting nervous was something you thoroughly enjoyed.

She finishes scanning all of your items, looking at the price and whistling lightheartedly. “I think that you pay half of my rent every time you come here.”

You snigger at her, taking out one of the imperial credits that Karga had given you and placing it in her hand. “I don’t see a thank you card.”

Risha gives you a sassy look in return before opening the register. Moving her gaze down at the money and then back up at you again, she raises an eyebrow in surprise but doesn't say anything about the dirty money that you had given her. She simply puts it in the register and then hands you your change before giving you a bag to carry your things in. Risha was also incredibly discreet, which was definitely a must have quality in a friend if you were a bounty hunter.

Placing all of your items neatly in the bag, you pick it up and hold it in your arms, heading towards the door. You struggle for a second before opening the door with your foot, the bell attached to it meant to notify Risha of customers ringing merrily as you shout over your shoulder. “See you next time!”

Risha nods in response as you head out of the door. “Ka’ta.” 

You start to navigate through the streets again in order to find your ship. The bag in your arms is piled so high that you have to keep on adjusting it lower to be able to see over the top, and you finally find the alleyway that you had come from earlier to get to your ship. As you turn the corner however, a shiny speck of light a few feet away catches your eye, so you take a quick glance to see what it is. Surprisingly, the source of it was moving right in your direction and you discover said source to be the shiny beskar helmet of the Mandalorian man from earlier in the cantina.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you jest, smiling at him before starting to head down the alleyway towards your ship. You don’t expect any response from him, as the two of you’s interaction was so quiet and quick back at the booth.

“Need any help?” He suddenly asks, voice the same monotone as earlier. You whip your head around with your brow lifted in surprise before shaking your head at him.

“Wasn’t expecting you to talk.” You take a singular step towards him, shifting the bag in your grip. “Suddenly found your voice?”

“I’m not much of a fan of bars. Or Karga,” the Mandalorian says matter of factly. He also takes a hesitant step forward.

“I get it. If there’s already all that noise, why try talking over it, right?” A lollipop attempts to escape from your bag of groceries before you catch it with your hand, balancing it back on top. The Mandalorian nods, agreeing with you. He seems to hate fucking around with small talk, too.

“Well, I’ve got to get these groceries on my ship before they spoil, so… I’ll see you around, Mando.” You announce, using two of the fingers that you had wrapped around the bag to wave at him. He raises his chin up in response, now looking over your left shoulder instead of slightly down to talk to you as he had been before.

Turning around, you take a few steps forward, tentatively pausing when you feel a presence behind you. Even though the Mandalorian walks silently, you can still sense him to your back, so you turn around once more to see what he was doing. As you do this, curious to see what he was still there for, the Mandalorian walks right by your side and towards a familiar door to your left, banging on it with his fist. You roll your eyes at your ridiculous assumption that something other than him knocking on the door would have been the reason for him continuing to be near you.

Him knocking on that door in particular was strange. You’d been through that threshold a while back to collect information for a supposed ‘deep pocket’ bounty, as Karga had said. You’d never followed through with the hunt and actually gone after the bounty, figuring the other, less suspiciously mysterious pucks available to you were less trouble. There was also the fact that your personal morals wouldn’t let you work for the kind of men that the job was offered by. They were a tiny twig broken off from the huge tree that the Empire had once been, and you had felt overtly on edge around them. Your hand had been itching to reach for your blaster the entire time that you had been in the room with those men. It’s hard to explain; it was almost as if they were radiating darkness.

It seems like Mando’s putting himself up to the test of bagging that lucrative bounty.

It’d be interesting to see what a Mandalorian’s views on Empire loyalists are. Maybe he sympathizes with them. Maybe he wants to kill them all for what they did to his people. Or maybe he doesn’t give a flying fuck if they live or die. Who would you be to judge? A reward is a reward, and those Empire huggers were giving out a hefty one.

Although you would judge Mando internally if he sided with the loyalists.

The ugly droid that had scanned your information when you had first gone through the door appears from the wall, looking over what Mando has on his card before letting him through. You start walking again as he steps through the door, thinking how strange it was that Karga would give a bounty to someone other than the person who had already accepted it. You’d think Karga would have at least told you that he was giving away your assignment. Weird.

When you reach your ship, you unpack your groceries and organize all of your supplies, readying everything for another job so that you wouldn’t have to worry about where things were after a long day of tracking. You put the lollipops in a cup holder in your cockpit for easy access before popping your spine in a stretch, preparing for another few weeks hunting lousy little deadbeats. You’d catch them all in no time.

If you’d like to continue reading, head on over to the story on AO3!

A/N: I did it. I caved. I’m writing a Mando fic. Boo fucking yah.

As you can tell, this chapter was during episode one right before/after Mando accepted Grogu’s bounty. Mando is going to be characterized pretty much by the first few episodes of season one.

[floral-force]

Code of Honor - Chapter 11

Split Open

din djarin x f!reader, bounty hunter!reader

summary: The hunt for the quarry continues, as does the battle between hunters. Frustration finally reaches a head, and both tumble past the point of no return. 

words: 6.4k+

warnings: 18+ ONLY/NO MINORS, pure smut speckled with plot; hate sex, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, spanking, possession, jealousy, helmet briefly comes off, multiple orgasms

a/n: the long-awaited hate sex filth has arrived. I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 reblogs are appreciated!

read on ao3 | series masterlist

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PART 1: DIN

He’d been staking out the palace since the afternoon. Counting guards and entry points helped distract him from thoughts of her, but it couldn’t get rid of the irritation bubbling underneath his skin. As he moved from one roof top in the village to the next, trekked through the forest to distant hills, and geared up for the impending dusk, he slowly focused in on his goal. Thoughts of taking her were slowly replaced by thoughts of dragging the quarry to his ship and freezing him in carbonite. Her faded scent in his nostrils was flushed out by the earthy woods as the hours passed.

Good riddance.

As dusk began to settle, Din made his move from the edge of the forest, deftly scaling the high brick wall guarding the palace from any threats. Once he reached the top, he crouched down and stole a glance at the palace. His experienced eyes had no problem noticing the lights within and tracking any movements in windows or on balconies. There was a long stretch on the ground level that was lit up, and he quickly pulled his binocs off his belt and peered through them to see servants bustling around a table.

Before he could get a more detailed look, he saw a few guards move towards the garden that rested below him. With a huff, he scaled down the wall and released the line, squatting in the bushes and hidden from view by hedges. It wouldn’t be hard to work his way through the guards. The hard part would be getting inside.

Good thing Din liked a challenge. He needed an outlet for the heat spreading throughout his body. These guards would have to do for now.

He made short work of the ten guards he’d seen patrolling the expansive palace garden. Tedious observation throughout the day revealed that they checked in on comms every hour, and Din made sure to arrive immediately following their first check in after dark. He moved along the bushes, taking cover behind tall hedges and thick tree trunks. Finally, he reached the weakest entry point he’d found while casing out the palace: a modest, square door that stuck out against the large, arched ones on the exterior. He still couldn’t figure out why the prince chose to use wood over the more standard sliding steel doors; maybe he was foolish enough to think that he wasn’t in need of their security.

He was an idiot to think that, Din thought in his head as he carefully opened the door, leading with his drawn blaster before stepping inside the dim space. The man had two bounty hunters in his palace, and he was too dense to realize it.

As he made his way through the dim hallway towards a patch of light, he heard laughter. Pressing his back against the brick wall on his left, he turned his head and dared to look at whatever lay ahead.

Next to his helmet was a small, rectangular opening with bars—a vent of some sort. Through it, Din saw the prince sitting in front of a fireplace, leaning back with a smile on his face. Standing and sitting around him were Pykes, silent and grim in their cloaks, ignoring the drinks offered to them by the staff. The round table near the window was full of small crates and cannisters, and Din didn’t need them open to know what was inside.

“Spice,” he murmured to himself.

“Gentlemen,” the prince barked, gesturing with the crystal glass in his hand. “Have we come to an agreement yet?”

“What you ask for is too much for what you’re willing to pay,” a Pyke hissed. “Do you take us for fools?”

“Oh, come now!” The prince stood, taking a sip of amber liquid and setting the glass down. “You know I don’t.”

“Then pay the price,” the Pyke said, his voice raised just barely. He looked around and gestured at the large room. “We know you can.”

Karga had mentioned Pykes but seeing them made him realize the delicacy of the situation. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill this prince—title meant nothing to them. Din knew they were a brutal people, so the rest of this hunt had to go as smoothly as possible. Encountering them made him even more motivated to put some sense into her head; there was no way she could handle their wrath if she made even one mistake. 

Din kept creeping ahead, eventually stopping in front of another small door. His thermal vision showed no life forms, so he slowly opened the door and stepped out, his boot heel tapping against the marble. He walked further out and saw a heat signature above him, so he quietly made his way to the nearby stair way and crept up it, blaster at the ready.

When he reached the landing, he heard a woosh and saw a flash of red fly past him to his left and down the hallway. He cautiously peered down and heard a door open and shut, then heard voices below as a heavy door creaked open. Din swore under his breath and went down the hallway, quickly walking and ignoring his reflection in the mirrors. He reached a door and saw light emanating on the floor, and quick rustling. Without hesitation, he turned the handle and barged into the room, blaster pointed at whoever was inside.

PART 2: YOU

You almost screamed when you saw the intruder, but the fear was quickly replaced by anger when your eyes registered the familiar armor and helmet.

“I thought I told to never follow me again,” you growled.

He shrugged, taking a few steps forward and closing the door. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

You stood at the foot of the bed, and he walked towards you with his weapon drawn—the same one he’d had trained on you this morning. The dim glow of the chandelier gently bounced off his armor, your eyes focusing on his broad shoulders, the pauldrons on them seeming to glow and beg for your attention. Your heart was racing already from your mad dash to the room, and the Mandalorian’s broad frame certainly wasn’t helping your pulse slow. All you could do was stand and watch him with your hands up, not even caring to put your arms in the air to prove you had no weapon. 

Your eyes tracked his blaster as he lowered it and placed it back in its holster, and you clenched your jaw watching his hands fiddle with it and struggle in the dim light. His helmet lifted and focused back on you, only an arm’s length away from you. You became suddenly aware of the way the neckline of the dress dug into your chest, helping define it with the corset. The material dug into your skin with each heaving breath, but you continued to stare him down, refusing to yield. You dropped your hands and curled them into fists at your side with an annoyed huff.

“You seriously brought that with you?” He nodded at your dress, his masked gaze burning your skin.

“You remember it?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

He hesitated, shaking his head. “Can’t forget the color of it. You’re anything but subtle.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms. “Like you’re one to talk, metal man.”

“At least my armor serves a purpose,” he snapped, taking a few steps and backing you into the wood footboard of the bed, The hard surface pressed against the back of your legs through the petticoat and fabric of the dress, and a shock of electricity shot straight to your core.

“You think mine doesn’t?”

“That costume is not armor.”

“If you think that, then you’re an idiot.” You smiled at him mirthfully, tilting your head.

You swore you heard him growl, but you didn’t have time to process it before his hands gripped your waist, his fingers trying to dig into the material protecting your skin from his touch. A yelp escaped your mouth as he pulled you close to him, pressing your body against his. The beskar was hard—you’d felt it many times before—but its force was padded by the dress. Your tits were smushed against his cold chest plate, the pressure nearly forcing them free from the corset. A sick part of you wished he would force them out and warm them with his hands; goosebumps appeared on your skin at the treasonous thought. He tilted his helmet down and you stared into the dark visor, afraid your short breaths would leave fog behind, the thought of his hands on your breasts lost from your head as soon as it had entered.

“That mouth won’t get you anywhere,” he growled.

You smirked. “It got me here, didn’t it?”

Before he could answer your whispered retort, there was a knock on the door and you heard the prince call your name. Mando was off you in a flash, racing into the bathroom. You called your unwanted visitor inside with a cracked voice, fixing your hair and dress. As the prince entered, you noticed the way your cunt lightly throbbed. Traitor, you thought, taking a few steps forward. When the prince put his hands on your waist, you noticed that you missed the weight of a certain pair of gloved hands. 

“Dinner was excellent,” you said, smiling. 

He leaned in close, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m glad you thought so.” 

The stench of brandy on his tongue stung your nostrils. An icy hand trailed up your side, curving around your front to rest on one of your guarded breasts. He took a sharp breath, and you mimicked it when he ran his fingertips across the skin the low neckline dug into. You took a cautious step back when he kissed you, your eyes open and glancing sideways to peer into the bathroom, barely seeing a glint of beskar before closing your eyes and gently placing a hand on the prince’s shoulder. The back of your knees pressed into the footboard once again, the pressure almost painful despite the petticoats’ protection. You pulled away and smiled coyly at him.

“My prince, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to bathe.”

He bit his lip and grinned mischievously. “I could join you.”

You shook your head. “I want you to wait just a bit longer.”

He ran his hand back to your waist and squeezed before stepping back and walking to the door. Before leaving, he turned to face you. “You’ll call for me?”

“Of course I will, my prince,” you answered, coating your words in sickeningly sweet sugar.

He nodded and left, the heavy door closing with a soft wham.

You turned back to the bathroom, and before you could react, the Mandalorian had picked you up and tossed you onto the bed, taking his place at the left side. Red curtains swayed behind him as he took your legs in his hands and tugged you to face him, letting them dangle off the side of the bed.

“Be careful! You’ll rip my kriffing dress!” You glared up at him.

“You think I give a shit?” 

His gloved hands came to rest on your waist, fingers trying to massage the flesh underneath the fabric. All you could do was stare at him, arms thrown above your head, hair ruined. Irritation painted your face, but heat softened it against your will as he worked his large hands up your torso. They came to rest gingerly on your corseted tits, leather barely tracing the exposed skin above the neckline. Your chest heaved under his helmeted gaze and rough touch, and you felt heat curl in your core.

“I almost killed him when he touched you,” he said under his breath. 

When his hands came to rest on your neck, you sighed and closed your eyes. You suddenly didn’t care if he could feel your embarrassingly fast pulse thrum under his fingers. Reason was now beyond you; in only a few moments, the masked menace had forced all your fight to flee your body through a single exhale. The sensation of warm leather on your skin sent a shiver down your spine and a spark of arousal to your cunt. You soaked up the way his thumbs ran across your jawline, tilting your head back so he could keep doing it. You were already wet from his touch alone. A part of you wondered what else the man you hated most was capable of if he already had you aching from touch alone.

You opened your eyes. “What would you have done if he’d fucked me?”

He growled and pressed a thumb against your jugular, a warning to your tongue. You smiled and nodded, enjoying the second of pressure he’d applied. A quick throb of your cunt made you bold enough to taunt the Mandalorian again.

“You don’t like the thought of someone fucking me, do you, Mando?” 

You sat up when he retracted his arms, and you ran your hands down his body, fingers tracing the uncovered parts of him. You drew a line down exposed fabric, fingers catching on his belt, giggling when his breath hitched as you ran a teasing digit across the unarmored bulge in his pants.

Mando shook his head. “That mouth of yours…” He trailed off, one of his hands cupping your cheek.

You rubbed a palm against him, smiling coyly as you felt his erection grow just from your rough touch. He groaned, tilting his head back. You got a glimpse of skin hidden from view under the helmet and cowl, the dim light of the room not allowing you to discern much beyond the contrast in shades. You used your free hand to fiddle with the zipper on his pants, a gloved hand clasping your upper arm as you did. His helmet snapped back down to look at you, something primal hidden underneath it, its presence itching to be exposed. You were determined to tease it out, to make the mighty Mandalorian melt to the floor, to make him crumble and drop to his knees.

“Don’t start things you can’t finish,” he warned, something husky in his words.

You tilted your head and playfully gasped when you pulled the zipper down and expertly undid the button above it. You kept your eyes trained on him as you gently pulled his cock out of his underwear. His weighty length was warm in your palm, the fat head already weeping. The hand on your arm squeezed and held you in a vise grip, the one on your cheek coming to rest on your shoulder. His breath hitched as you ran a finger from the base to the tip, causing you to hum in satisfaction. Your eyes flitted down to stare at him, the thickness suddenly daunting. 

Good thing you liked a challenge, especially when it had anything to do with the man in beskar.

“Get on your knees,” he rasped, his hands massaging the skin where leather held you. The quiver in his voice betrayed his attempted command, the underlying neediness sending a heady rush through your body, ending with an ache in your core.

You scoffed, fighting with your dress to lay on your left side, your heeled feet pointing towards the headboard and disrupting the neat folding of the bed linens. His hands came to rest at his sides, his grip disrupted, fists clenching and flexing repeatedly. You rested your head in your left hand, the right lightly stroking his length, arousal continuing to pool between your legs.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes as you moved your head and licked a slow stripe from the base to the tip.

You smiled at him as you delicately lapped up the pearls of fluid decorating the head of his cock with the tip of your tongue. Mando groaned and you heard leather crunch as he clenched his fists. You smiled with pride before gently sucking his head into your mouth, twisting your head enough to rotate a bit as you took him a bit further into your mouth. A hard vein on the underside of his cock ran against your tongue as you bobbed your head back up again, pulling off him with a wet pop, satisfied with your tease. Before he could comment, you were taking his hardness into your mouth again, taking as much of him as you could in your current position. A loud groan hit your ears when his dick reached the back of your mouth, and you drew out the lovely sound with sloppy swipes of your tongue on the underside of his cock. 

The salty taste of precum lingered on your tongue as you bobbed your head up and down, one of his hands coming to rest on the top of your head. When he didn’t attempt to push your head, you hummed against his cock in approval—the sooner he knew he could never own or control your mouth, the better. He continued to stiffen in your mouth as you worked his thick length with wet licks from the root to the tip, indulging him with sharp jerks of your head that sent his cock to the back of your mouth, threatening your throat. Spit dripped from your lips to the red sheets beneath, your chin starting to get coated with it. You closed your eyes and moaned around him, sucking on the fat head as you wrapped his cock in your free hand and furiously stroked up and down, twisting your wrist for extra stimulation. Swirling your tongue in circles around him and teasing the small slit on it coaxed throaty sounds out of his mouth, the sounds swirling into your ears and building the arousal pulsing between your legs even more. His moans and groans of primal pleasure were music to your ears, a reward for taming the beast.

Your mouth and tongue had caused him to go silent aside from the musical, modulated moans that came from his helmet. You gasped when you were pushed off his dick, laying on your back. His thick cock glistened with your saliva, and you smiled up at him, proud of your work. Spit glossed your cheeks and dribbled down your chin, and you wiped the back of your hand across it with a smug smile and wiggle of your eyebrows.

“Do you still hate my mouth?” You teased, placing your hands on top of the exposed skin of your breasts, kneading it playfully.

He shrugged his shoulders. “To be determined.”

You giggled, then yelped when he flipped you onto your stomach. You couldn’t get your bearings before his leather hands gripped your ankles and pulled, rotating you. One of his hands drifted up your leg under your petticoat, the other gripping your waist and yanking you up, forcing you onto your knees and making you rest on your forearms. Leather hands forcefully spread your legs. Before you could protest, you felt a gloved finger tease your slick entrance. Your head lolled forward and you softly whined, toes curling in your heels.

“No panties…That’s filthy.” You heard him chuckle when he teased it with a few small flicks, then ask, “Does your little prince know you keep your pussy out like this?” 

“No,” you said, the denial muffled by the mattress and punctuated with a moan as he slipped the pad of his finger inside you for only a second. 

“You’re a naughty little thing.” He chuckled, then groaned in annoyance before saying, “Fuck these gloves.” 

His hands retreated, and you heard him wrench them off, then felt him fumble to take your heels off. The heels hit the floor with a clatter, joining his discarded gloves. When his bare hands graced your skin, you inhaled sharply. He made his way up your legs, massaging your flesh with warm, calloused fingers. After groping the globes of your ass, his right hand started teasing your folds while the left fought to move your petticoats out of the way.

“I needed to feel you with my bare hands,” he purred, a finger lightly stroking across your sensitive clit. When you jumped at the touch, he chuckled lowly, tracing circles around the hardened nub. 

You relaxed into the mattress, giving in to the burning heat coiling in your cunt. When you arched your back more for him, he hummed in approval and rewarded you with two thick fingers pressing against your wet hole. You could feel your walls already fluttering, your entire body begging him for more with unprompted moans and shakes. His teasing touch burnt you, coaxing something needy out of you and calling all the times you’d thought of him as you touched your pussy to the forefront.

“Good girl,” he purred, slowly inserting a thick finger inside of you and matching your moan with his own. A shaky exhale met your skin, sending a shock down your spine. “Maker, you’re already soaked.”

You whined and pushed back, trying to get stimulation from his static finger. He laughed at your attempt, inserting a second finger without warning as the sound filled your ears. At that moment, you realized he’d taken his helmet off, and your skin burned. Knowing you were hearing his voice unmodulated made your cunt even wetter; the honey tones coated you with raw desire and added fuel to the fire burning white-hot within you. You felt your walls squeeze around his fingers, the slick making it easy for him to slowly slide them in and out. The way he dragged his thick fingers made you melt even more, your moans and whimpers almost entirely out of your control. The Mandalorian continued to finger you, increasing in speed and twisting his wrist to rotate his fingers as they slid in and out of your sopping wet cunt. Filthy, wet sounds mixed with your mewls and his controlled groans as he pumped his digits with an erratic rhythm. 

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, a wet squelch accenting his statement. His voice was low and husky, that primal energy taking over him. “You’re already close, I can feel it.” When you whimpered, he hummed. “Is this all for me, you needy thing?”

“Yes,” you panted. You nodded enthusiastically, balling up the sheets underneath you in your fists. “Fuck, yes, Mando.”

When he rubbed slow circles around your clit, you jumped, your legs tensing. 

The Mandalorian shushed your moans, pressing a kiss to each of your thighs. You’d been so lost in your pleasure that you’d failed to fully acknowledge him kneeling—kneeling—for you. That observation alone made your walls clench and flutter around his deft fingers, and you gave in to the orgasm that had begun to build within you. You felt heat flood your veins and electricity run up your spine each time he rubbed your clit in the spot that made you whine and whimper. His fingers were pumping in and out of your fluttering cunt, the circles rubbed around the sensitive bundle of nerves speeding up. You begged him not to stop—pleasedon’t, don’t change a single goddamn thing, fuck—as he continued to drive you to the precipice of your pleasure.

“I’m going to ruin you,” the Mandalorian said with a cruel laugh.

His declaration sent you reeling, your head filling with air as you nearly howled, your legs shaking as your orgasm crashed through you. Thick fingers slowly pumped you through the wave, ecstasy flooding your veins and soaking his digits in the fluid he’d helped create. All you could see behind your eyes were fireworks and stars reflected in a beskar helmet, fists clenching the sheets beneath you for some anchor to reality. He whispered praises you barely understood as your walls clenched and contracted around his still fingers, the hand he’d used for your clit now lightly running up and down your twitching left thigh. You were breathless when he slid his fingers out of your cunt, whimpering at the emptiness and keening when he gave your clit a light touch that made you jump as if you’d been electrocuted.

You heard him grunt and felt his hands grip your ass, massaging the meatiness of it before letting go. As you forced yourself up onto your hands to stretch your back, you heard him spit, then groan over slick sounds. You turned your head to see the Mandalorian standing there, his left hand making sure his helmet was secure again as the right stroked his cock. The sight of the thick, throbbing length sent shocks of arousal straight to your cunt. You came back down to the plush mattress, resting your chin on your stacked forearms and closing your eyes with a sigh. A smile tugged at your lips as he teased the head of his cock against your entrance, a low, modulated groan making you softly giggle. Arousal from the orgasm he’d teased out of you soaked your slit, making it easy for him to notch himself into your needy hole. 

Without warning, he slid into your slick cunt, sheathing himself entirely inside of you. Your eyes shot open and you clapped your hands over your mouth to muffle your cry. He didn’t move, a groan hitting your ears as your cunt fluttered around his length, adjusting to his thickness. 

“Maker, I knew your pretty pussy would be tight,” he mumbled, a warm hand groping one of the curves of your ass, petticoats rustling.

“You fill me up so fucking good,” you whined.

He slapped your ass, chuckling at your surprised squeal. When he massaged the tingly skin, you arched even more for him. The Mandalorian filled you to the brim and split you open like no one else ever had. When he finally slid out of you, the head notched inside of your trembling hole, you whimpered and pushed back, body begging for his touch, begging for more of his cock, begging for more of him. He had lit another blazing fire within you, and now you wanted—no, needed—him to extinguish it. 

“I almost fucking killed him,” the Mandalorian growled.

He accented his words with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. You whimpered and squirmed, arching your back more as he pulled out again and started to fuck you slowly, cock dragging against your walls. It was hard to tell if you were reacting to his growled admission or the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts. You fought the strangled sobs rising in your throat, catching your breath as he rolled his hips.

“W-why?” you panted, letting your left cheek rest on the mattress, forearms straight in front of you.

“I can’t stand—fuck, you feel so good—can’t stand the thought of him touching you,” the Mandalorian hissed, both of his hands grabbing your hips, fighting against the petticoats that threatened to cover his view of your arched backside. His tight, almost possessive grip sent a shiver up your spine and made your walls flutter. 

His praise jealous words echoed in your head, and you smiled against the red sheets, not caring that drool had begun to pool at the corner of your lips. 

“Do you hate—fuck,” you exclaimed as he gave a hard thrust up. “Do you hate the thought of him f-fucking me, M-mando?”

You heard a low growl, a satisfying noise you’d pulled from the man in beskar many, many times. Your words had hit their target. His thrusts increased in speed, his hips slamming into you. A fuck-drunk smile painted your hot face, lips parting to moan “Mando” into the creaking mattress. The Mandalorian always acted out after that growl, whether it was pinning you in the sand on Jakku or chasing you on Canto Bight. Now, he fucked you relentlessly, all his frustration and irritation taken out on you with each punishing, delicious stroke of his thick cock. 

You smiled as you moaned—you’d gotten exactly what you wanted out of him once again. 

The fabric of his pants scratched your sensitive skin, and your petticoat continued to encroach on him, but his hands kept their firm grip, fingers and nails digging in. As he sped up, his grip tightened, and you knew you’d have bruises in the morning. Good.

“You’re mine to ruin,” the Mandalorian said with a snap of his hips. “I’m the only one who can do this to you.”

You moaned, your eyes rolling back into your head. His modulated words of possession gave you a head rush and left your cunt pulsing erratically. Another punishing thrust made you whimper and squirm, desperate hands trying to pull you away from the ruthless drive of his cock. 

The Mandalorian clicked his tongue and his grip hardened. “You won’t get away from me this time, you little tease.”

He yanked you back and speared you on his slick, twitching length with a grunt. You cried out, your face painted with an open mouth and a knitted brow. He split you open with his thick length, your cunt quivering around him and covering him in your juices. Each time he pulled out, there was a sloppy wet sound accompanying your moaning duet. The way he fucked you was rough and unforgiving, forcing you to pay penance for all the times you’d robbed him of a bounty and for being the name on his lips when he jerked himself off. 

You mewled when his left hand circled around and snaked between your thighs, some of the petticoat’s fabric being shoved out of the way and tearing. You could care less as two fingers came to rest on your clit, rubbing out those delicious circles once again. The Mandalorian moaned when he felt your walls flutter around him, getting even wetter with your ever-growing arousal. Yet again, he was forcing you to the edge with his fingers, his thick length dragging against your walls, stretching you open. 

“You’re more possessive than I thought,” you croaked out between moans. 

You felt him curl against your back, the beskar chest plate pressing against your lower back as he started to thrust harder with the furious circles he rubbed around your sensitive nub. Your hands twisted into the sheets, drool coated your chin as you whined and whimpered for more, harder, deeper, more. He snapped his hips and you heard him grunting underneath your whispered please for him to fuck you even harder and faster, your second orgasm beginning to take root in your core. Heat coiled within you, your legs starting to shake, the muscles under your skin tensing. 

“I’m possessive when it comes to you,” he said with a thrust, meeting your whimper with a moan of his own. 

“Me?” you asked, your walls clenching around his cock as he fought to fuck you, your climax threatening to spill over and wash you away in a tidal wave. 

“Only you,” he growled.

You clapped a hand around your mouth as you came, the other gripping the sheets as your cunt contracting furiously around him and soaking him in your juices. Your near-screams overlapped with his own moans and repetitions of your name, his hands holding you in place as he rammed his cock into you once more, the tip kissing your cervix as he came with a loud groan. You moaned as you felt him throb inside of you, painting your still-contracting walls with his cum as your orgasm continued to wash over you, sending electricity through your veins and your head to the stars. You felt your entire body convulsing with the pleasure that burnt through you, legs twitching and heart beating rapidly in your chest. The only things anchoring you to the present moment were the beskar against your back and the Mandalorian’s voice repeating your name between mumbles of “mine” as he panted, coming down from his own climax.

You relaxed into the mattress, shaking hands relaxing and legs sliding down. When he pulled out of you with a filthy squelch, you both groaned in unison; you already missed the way he filled you and brought you to ruin with his hands alone. You heard him zip up his pants, grunting a bit when he stretched his arms over his head. Your petticoats were awkwardly bunched up, and you rolled onto your back, sitting up and moving to stand. Your shaky legs nearly gave out, but the Mandalorian caught you with his bare hands, gripping your elbows and letting you clutch his armored forearms for support. 

You looked into his visor and your breath caught in your throat. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you gently pushed him away, finding your footing. As you smoothed out your dress and wiped the drool off your lips and chin with the back of your hand, you watched the Mandalorian bend over and pick his gloves up off the floor. You followed suit, picking up your heels and shoving past him to set them by the fireplace. You caught a glimpse of your reflection and tried to quickly fix your disheveled hair, embarrassed at the state of it.

When you looked back, he was standing in front of the balcony, a bare hand on his hip, the other holding his gloves. A navy night sky sprinkled with stars was his backdrop, and it called you back to one of the only things you remembered from your drunken cantina escapade. 

You’re safe with me.

Liquid threatened to drip down your leg, and you were forced back to the present. You stared ahead at him, glancing down to adjust your dress, quickly giving up. He watched you silently as you began to attempt to undo the buttons on the back of the dress, twisting your arms with a grimace. With a huff of frustration, you made your way over to him shyly, the chandelier’s dim glow illuminating him. 

“Can…” you groaned and rolled your eyes. “Can you help me with this?”

He nodded and cleared his throat, and you turned around. You closed your eyes as he undid the dress’s buttons, fingers quickly working their way down your back. When he started to loosen the corset, you felt him tug the ribbon in frustration, pulling you up and back.

“Watch it, Mando!”

Instead of apologizing, he caressed your bare shoulder with his bare hand; it was a gentle touch that was a far cry from what he’d been doing just moments earlier. The Mandalorian was a man of dichotomy—capable of gentle care and violent acts, stoic but expressive, relentless yet yielding. It had never been something that had particularly appealed to you, but it did drive your curiosity late at night when a nightmare woke you up.

You stared ahead and watched his helmet in the floor-length mirror, his shoulders floating over yours, his right foot barely peeking out behind your dress. As he finally began to loosen the restrictive garment, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, smiling at the way your lungs filled with the crisp night air.

He cleared his throat. “It should be loose now.”

You sighed in relief and turned around, holding the now-loose garment to your chest. His hands hung awkwardly at his side; his helmet was trained on you. The Mandalorian’s gaze felt like a hot, uncomfortable spotlight shining down on you. You felt more trapped now than you had underneath him on Jakku, and certainly more than you had while he’d buried himself inside you. 

He turned to the balcony, and you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You followed him to the railing, and adjusted your loose garments so you could reach out with a hand and tug his elbow. When the Mandalorian turned and looked at you, you stuttered again, trying to speak.

“I…I saw the Pykes today,” you said meekly. 

He nodded. “I did too.”

“I didn’t expect them to be here.”

“I did.”

“Of course you did.” You rolled your eyes. 

He looked at the floor, turning around to face you. He leaned back against the railing, bare hands hanging limp before he crossed his arms. You couldn’t help yourself from lingering on the way a few of his fingers rested on his biceps. A part of you wanted to touch them yourself and feel the muscle hidden beneath the beskar.

“You can’t do this on your own,” he stated, looking up at you again. “You’ll die.”

“Since when do you care?” you snapped.

The Mandalorian hesitated, then took a few steps forward to meet you, the beskar armor only inches away from the corset that barely covered your chest. When you breathed in, you could smell him—sweat, musk, leather—and you tried not to waver where you stood, meeting his unchanging visor with your charged glare.

“I don’t.” 

He turned back to the railing and straddled it, hiding his skin under his gloves again. As he attached his grappling hook to one of the posts, you shivered from the nighttime chill. Before scaling down, he looked at you once more.

“I’ll be here an hour after dawn. Don’t stay up too late with the prince.”

Before you could bite back at his snide comment, he swung his leg over and pushed off the railing, the line whistling as he descended. You peered down, and when he was on the ground, you unhooked the line, letting it snap back to him. The Mandalorian nodded at you from the dark grass below, then walked off away from the palace. You watched him scale the nearest palace wall, the corner of your mouth lifting upwards when you saw him standing on it, beskar illuminated by the full moon in the sky. He seemed to notice you staring and gave you one last nod before jumping backwards off the wall and into the night.

You walked back into the room, drawing the curtains closed. You needed a bath—sex always made you feel dirty, and his spend had left a sticky trail on your inner thigh. Clean clothes were a must, too, and you thought you’d spotted some luxurious silk pajamas in the armoire. As you stepped out of your petticoats and tossed your corset on the ground at the foot of the bed, you had only one thought on your mind, a realization illuminated by the moon:

The Mandalorian’s skin was a light bronze color.

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[tightjeansjavi]

Hi!! Love your writing!! Can you write a cowboy fetish joel miller with boot riding 🥺🥺

Hi nonnie! Thank you for sending this in! It scratched my brain just ✨right✨ and I hope it does the same for you! I couldn’t just do some boot ridin’ without some plot ;) enjoy 🤠

Dinner & Diatribes

~word count: 3.7k~

Pairing | Cowboy/bounty hunter! Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’re the kind of love that Joel Miller has been dreaming of all his life

Warnings: smut,fluff, angst, cowboy in shining armor vibes, unprotected piv, boot ridin! dick slingin, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, implied age gap, dom/sub vibes, sir/mister kink, implied abuse (not by Joel) Joel is a bounty hunter during the Wild West, reader is a runaway bride wanted for murdering three men, filthy language, pining, protective! Joel, assumed unrequited love, swearing, AU that might not 100% be historically accurate but I tried! reader has no physical descriptions such a skin tone or body type, readers nickname is Chickadee, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

Joel Miller knows that keeping a bounty for himself ain’t the way to go about things..he knows that there’s consequences for his actions, an imminent problem would surely arise if he didn’t bring you back to the town you fled from. Wanted for the murders of three men. A wild untamable thing on the run is how the sheriff described you to Joel. And the most important detail of all; I don’t care if you bring her back alive, or in pieces.

And then Joel found you, tracked your trails for miles and miles through the barren rough terrain of the Wild West. You didn’t even put up a fight when you heard the distinct sound of thundering hooves drawing nearer and nearer. You were exhausted, dehydrated, and on the verge of collapsing to the dusty earth while vultures circled ahead.

This didn’t mean you gave up entirely when Joel Miller had you circled, cornered and lasso at the ready. That’s when he took notice of your state, your attire. A once glittering wedding dress now hanging on by threads of shredded fabric. The bottom tooled fabric was now a dirty sand color, blending in with the dirt. Remnants of your eye makeup cracked and stained beneath your eyes and cheekbones that were once painted in a pretty pigment.

He watched from the saddle of his horse as you sank down to your knees, awaiting your inevitable fate to be delivered. “Have you come to turn me in, Mister?”

His head cocked to the side, eyes studying your vulnerable form intently. You couldn’t see his face as it was obstructed from your view with a tied bandana, but even from where you sat on your knees, you could see that his eyes were a deep shade of brown, dark and mysterious.

He dismounted his horse swiftly, silently, boots tearing up dusty patches of earth with each heavy step he took. The spurs on the back of his boots chimed through the air as he stopped in front of you. His broad frame casted a shadow over your kneeling form. His hands were encased in worn leather, and he smelled of tobacco smoke, saddle soap, and musk.

He crouched down, hat tipping forward while one leather clad hand reached for your jaw, thumb brushing across your skin as he tilted it upwards, forcing you to look into his eyes. He saw your grime and dried blood stained face up close. Your eyes flickered nervously as he turned your head to the side.

“Ain’t you gonna get on with it and turn me in? What’re you draggin’ this out for, huh? You caught me, mister. Go and collect your fuckin’ reward.” You spat defiantly into the dirt, a glob of salvia landing on the toe of his boot.

His grip tightened around your chin, jaw ticking sharp like a knife, eyes narrowing in on your face and the subtle wobble of your severely cracked and dry lower lip.

“What happened to you?” He finally spoke. His voice reminded you of fire crackling, ominous thunder and heavy rain. Thick, gravelly, deeper than the Grand Canyon itself.

“What’s it matter if I tell ya, huh? You gonna take pity on me or somethin’ mister?”

He was silent again, appearing deep in thought as he continued to study your face, searching through the grime and dirt for any clues..then, he saw it; The eyes of someone that suffered abuse. His grip around your chin softened

“Stand up.” He commanded.

You struggled to your feet, confusion etched in your features, the obvious sway in your step before two strong hands grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

“We’ll have to move fast.”

“What’re you—” You were still confused, head spinning from his words and malnourishment.

“I don’t turn in folks that killed outta self defense, Chickadee. And certainly not a woman that killed her abusers.” He gave you a curt, tight nod. “Better you than I cause I woulda tied those sons a bitches up and dragged them through the fuckin’ desert.” He rasped.

“You’re..not turnin’ me in?”

“No. Ain’t morally right for me t’do so.” He said softly.

And that’s how you ended up riding through the countryside with Joel Miller to protect you. You’d patch up his shiners, his wounds, keep his belly full with hearty stews that kept him strong and alert. You’d clean his gun, shine his leather till you could see your reflection in the fabric. And in return, he protected you. He never asked for any sexual favors, or for your hand. He viewed you as his equal, his partner.

It hurt sometimes, to flirt with the man you owed your life to and for him to brush your attempts off everytime. As if you were a pesky horsefly, or insignificant gnat. Yet, you couldn’t help it. Joel was handsome, ruggedly so and you’d often find yourself fantasizing about kissing him, feeling his fingers touch you in places you craved to be touched in. To feel his caress on your skin, the bite of his leather, the scrape of his scruffy beard. The stretch of his cock inside of your wet cunt.

You were driving yourself mad with want for a man that didn’t want you back, or so you assumed that was to be the case.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Joel Miller was on the edge to finally just give in when he caught you one night with your skirts hiked above your thighs with your boot clad feet firmly planted in the dirt. Under the pale glow of the moonlight above, and the glittery shining stars, he could see your hand between your thighs, touching yourself and moaning his name.

It felt wrong to watch you, to invade your privacy and your modesty. But he’d be damned if he’d go another night without feeling the hug of your pussy around his aching cock. Or to feel the taste of your kissable lips on his tongue. Damned. Damned. Damned. Fuck, he couldn’t survive another second without knowing what it was like to be loved by you.

For years he had pushed you away despite knowing the pain it caused both you and him. A man could only last so long pretending to not love a woman that he’d throw his life down for in a heartbeat. That’s the kinda love Joel Miller had been dreaming of all his life.

Your head snapped at the sound of a twig snapping behind you as your hand stilled between your thighs. Your heartbeat rattled wildly in your rib cage at the fear and excitement of being caught.

Oh, please. Please let tonight be the night.

“Don’t stop on my account, Chickadee.” He drawled deeply before stepping closer to where you sat.

The heat rushed to your cheeks like a wildfire spreading, your stomach clenched inwards as you began to touch yourself once more, eyes staying locked on his own.

When he was close enough, you used his shins for support as you rubbed your swollen clit in tight, fast circles.

“No.” He shook his head. “Slower. Take your time, darlin.’ There ain’t no rush. Let me see you.” He rasped, before slowly sinking into the dirt behind you. His strong thighs corralled your own almost possessively as his hands gently grasped the hem of your skirts, pulling them up higher. You felt the brush of his beard against your cheek when his chin came to rest along your shoulder. “Nice and slow for me.”

“I’m—sorry, Joel.” You whispered ashamedly through the cool darkness of the desert night. You slowed your fingers, dragging them through the building slick that pooled between the seam of your cunt.

“Sorry for what, Chickadee? Sorry for touchin’ yourself? For moanin’ my name? Why would you be sorry for that?..” His deep tone sent sparks flying through your body as you leaned back into his strong chest.

“Because—you don’t want me, and this is wrong for me to do. To touch myself and moan a man’s name that doesn’t desire me the way I desire him.” A whimper was clawing up your throat, begging to be released, but you wouldn’t allow it.

He dropped the fabric of your skirts briefly only to dip his hand between your thighs and place his massive palm over the top of your hand, guiding your fingers over your clit once more. “This man desires you plenty, Chickadee. I was only tryin’ to protect your modesty..and our hearts.” He whispered against your ear, lips ghosting across your exposed skin. “Been wantin’ to love you all these years we’ve spent together.” He admitted. “I’m a terrible, rotten man for keepin’ you starved this long..” he trailed off, pressing open mouthed kisses at the spot where your jaw met your neck. “M’sorry.”

Those were the last words you ever expected a fucking bounty hunter to whisper..let alone to you?

A shuddered breath slipped past your parted lips, just for him. Your head lolled to the side, granting him easier access as your lashes fluttered shut. “I’ve felt like..such a fool, Joel. A dirty little fool for a bounty hunter.” You took your lower lip between your teeth, biting down harshly and drawing blood to the surface. You let him take full control of your hand, letting him guide and manipulate your fingers to play with yourself just right.

“Shh..I know now, Chickadee. M’sorry, truly. But I’m here now, ain’t I? M’here. Here forever if you’ll have me. I understand if I've bruised and neglected your heart far too many times..I can accept your rejection if it is coming.”

You could detect the edge of sadness in his tone, the acceptance already settling into his bones and heart.

“Joel, please kiss me.” You nearly begged him, dying to finally know what his lips would feel like on your own.

“Why didn’t ya just say that sooner, Chickadee.” He chuckled. “I wish ya woulda just grabbed me by the breeches years ago and knocked some sense into my thick skull. Woulda taken your ache away a long time ago, darlin.’” He said in a hushed whisper. “But I know you were afraid..can’t blame ya for that. Not really. ‘Specially since I ain’t the nicest of men to come by.”

He was taking too long, and you were an impatient woman.

“Joel.” You huffed, fighting the urge to curse him out before you decided to take matters into your own hands, finally. Tomorrow was never promised, not when you and Joel were constantly on the run.

He kept rambling on until he felt the soft touch of your fingertips brushing against the patches in his scruffy beard and the magnetic pull drawing him in closer, closer till he could taste your mingled breath on his lips.

Here in the middle of the desert, with nothing but the moon and stars as a source of light, you finally knew what it was like to kiss Joel Miller. You learned his lips quickly, liking that they were both soft and a bit chapped. As you licked slowly into one another’s mouths you could taste the faint remnants of tobacco on his tongue. It was a bruising kiss, one that both ignited the fire deep within you, and sent a delicious tingle curving down your spine.

So, this is what the girls back home were all talking about. Being kissed by a real man.

And then you found yourself straddling him in the dirt, saying fuck all to your modesty because you had never wanted a man more than you did now. And you wished that your mother could see you now. To see what her perfect little daughter had turned into.

Fuck you, mother. Fuck you for forcing me to marry that monster.

Joel brought you back down to earth with both his lips and his words tattooed on your skin. He caged you with his body, acting as a shield from the chilly night ear that sent goosebumps rising.

He worked your blouse open, growing more frustrated by the minute when the clasps wouldn’t automatically give. He was desperate to feel more of you, all of you because he knew then that you were his, and he was yours. And if you’d end up being the death of him, so be it. At least he could go out being loved rather than unloved.

“You gonna fuck me now, mister? Gonna take what belongs to you, Joel?” You mumbled against his lips in a chasing kiss, growing more desperate as the seconds ticked by.

“Gonna do more than that, Chickadee.” He rasped. This was a promise, and a man such as Joel always kept his promises.

The howl of a Coyote far off in the distant sent uneasy nerves rolling through you, because the realization hit you then that you and Joel were out in the fucking wilderness, and you suddenly felt bare and exposed.

“Jus’ a coyote, doll. He’s singin’ to the moon. We’re safe here, I promise. Ain’t ever gonna let somethin’ happen to you again, Chickadee.” His strong calloused, yet gentle hands came to cup for your face. His deep brown eyes met yours through the pale glow of the moonlight casted over your faces. “I swear on my life, you will always be safe with me.”

and while the lone coyote sang his song to the moon, Joel Miller had you singing your own song, just for his ears too.

After that night spent together, you never had a night where you slept alone. Joel was always there. Holding you, kissing you, fucking you into a blissful state.

He still feared for your safety, and you feared for his. This would never change, but you refused to live in fear for the rest of your life.

It was a boiling hot day under the blazing desert sun. You and Joel were moving west towards California. Hearing about the gold rush there sounded like as good of an opportunity as any. Not even just for the gold, but the prospects of a new life. Joel had dreams of owning a ranch, sheep specifically and living out his days with you by his side.

“Come join me for a swim, cowboy.” You were sitting side by side under the one single tree along the river's edge. Your two horses were drinking their fill after traveling for days in these conditions.

Your cowboy had his arms crossed behind his head, biceps bulging under the thin fabric of his shirt. His hat was tipped down over his head. You only witnessed Joel being fully relaxed on a few occasions where he would let his guard down for just mere minutes.

“Mmm. That’s alright, doll. Y’go on and enjoy yourself.” He said with a lazy sigh.

“Just a quick one together? Please?” You reached over and gently lifted the brim of his hat just enough so you could see his closed eyes.”

“Chickadee..” he said in a low warning tone, peeking one eye open to look up at you before he shut it once more.

“You’re no fun.” You huffed while releasing your gentle grip on his hat.

“M’plenty fun, doll. I gotta keep watch, anyway. Can’t do that if I’m stark naked in the river with ya. What if someone tries to sneak up? Won’t have my gun at arms reach.” He sighed.

“I know, Joel.”

Maybe when we get to California..he won’t have to worry about all of that.

He sat up turning his body to face you before his palm came to rest upon your cheek in a gentle caress. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, tugging it down gently before he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. “Now go on and cool off, Chickadee.”

You kissed him back with the same amount of sweetness before you pulled away and gave his nose a light boop. His face scrunched inwards before he reached around and gave your ass a light and playful swat that sent you giggling as you rose to your feet.

You shot him a seductive wink before you raced down to the river's edge, kicking up a cloud of dirt with your boots.

Joel watched from afar with a hooded gaze as you stripped down from your skirts and blouse followed by your unlaced boots. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when your one boot wouldn’t give right away and you nearly tripped before finally getting it off. He kept watch as you dove into the crystal clear waters and reameraged moments later.

He reached into his pack, pulling out an apple and pocket knife while you splashed around like a kid on Christmas. He cut off a small slice before biting it off on the edge of the knife, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned back against the sturdy tree.

When we get to California..I’m going to marry her.

He didn’t want to end your fun so soon..but it was time to get moving again. He brought his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, whistling to let you know that it was time to pack up.

You had been floating peacefully on your back with your eyes closed when you heard his whistle that immediately tore you from your daydream state.

He was just about to stand up from where he was resting against the tree when you emerged from the river. You reminded him of a goddess. Bare, beautiful, skin sprinkled in water droplets that were kissed by the sun. You looked unreal, and he was the luckiest man alive.

“C’mon, Chickadee. We gotta head out.” He called for you when you were within earshot.

“I’m coming!” You bent down to gather up your clothes before the idea struck you. “Can I dry off first, please?”

He let out a grumbled sigh before he ultimately nodded his head in agreement. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt..

“Jus’ till ya dry off, doll.”

With your clothes and boots gathered up in your bare arms, you approached him casually, setting everything down on your nearby saddle while he watched you with piqued curiosity.

“I was thinking about you out there..laying on my back and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin..” you trailed off.

“Is that so? Hmm..what were you thinkin’ about, Chickadee?” His eyes slowly trailed down your bare body. From the swell of your breasts, down your tummy and thighs and what lay between them.

“Want to take a guess, cowboy?” You asked teasingly.

His brow raised as a grin tugged along the corner of his lips. A game is what you were playing, and he was the willing participant.

“Based on your tone, I’m gonna guess it’s got somethin’ to do with..my cock?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner while his hand casually came to rest between his own thighs. Oh, he was playing alright.

“Mmm..perhaps I was thinkin’ of ridin’ your cock right under the shade of this tree..but that would be too obvious, Joel.” Your eyes drifted down to where his hand was before the traveled down the expanse of his strong thighs and ending at the toe of his leather boots.

He caught onto your drift almost immediately and you saw his pupils begin to darken. “Y’wanna ride my boot? Is’that it? Well, ain’t you a filthy thing, Chickadee. You wanna get ‘em all shined up for me? Drag that sweet cunt of yours over them?”

His eyes stayed locked on yours in a challenging stare while he palmed himself through his pants to relieve the growing tension.

“I do, sir. I really, really, really want to ride your boot.” You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks because never in your wildest dreams did you expect to take part in debauchery such as this.

“On your knees then, girl. Kiss ‘em for me.” He fell right into character with a flip of a switch.

You found yourself lowering onto your knees without a care in the world about the dirt while you bent down over his boots, pressing a kiss to the leather, dragging your tongue down the stitched seam.

“That’s it, doll. Get ‘em nice and shined up for me.” He said while popping the button on his pants open and pulling his cock free from the confines.

“You gonna touch yourself while I ride your boot, mister?” You were sitting upright again before you crawled closer, letting your hands rest along his thighs as you positioned yourself right above his left boot. The imprint of your kiss had already begun to dry from the scorching heat.

“Yeah, doll. I’m gonna fist my cock while you ride my boot like the dirty Chickadee that you are.” He spat into his palm before he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock just as you lowered yourself over the expanse of his boot, taking your lip between your teeth when you dragged your clit right across the smooth leather.

“Fuuck me. Ain’t that a sight. Look at you, fuckin’ filthy girl. S’feel good, Chickadee?”

You rolled your hips forward slowly at the rate that he was pumping his fist. A soft whimper slipped past your lips while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Feels so good, mister. So—so good.” You moaned freely with each steady roll of your hips, chasing that high. Nothing would ever compare to Joel’s cock. You knew this, he knew this, and you also were aware that this little game would only last so long.

And then he watched you lose yourself completely on his boot with each roll and grind of your hips against the dampened leather. Crying out his name, nails digging into his covered thighs, head thrown back, tears nearly flooding your eyes.

He had the same sense of urgency and realization that nothing would ever compare to the warm hug of your pussy around his cock. That’s when the game ended as his strong arms came to lift you into his lap by your thighs. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss filled with intermingled moans and teeth clashing together when he finally slipped into your warmth.

California could wait a little longer, he wanted to savor this moment for as long as it lasted because now he had the love that he had been dreaming of all his life. Right here in his arms, cock buried to the hilt under the shade of this very tree. Right here with his Chickadee.

That’s the kinda love I’ve been dreaming of

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[overly-dramatic-artist]

“Wither away so hurriedly, my dear?”

You can try to run…but do you really want to?

[gloomwitchwrites]

Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppixie @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Killing Time: Prologue

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“Yes, he’s here again,” your voice creaks as your hand shakes. “Please. I called yesterday…” And every other day for months. Almost a full year.

You peer out between the small space that divides curtain from window. The shadow looms, looking up at you. Your phone vibrates as the operator hems and haws on the other end.

“Are you sure it’s him?” She asks. They always doubt you. Report after report, phone call after phone call, and it’s always question, question, question. You sigh.

“Yes,” your voice peeks as you pull back and hide against the wall. “Yes, I know it’s him. He’s texting me.”

You don’t even need to check. It’s the same thing every time. Next, he’ll try to sneak in the front and be knocking at your apartment door.

“Well, ma’am, you say you’ve called before and we’ve sent a cruiser and we’ve filed reports. And this man keeps showing up, so what exactly do you want me to do now? I can’t issue you a safety order over the phone--”

“Excuse me?” You gasp. “Excuse me? Are you serious? I have an order already and much good it does me. I call you and I get accused of being dramatic and questioned. What I want is for someone to protect me.”

“Ma’am, don’t get abusive with me,” she warns. “Have you tried telling him to go away yourself?”

“Wow, wow,” you throw your hand out. “Really? Really? No, I never thought of it,” you say sarcastically, “is there someone else who can take me call? I really don’t feel safe.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can reroute an officer to you. Alright?” She speaks as if you’re a child. You’re too weak to argue anymore.

“Whatever,” you hang up.

You can’t do this anymore. You need to get out of here. Not that you didn’t think of it before but you can’t afford anything else. Your rent control is the only thing keeping you under a roof. You’ve already switched jobs, just to get away from him. There isn’t that much else up there.

You drag yourself through the shadows and sit on the bed. You exist in darkness. You don’t turn on the lights so he can’t see in. You keep the curtains shut. You only leave for work and always take a different exit, never the same route; not always the bus, not always the train.

And friends? What are those? Most of them took his side, said you were throwing around false accusations, and the others accused you of being obsessed. The single coworker you confided in told you to leave town. Wow, well, if you could afford that, you wouldn’t stay in this building with the grinding radiator and rattling fridge.

You look at your phone.

‘I see you.’ The message was sent while you were on the call with emergency services. Several more followed. ‘I just want to talk’; ‘you look so pretty’; ‘please, I love you’.

As you read each text, you can hear the last conversation you had with Jake. He’s a relic of your former friend group, the very reason for your dejection. It’s almost funny how the rest just cut ties but he won’t let go.

It all started with a kiss. A kiss and rejection. New Years Eve and the clock counted down. You didn’t expect him to turn and plant one on you and when you shoved him away, that dreamy look in his eyes turned to fury as you fled. New Year, New you, right?

The new you is scared and paranoid and tired. So, so tired.

You get up and move the chair in front of the door. Just in case. You retreat, keeping your phone close, and grab the extendable baton from the table. You sleep with both, if you can sleep. That night, you won’t.

You settle in on the couch. You don’t use the bedroom. You need an easy escape. You sit back against the cushions and scroll on your phone. It might be hopeless, but you trawl the job board and the apartment boards. You might find a nugget of gold in all the pebbles.

You sign into the job site and see the red dot in the corner. It’s always a marketing promo. ‘Recommending’ a job you don’t qualify for or an invitation for an MLM scheme. It’s a joke. You don’t understand how anyone ever gets a job but everyone seems to have a better one than you.

You tap the inbox to make the red dot go away. You hate it floating in the corner of your vision. Your thumb twitches and hovers over the screen as you read the subject line. Hm.

‘Caretaker Position: Relocation Required’.

Well, you don’t really have the experience for caretaking but the second part sounds intriguing. You hesitate. It’s too good to be true. You’re sure there will be a list of qualifications longer than your resume.

Tap.

You open up the message.

‘Hello,

We’ve reviewed your profile and determined you might be a match for this position.

New Applicants Welcome.

We are seeking an individual to undertake caretaking duties for a property. This role would include the following:

Lawn care

General cleaning and maintenance

Manual labour requiring lifting of up to 60lbs

24/7 tenancy within property (no rent for chosen candidate)

Subsidized relocation

Training on-site

If you are seeking a fresh start and to learn new skills which can take you into future roles in a custodial or caretaking capacity, this is the job for you. To apply, please submit brief profile and resume for consideration.

Applicants are subject to a background check.’

You bite down on the inside of your lip. It sounds interesting but you’re not sure you’re a good fit. It’s so general, too. Would you need to know how to deal with electrical issues? Your apartment sure has taught you a lot about dealing with broken utilities, but your formal training is lacking.

And it’s a big thing. You want to get out of here but it’s still daunting in comparison to your current predicament.

You tense as you hear footsteps in the hall. You brace yourself and lower the phone, staring at the door. The thumping on the other side makes you flinch. Your heart races.

“Baby, I know you’re awake. Please. I just wanna talk.” He keeps tapping. “If you just talked to me, we could figure this out.”

You shudder and look at your phone again. You stare at the big blue button; ‘Apply Now’.

“I forgive you. For lying about me. Everyone knows you were just upset. I’ll tell them all it was just a misunderstanding…” he begs as the door shakes in the frame, the chair knocking against the handle. All that stands between you and him are those hinges and that flimsy piece of furniture.

You press down on the button. It can’t get worse than this.

[wanatasha]

in love with all of you ·˚ ༘ masterlist

⤑ bounty hunter!natasha x fem!reader

she’s a bounty hunter and you’re her bounty that keeps getting away. with such a title on her back being THE black widow, you’re wondering why she keeps letting you go so easily—couldn’t be that she likes you…?

summary ༯ space/Star Wars theme, enemies(?) to lovers, cat/mouse dynamics, hurt/comfort, eventual smut (MDNI — top!n, bottom!reader), ambush, injuries (n and r sustaining), alcohol mentions, blood mentions, r doesn’t have a family, weapon discussion/mentions (knifes), sensual dynamics

🪐 ༯ main storyline ⤑ completed

** = smut

[1] cat & mouse — 1.7k

how she met you, seated across from you at the bar. leaned back, twisting her knife from under the table. it was the first chase of many

[2] getting closer to you ** — 2.7k

she caught you, finally. but now you have to be dragged alongside her as she treks back to the city. turns out all of your bickering and teasing comes to light when you're stuck in a tight space with her.

[3] setting us free ** — 2.5k

she saves you. reason why? you’re not too sure since she’s been cold towards you since your night together. but it turns out it was enough to set her free and chase after you.

🌌 ༯ other

༊*·˚ mood board

༊*·˚ playlist

[saeyoungchoismaid]

Kaeya presses up close behind you, bringing his arms up to place them under yours. “Hold it steady…” he says softly into your ear. You feel a shiver go down your spine, your eyes rolling back the tiniest bit. “That’s it…” he purrs.

“Bang,” he whispers into the shell of your ear as you pretend to shoot your target, your gun jumping in your hand a bit as it fires nothing out.

His hands go light as you pull the gun back to cock it, reloading the weapon with an imaginary bullet before going back into your original state. “Well done,” he mumbles—in what you swear is a sensual tone—right below your ear against your jawline. “You’re such a fast learner,” he praises.

[suiana]

Good morning, Darling. A new anon fan of yours — Admiration was present before my eyes.

Whatever these poetic shit that AI gave me. Obsessed with the way you write shit got me like:

😘😘😙😍🥹🥹🥳🫣

I just have this new suggestion that i pulled out of my ass which is: A Yandere who is trying to kill Reader and shit with the Reader also doing the same (🫢😱😳) but slowly falls in love yet to prideful to admit it.

(yandere! bounty hunter x gn! wanted reader)

you stare at him with a grin, holding your blade to his neck as he presses the gun against the side of your head. it always ended like this between you two. a stalemate.

"heh, your face is red."

you comment, smiling at the bounty hunter who frowns at you before rolling his eyes. you take note of the way his cheeks looked slightly flushed, his eyes looking away from yours as the hand holding the gun to your head seems to shake a bit.

"shut up. you're such a pain in the ass."

"aw come on, don't be like that."

you grin at him, jumping away from him as you sheath your blade. the bounty hunter lets out a low growl, his gun lowering. you observe him from a distance, smiling as the bounty hunter merely places his hand on his hips before sassily eyeing you up and down.

god, what was this? a sassy man? you can't help but want to tease him. and is that a blush on his face?

"you're blushing! do you like me?"

you tease, cocking an eyebrow at him before giggling softly. you watch in amusement as the male coughs loudly, glaring at you before refusing every accusation.

"no way! why the hell would i like you? you're just- just another bounty to me!"

he mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he covers his mouth with his hand. to that, you shake your head before rolling your eyes. yeah right, like you believe him. you're not stupid after all.

but whatever, you'll leave while he's still yapping to himself about how he doesn't like you. just secretly walk off while he's mumbling about how you're some annoying pest that keeps on escaping his grasp...

"and i obviously don't go to sleep thinking about you- hey where are you going?"

he suddenly yells, looking at your retreating figure before chasing after you. damn it, maybe you should have ran instead of walked.

[naeverse]

Hearts On Fire

A/N: I completely adored writing this—like OMG!!! I just wanted to thank my bestie, @amariiyagurl , before diving into the story since she was the one who gave me the wonderful idea. Once again, I really, really enjoyed writing it, so thank you, girlie!!🤎🧡 Art(s) by: mariammew2 & Pinkiemme

🐴staring: BountyHunterMiguel O’Hara x Fem!SassyVaquera

      🌵preview: 

“What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”  

“Why, yes indeed..."

🐮summary: Miguel O’Hara is a ruthless and cold bounty hunter of the Wild West, renowned for his sharp wit, perfect aim, and unprecedented tracking skills. He never cared about the outlaws he arrested, sometimes even killed. It was merely business in his eyes, nothing more.

It wasn’t until you revealed your beautiful face as an outlaw of the Wild West that the hunter found himself completely smitten by your gorgeous smile, ravishing body, and sharp tongue, which he both loved and hated.

But you were an outlaw, and he, a bounty hunter. 

You and he were like water and oil.

You didn’t mix…

Or so it seemed…

🐴tw/cw: Bed-Sharing, Big Dick Miguel, Bondage, Butt Groping,  Cock Bulge, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Doggystyle, Forbidden love, Late 1800s, Missionary, Multiple Orgasms, NFSW,  Olfactophilla, Praises, Rough Sex, Squirting, Temperature Play (If you squint), Western Themed, Wild-West Base, 19th-Century

🍺Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear), Miel (Honey), Vaquera (Cowgirl), Bebè (Baby), Princesa (Princess), 

     🤎Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🌵 Word Count: 14.4k words 

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

"Mierda!"

The curse fell from the lips of the notorious bounty hunter, Miguel O’Hara, upon dodging yet another set of flying bullets being shot at him. He growled, straightening up on his saddle and giving the reins of his ebony horse a sharp snap, pressing the spurs of his boots into its side to urge his adored stallion faster.

He couldn’t let you get away again. 

Not this time...

Miguel O’Hara was a famous bounty hunter who was known throughout the Wild West for his reputation as a relentless tracker and unmatched sharpshooter. The mere mention of his name struck fear into the hearts of outlaws, knowing that if you had a hefty price and were on the bounty hunter’s list, you were as good as captured, or in some cases… 

Dead.

Although Miguel had an infamous reputation of being the end of many ruthless and cunning outlaws, there was one that always managed to slip through his fingers…

You.

Y/N, the vaquera with the excellent aim, sexy body, and witty tongue always seemed to continuously evade his capture. He couldn’t help but despise the woman just as much as he secretly admired her.

It was always that damn mouth of hers…

She could sweet-talk and charm almost anyone, even the infamous bounty hunter, which was the reason behind his countless missed arrests of the beautiful vaquera.

But not today.

Miguel was going to make sure of it.

"Vamos, Xian! Vamos!" Miguel shouted to his horse, his body leaning forward as his black stallion snorted in response, her hooves thudding faster against the rocky and dry terrain of the desert. Miguel's black durst coat blew behind him in the wind as his mahogany eyes were trained on your figure, riding upon your horse just a few miles ahead.

A wicked smirk spread across the hunter’s lips upon getting closer to you.

‘You aren’t getting away this time.’

Miguel thought, effortlessly, he hoisted his iconic steel six-shooter from its holster, aiming the long barrel directly at you, who was galloping at lightning speed to escape the notorious bounty hunter. With a click of his thumb upon the hammer to cock the gun, he didn’t hesitate to shoot, pulling the trigger.

Only for a second, the piercing sound of the bullet’s release reverberated through the desert, to be followed with a frustrated snarl from the hunter at the sight of you dodging it.

You let out a gasp, one hand flying up to clutch your brown wide-brimmed hat to keep it from flying away, just as you veered your horse to the left to avoid the passing bullet.

You glanced over your shoulder with a taunting smirk on your cherry lips, the sight only making Miguel’s blood boil. “Stop fuckin’ runnin'!” He bellowed, his gruff voice full of rage with a potent Western and Latino accent.

A soft laugh passed your lips at him. “Stop chasin’ me then!” You shouted back with an amused smile that almost took Miguel’s breath away; but in that brief moment of awe, he didn’t notice when the attractive vaquera pulled her gun out, firing at him once more.

His attempt at dodging the bullet was unsuccessful as a loud whine from his horse filled the desert.

“Xina!”

Miguel exclaimed in shock and worry, feeling his stallion stagger in her steps and begin to slow down. His mahogany eyes snapped up to see you getting further away from him, Xina’s whimpers of pain bringing his attention back to his wounded horse as he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up with you.

Not in this state…

At that revelation, irritation filled Miguel's being. “Shit! I almost had her!” He hissed in frustration, watching the beautiful vaquera ride off into the distance. He clenched the reins of his horse tightly, trying to calm his anger.

“I’ll find you again, Cariño. 

I promise you…”

It was now evening, and you were sitting inside a saloon in a town you'd encountered, enjoying a nice glass of whiskey after your successful getaway from the infamous bounty hunter.

“Another glass, and keep ‘em comin’,” you exclaimed to the bartender with a grin as he poured you another glass of the alcoholic drink.

You smiled, bringing the whiskey to your lips when you, suddenly, felt something hard press into your side. You winced at the sensation of the solid object being jabbed harshly into your ribs before a warm and overpowering presence came over you.

"Holler or make any sudden moves, and I’ll gladly put a bullet in ya.”

You bit your lip, instantly recognizing the deep voice of the owner of the gun currently prodding into your inner organs. “Why, if it ain’t Miguel O’Hara. It’s nice to see ya again.” You chuckled in a breathy tone due to the piercing pain, watching the large bounty hunter take a seat on a wooden stool beside you at the bar. His grip on his gun seemed to tighten after your greeting.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips at the sight of the massive, stoic Latino.

Miguel O’Hara was a hunter you’ve never met before—so determined, stern, and versatile. He was honestly a jack of all trades, and one that had greatly piqued your interest upon encountering him for the first time six months ago.

Dressed like a shadow, he was adorned in his usual attire of a black durst coat, collared shirt, pants, and black sturdy boots. A wide-brimmed hat, with a skull, also sat upon his head of coffee-brown curls and tanned, rugged features.

Instantly upon meeting his cold mahogany orbs, you knew he’d be fun to play with—more than the other hunters. But you had to admit, the Latino didn’t get his great reputation senselessly.

He always gave you a run for your money—just like now…

You peered at the silent bounty hunter, trying to suppress the urge to wince from his gun still poking into your side. Your eyes roamed his face, taking in his hardened expression of a clenched jaw and permanent scowl that could curdle milk. His mahogany eyes, hooded by his black hat, traced your seated figure.

You could see the conflict occurring behind those enchanting orbs of his.

He was trying to make sense of you, but he simply couldn’t…

In all of Miguel’s years of being a bounty hunter, you always seemed to surprise him. With a loaded gun pressed into your side that could be fired any moment, you didn’t seem a bit fazed.

He’d seen outlaws that practically shit their pants at being held at gunpoint, yet you continued to drink your whiskey and kick your legs under the table like you were enjoying a nice lil’ ride on a wagon.

The bounty hunter was secretly impressed, but that damn taunting smirk of yours was working his last nerve.

“I can’t say the same 'bout you, chica,” he bluntly replied, leaning in close, as you instsntly felt his anger radiating from his body.

“You not only robbed that fuckin’ train, but you shot my damn horse.” He spat harshly, his voice full of malice. His gun dug deeper into your side, and his face was so close to yours that your breath was practically mixing. “And you hurt my Xina; I should shoot you dead right here. 

Right now.”

The bounty hunter threatened through gritted teeth. You rolled your eyes, hearing him say the same thing before. “Then why don't you?” You asked, taking a sip of your whiskey.

Miguel's thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your inquiry, his puzzlement only making him angrier. Once again, you were using that sharp tongue of yours to try and screw with his brain. “What shit are you yappin’ now?” He growled, irritation found in his voice.

A snicker left your cherry lips at the hunter’s perplexion. “It's not that hard a question, Miguel.” You giggled, peering over at him from under the hood of your brown hat.

“Why haven't you shot me dead yet, hm?”

You smirked, watching his tan, rugged features scrunch up further in rage, the sight pleasing you immensely.

Miguel's grip tightened upon the handle of his pistol, his teeth clenched so harshly that he believed they'll break any moment. “Perhaps I'd rather see how that pretty face of yers would hold up in prison.”

You laughed, taking note of his compliment. “Whatever you say…” You snickered, turning to take another sip of your whiskey.

"Whatever I fuckin’ say!?" Miguel snarled, unable to believe how nonchalantly you were taking him. Most outlaws’ attitudes would hastily change at the mere presence of the infamous bounty hunter, but here you were, still badmouthing him and acting like this was a joke.

It was only enraging Miguel further…

His scowl deepened as he sharply thrust the barrel of his six-shooter into your side, making you groan. “Here you are playin’ games and talkin’ shit like this is just a fun lil’ evening for ya.”

“Because it is.” You retorted, trying to ignore how your side would surely be bruised with how deep his gun was burrowed into your skin, despite being covered by your shirt.

Miguel figured you'd say that, but it still didn't make him less pissed.

“Then I'll love nothin’ more than to wipe that damn smirk from yer face, especially after what ya did to my precious Xina.” Miguel threatened, his mahogany eyes seeming to become a scarlet red at his seething anger.

You scoffed, shooting him a glare. “This fuckin’ horse again?!” You spat in irritation. “I believe your damn horse is real fine.” You replied, casting a glance at the entrance of the saloon to see his ebony horse standing behind the gated entrance. She looked relatively healthy, aside from a bandage upon the side of her massive black body. “Stop over exaggerating; it looks like just a darn graze to me.”

“And that fucking ‘graze’ is going to cost me a hefty sum of cash,” he sternly said, but despite how angry he was at you…

Damn, you were too sexy for your own good…

He couldn’t help letting his eyes drift down your body, taking in your vaquera attire of a simple pair of dark blue, slim-fitted pants and a matching button-up with brown fringe along your outfit. A set of brown boots and a wide-brim hat sat upon your head. He also took notice of how the outfit seemed to accentuate every piece of you.

Your attire was not only breathtaking, but it broke all the regulations assigned by men when it came to the makeup of a woman. Unlike the proper lady, pants adorned your gorgeous legs instead of the usual housewife skirt.

However, despite how rebellious your entire outfit was, it made you look hotter than a Texas summer; your stunning body was a quality the bounty hunter couldn’t get enough of, and it never failed to stir a wave of conflicting emotions through him.

Miguel cleared his throat, shaking off his adoration and lust for you to replace it with the annoying and rageful traits you shared instead. He leaned in close, his western and Latino-accented voice dropping to a low whisper.

"You must be aware of the hefty bounty on yer head, don’t ya, princesa?” He inquired in a hushed tone, not wanting anyone to overhear.

Miguel's breath fanned against your cheek due to his closeness, the sensation causing tingles to run down your backside. “Indeed, I do.” You simply stated. “A thousand…Correct?”

Miguel laughed darkly at your reply, shaking his head. “After your little shenanigans in that boom town last month, your price has been raised, sweetheart.” He uttered, your sweet natural scent along with the sweat and dirt on your skin filling his senses, igniting his concealed desire.

“Five thousand...”

The hunter stated, causing your heart to drop. However, your face held its usual unbothered expression upon hearing the new price. You looked away from him, snatching up your glass of whiskey in frustration. Miguel smirked, watching you gulp down the rest of your glass in hopes of calming your nerves.

“Five thousand is on your head, dead or alive, querida.” He said, finally taking notice of your adamant attempt to avoid his eyes, the sight angering him.

Without warning, he took your chin in his large, gloved hand, snapping your head to meet his stern and rageful ones. Your eyebrows furrowed in a mix of anger and surprise upon his sudden action.

“Be thankful I haven't filled ya with lead, chica, with yer attitude that option is seemin’ more and more temptin’.” He growled, his eyes roaming the beautiful face that has caused so many problems in the West. Your beauty only fueling his fury.

“You've been a damn thorn in my side since your first robbery down in the Southwest.” He rasped, his gloved fingers tightening around your jaw as with his every word, his barrel pressed deeper into your side, causing your eyebrows to screw together in pain.

You groaned softly, glaring daggers at him, and noticed some of the customers of the saloon starting to look over at the two of you.

“I'll be darn, that's Miguel O'Hara, ain't it. Look, Willy, ain't it?”

“And here I thought you were pullin’ my leg, Hank. That is him—but wait… and that's that cowgirl too, right?”

“Shoot dang, it is!”

The chatter of two loud older male customers filled your ears. Their recognition of not just Miguel but also you really pissed you off.

‘I didn't come here to cause a damn scene and draw attention to myself. Got enough shit to deal with as it is.’

You thought angrily, deciding it was time to make your exit. With an endearing grin, you gazed up at the bounty hunter, placing a hand onto his forearm that grasped your jaw and giving it a gentle caress with your fingertips. “Miguel, dear, we've been at each other's throats for months now…ain't we, babes?” You stated with a pout, continuing to brush the pad of your fingers along his arm with your eyes trained on him.

The bounty hunter completely stiffened at your touch, his mahogany eyes glancing down to your hand before snapping back to you.

He knew you were trying to seduce him with your alluring eyes, hypnotizing touch, and sultry voice, but damn was it hard to resist you. His desire was already growing, and your enticement was only feeding the flames.

“We have…” He practically growled through gritted teeth, the only thing keeping him stable was his grip on his steel six-shooter that was still piercing into your ribs, reminding him of his duties and reputation along with the importance of him detaining you…

Or killing you…

Miguel's eyes, practically red, glared down at you; seeing the bounty hunter angry always seemed to rile you up even more. You bit your lip, running your fingers up to his bare wrist, the only bit of skin that wasn't concealed by his sleeve or leather gloves.

You traced your fingertips along the valley of bulging veins that resided there, keeping your eyes on him. “Indeed, hunter…so perhaps, we can become allies instead of enemies, eh?” You suggested while caressing his wrist.

Miguel's jaw clenched, unable to ignore the wave of heat that was spreading through his being at your touch, and he only became more enraged at his body's adorning responses.

It was always like this with you…

He finally gets you cornered with nowhere else to go, believing he has won before you allure him enough to give him the slip.

Miguel had promised himself that today would be different, that today would be the day he would finally catch you; but with the way you were looking up at him from under your beautiful eyelashes, stroking his wrist and speaking to him so seductively…

He was close to taking you right there at the bar.

“I don't align myself with people, let alone outlaws, miel.” He said, trying to stay focused on his mission and not the growing excitement in his pants.

At his rejection, your pout deepened.

“And here I thought the last time we met up like this was somethin’ special…”

You slyly trailed off with a devious grin, watching, for a moment, as the bounty hunter’s thick eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and shock.

‘She really went there.’ Miguel thought, smirking at the recollection of his previous heated encounter with the beautiful vaquera and how very pleasing it was.

He removed his revolver from your side, tucking it back into his holster but not removing his large hand that encased your jaw. “You think bringin’ that up is going to save your sexy ass?” He inquired with a chuckle, his words bringing a smile to your lips. “No…not with you.” You giggled, batting your lashes up at him. “You are too smart for that.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed in frustration. He hated how slick that mouth of yours was—it was like an eel dipped in oil, able to outwit and outsmart anyone with just a smile and a little teasing.

And goodness, did you love to tease…

You grinned, looking up at Miguel. “Mmm, but just think of how good it was, Miggy.” You uttered, moving your hands to run along the front of his duster coat, gripping the flaps and pulling him closer to you.

Miguel growled softly, his pants seeming to become painfully tighter the more you spoke and talked to him.

With a glance down, it wasn't hard to miss how aroused the hunter was. The enormity under the black fabric of his trousers demanding attention and yours, in particular. You smirked, finally having him under your control.

“You remember, don't ya?” You whispered, leaning in closely to the hunter's face, his stern expression faltering at your nearness. 

Miguel tried hard to resist you, but it was like he was under your spell, feeling your lips ghost along his jaw, up to his ear.

“How good ya felt in my throat and how well I took ya?”

You muttered seductively into his ear while removing a hand from his coat to trail down his chest. Your fingers tracing his bulging pecs and abs as you descended further. 

“Just imagine how good yer feel elsewhere? Perhaps…”

Your fingers found what you desired, looping through his front belt loop of his pants, and tugging him towards you with a seductive grin. A gasp escaped his lips, his black-gloved hand landing on your arm, ceasing your movements as his mahogany, slightly dazed, and lustful eyes gazed down at you. Your hands upon his pants, temptingly close to where he wanted you the most, drove him to the edge.

You instantly became surprised, the rare sight of such an expression upon your gorgeous face enough to cause him to stir underneath his briefs; however, he was once again conflicted—not knowing if he should listen to his head or his desires when it came to you.

You were just too risky to let go, and too sexy to lock up…

And there was a wretched part of him that didn't want to see the sexy vaquera in bars, regardless of how much of a pain in the ass you were.

So, what should be done with you...?

You gazed up at Miguel, taking notice of how his stoic expression had returned—that attractive smirk of his gone and replaced with his scowl like before. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Was he not buying it?  

Was he about to arrest you? 

Shit, you were nervous as hell.

“Miguel? Babes-”

“Stand up.”

Miguel abruptly said, removing his hand from your jaw and pulling away. You laughed nervously, reaching out for his gloved hand.   “O-Oh, Miggy, who knew you were quite the funny one-”  Your dismissive words were cut off by the hunter suddenly swatting your hand from him and hastily grabbing your arms, pulling you onto your feet. A gasp passed your lips at his rough actions.

“What the hell?!” You shouted as effortlessly, Miguel tossed your body over his broad shoulder as if you were featherlight. His burly arm wrapped around the back of your thighs to hold you firmly against his massive body.

You scoffed in disbelief, laying upon what felt like a boulder for a shoulder.  “What the fuck is wrong with ya! I-If you don't put me down, ya sidewindin’ two-faced piece of shit!” You hollered whilst punching his backside in hopes of him releasing you, but to the hunter, you were like a dust devil—all wind and no impact.

Miguel turned, taking notice of the obvious attention the two of you were bringing—many of the customers now staring. The hunter tipped his hat to the fellow individuals of the saloon in a gesture of apology. “Pardon the ruckus, folks, this just business.” Miguel said in his usual, gruff voice, the vibrations of his tone rumbling throughout his massive body.

With a smirk, the bounty hunter carried you out of the saloon, your loud and repetitive kicks and curses following the two of you.

Miguel stepped outside, taking in the earthy and sagebrush scent of the new town he'd tracked you down to, named Roca Roja. It was a town that he could count on his fingers how many times he'd visited, but currently, he'd never seen so many bodies decorating the streets, especially as the sun was now setting on the horizon.

However, he couldn't exactly enjoy the nice, dry breeze of night with your damn yelling in his ear.

“I don't know what the hell is goin’ on in that thick skull of yer's, but yer've done lost yer darn mind!” You yelled from atop Miguel's shoulder as his black boots crunched under the rocky terrain of Roca Roja.

He continued to ignore your insults and shouts, clicking his tongue to signal his horse that fell into step beside him.

The hunter's Xina, an Appaloosa with a beautiful white spotted pattern down her ebony backside and around her snout, walked next to the both of you. Her loud snorts and clomps of her hooves filled the night and drawing your attention, but what really caught your eye was the nicely wrapped bandage that covered her torso.

You averted your eyes from the horse, feeling slightly guilty, but your demands and protests never ceased while the hunter continued to bring you to this unknown location. “Where are ya even takin’ me!?” You exclaimed, continuing another barrage of heavy punches to his muscular backside to no avail. His boulder of a shoulder digging into your already bruised side, only further angering you.

Your punches and kicks were completely useless to the huge male. Once you became tired, you slumped upon his shoulder, wincing slightly at how it continued to jab into your bruised ribs. You scowled, glaring over at the hunter. “What the hell is the matter with ya? Kidnappin’ a gal like this is a crime too if ya didn't know!” You shouted in annoyance.

Miguel heaved an irritated sigh, not understanding how a sexy thing like you can have such a nasty attitude. “If ya stop ya bitchin' I just might answer yer questions!” He shouted back at you.

A growl passed your cherry lips, finally quieting down to allow the hunter to speak. “Now…what's going through that pretty noggin’ of yer's is correct.

I'm takin’ ya in.”

Your eyes widened at his words, hastily, returning back to trying to escape.

You'll be damned if you go to jail so easily like this…

Swift hands flew to your holsters on your hips to find them empty, your revolvers missing from their places. The dark laughter from the hunter following your discovery only made your heart drop.

“Looking for yer guns, Cariño?” He taunted, giving your ass a playful smack, making you jolt. The sensation left you in a mix of anger and arousal at his spank. “Yer been a bad gal, so no guns for a beaut like you.”

You snarled, glaring at him. “So what!? After everythin’ we've been through, yer just gonna throw me to the wolves? You know what they'll do to me in there!” You exclaimed, trying to hide the worry in your tone at possibly being a part of such an unsanitary place with harsh conditions that could cause any sane person to lose their sanity.

Miguel's arm tightened around your thighs, his heart shamefully tugging. “Don't tell me yer scared, vaquera,” he teased, continuing to walk through town with you over his shoulder. “Shut it, hunter,” you scowled, delivering another punch to his backside in rage that only left him laughing. “Why, if ya do the crime, ya do the time. You know the law,” he replied.

You heaved a sigh, not believing after all your fun you would be sent to a place so hideous and dehumanizing— some jails didn't even separate by genders. 

You'll surely lose your mind in there…

“Yer not…seriously goin’ to take me back to Nueva Yorkano in one night, ain't ya?” you inquired, hoping it was a ‘nay.’

Miguel grunted, acknowledging that his horse, Xina, wouldn't be able to make a trip to the town, Nueva Yorkano, where you were most wanted in, without breaks, especially at night. There were many obstacles a traveler could encounter—coyotes, ruthless vaqueros, the harsh elements, and the extreme drop in temperature were all your enemies on a night journey through the desert.

The hunter cast a glance over at his horse whose steps were already starting to slow down. His wounded stallion hurt him more than anything due to him raising her from just a young foal; seeing her like this tore him up inside.

“Nay, we'll be gettin’ a room,” Miguel stated, clicking his tongue and gesturing with his head for his horse to follow him to the right, changing his destination to the nearest inn.

A grin spread across your cherry lips at your delayed arrest.

‘Perhaps, I can escape before we-’

“Fuck! What the hell!?!” You exclaimed at the sharp spank Miguel delivered to your rear, the smack pulling you from your thoughts and leaving an intense sting. “Don't get any funny ideas, chica, I'm still pissed at you about Xina,” he growled. “So try anythin’, I won't hesitate to rough you up, got it!?”

You rubbed your sizzling rear-end, muttering under your breath. “Rough me up…” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You won't dare put ya hands on me,” you said from atop his shoulder as Miguel heard every word, bringing a smirk to his lips.

“Why…there are other ways I can ‘rough’ you up, Muñeca.”

Miguel uttered suggestively; one could dare say the hunter was flirting with you. You chuckled, smiling over at the stoic male. “Well, puttin’ it like that, it sounds like somethin’ I wouldn't mind experiencin’ then.” You giggled.

Miguel grunted in irritation at your comment, trying to ignore how turned on he became at your response. His mahogany eyes located a small inn nearby, its sign holding in big letters:

‘Cobweb Comfort.’

“We'll rest there,” Miguel replied, walking over as you looked over in the direction he was taking you, a groan passing your lips.

“You must be pullin’ my leg, Miguel. Here! Of all places!?” you whined, taking in the rustic and aged inn with paint peeling from its walls from years of neglect and windows layered with desert dust.

The closer Miguel got to the place, you could make out the uneven porch, loud creaking rocking chairs that sat upon it, and the nearby stable that showed many signs of disrepair but held many horses inside.

Everything about the inn was distasteful in your eyes, wishing to reside elsewhere that actually gave some care to the appearance of their establishment unlike this one.

Despite your complaints, the hunter ignored you, signaling for his horse to wait by the door before going into the inn.

The door creaked open, and you observed how the tall hunter's hand clutched his black hat as he slightly lowered to pass under the short doorway upon entering.

The interior of the inn looked quite similar to its exterior, with peeling wallpaper, heavily scuffed floors, and faded landscape paintings upon the walls.

Miguel's eyes took in the lobby of the rustic inn, instantly making contact with a rather familiar man sitting behind a weathered wooden counter. The innkeeper seemed more invested in smoking and reading his book to even notice the both of your arrival.

You scoffed. “Trash-ass customer service too. Darn, didn't see that comin’.” You mumbled sarcastically with an eye-roll, earning an annoyed grunt from Miguel.

The hunter approached the desk, his boots thudding upon the wooden floorboards, causing it to creak with his every step. The wood and smoky scent only intensified the further he walked into the inn.

Miguel peered over the counter, staring intently at the male that looked to be his same age, who was still oblivious to him having customers. Strangely, the innkeeper seemed familiar to the hunter, but due to the few oil lamps that hang from hooks inside the lobby, he was unable to see him clearly.

Miguel cleared his throat, hastily getting the male's attention, his amber eyes glancing up in surprise. “Ah, pardon me, didn't see ya there.” He chuckled, closing his book and standing from his chair, although, upon making eye contact, both men recognized each other.

“Well, I'll be damned, Miguel O'Hara! My buddy!” The guy said, giving the stoic man a friendly pat on the shoulder that the hunter simply glanced at.

Peter B. Parker was a bubbly and too jolly innkeeper that Miguel had saved a few months ago from being shot dead by an outlaw he'd been tailing. On the spot, the auburn-haired man bought Miguel drinks and offered him a free spot anytime at his inn to repay him—but the hunter didn't think he'd ever actually encounter him again…

Miguel gave Peter a mere grunt for a greeting, the male snickering as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. “Still not much of a talker, I see.” Peter joked.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise at Miguel actually having friends.

You never would have thought…

You peered over your shoulder at the innkeeper, making eyes with the rugged-featured male that had auburn short, slick back hair upon an ivory skin tone face of stubble with a cigarette hanging from his lips. A dark blue button-up, tan pants, and dark brown boots adorned his rather lean body, except for his plump stomach that was visible through his shirt. You glanced upon the name tag that clung to his top, reading Peter B. Parker.

“Well, I see yer still on the job.” The guy named Peter commented, looking at you as you flashed him a smile and a wink from Miguel's shoulder. The male wolf whistled at the sight. “And a looker too-”

“Peter!”

Miguel barked, his mahogany eyes flashing red. “Give me a damn room and stop wasting my time.”

You chuckled at Miguel's evident sign of jealousy while Peter only shook his head at the hunter's sudden anger. “Fine, fine, seems someone is ready to hit the hay.” Peter said, rummaging around on his desk for his desired items.

“But just wonderin’ if it's your own head that's gettin’ the rest or yer alluding to somethin’ else.” Peter smirked, glancing over at you and then Miguel playfully. “I must warn ya, them walls in this inn ain't that solid.” The innkeeper laughed as you could feel the fuming rage radiating from Miguel's body at the innkeeper's comment. It took everything to hold back from laughing at the rather hilarious interaction.

“Peter…” Miguel growled through gritted teeth, his voice full of warning. “Okay, pardon me, let me see here…” Peter said, snickering to himself while peering through another large hardback that looked similar to a registration book.

Miguel stared at Peter as he located a room for the two of you in his ledger, never in the hunter's entire life did he wish to leave a conversation.

After a while of looking in silence, a disappointed, shoot dang, was muttered by Peter. He shook his head, looking up at Miguel. “There's only one room left.” He said, looking over at you and then at the hunter.

“And it's a singles.”

“Mierda.” Miguel cursed under his breath, looking at you and then at Peter. He was certain that spending a night with you in an enclosed bedroom would lead to nothing but disaster.

One that would only lead in himself and you tangled up in the sheets and experiencing another moment of unashamed passion.

“Why the hell is there only one!?” Miguel inquired in irritation causing the innkeeper to chuckle, raising his hands in defense. “No need to yell at me. I'm just doin’ my job.” He said. “But a few days ago, gold was found along the bank, folks been comin’ from all ‘round to try and get some.” He explained, causing another curse to leave the hunter's lips.

You sighed, glancing over at Miguel. “Told ya, we shouldn't have come here.” You added as Peter looked up at you. “Actually, every inn is real full in Roca Roja, due to the gold strike and everythang.” Peter said, picking up a quill and dipping it into the bottle of ink. “But gotta love it, has my business boomin’ at the moment.” He chuckled, glancing up at the hunter and you.

“So…You stayin’?” He asked, his amber orbs mainly on Miguel, awaiting his response.

The hunter sighed, seeming like he'd hit a trail's end.

He knew Xina would need time to recover—her injury wasn't major compared to what it could have been, but his stallion being on her hooves would only worsen it.

Xina resting up would do her some good.

Taking Peter's word that the inns were all full, Miguel would hate to try his luck and spend the night roaming all of Roca Roja, pushing Xina and hearing more of your yapping, just to end up roomless.

At least here, he wouldn't have to pay…

“Fine.” Miguel growled, watching a beaming smile spread across the smoking innkeeper. “That's the spirit. Here ya be well takin’ care of.” Peter promised, jotting down the hunter's name under a room and handing him the key.

Miguel tucked the brass key into the pocket of his black durst coat. “And Peter, ‘nother request.” The hunter added, suddenly dropping a wad of cash upon the counter, the sight surprising both Peter and you. “I know ya have connections, so find Xina a good doctor and tend to her real nice.” Miguel ordered.

The brown-haired male nodded, tucking the cash into his pocket and walking around the counter. “Of course, I love nothing more than to help my buddy.” He chuckled, thanking Miguel and you for staying at his inn with a pat on the hunter's back and a tip of his hat in your direction before he left to fulfill Miguel's requests.

The hunter heaved a sigh, standing alone with you in the lobby, who was still slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He casted you a glance, already feeling a stir inside of him at the mere thought of seclusion with you, and he hated every bit of it…

He already had a feeling that disaster was impending—one he wouldn't be able to stop no matter how hard he tried…

“Yer jokin’, right?”

You asked from your curled position upon the singular bed in your shared room. It wasn't the fact that Miguel had insisted on sleeping in a mere lounge chair across the room that led to such an inquiry; it was the fact of how the hunter believed you'd get any sleep with your hands and legs tightly bound together by rope.

Your eyes were trained on his seated form upon the aged lounge chair of the room, his massive legs spread, and his body dressed only in his black wide-brimmed hat, black button-up top, pants, and boots. His durst coat hung on the back of the raw umber cushion while his mahogany eyes stared back at your restrained being.

He lit what felt like his fourth cigarette since the two of you entered, placing the tobacco between his lips and taking a deep inhale before releasing the smoke through his nose.

He remained silent at your question, simply keeping his eyes on you like a guard dog.

It was quite unnerving…

“Hey Miguel! You there, or are ya lost in the tumbleweeds!?” You shouted at him in annoyance while wiggling upon the bed like a fish out of water.

“What is it?” He said, finally acknowledging you with his words rather than his piercing gaze. You sighed, looking over at him through your long eyelashes and putting on your most pitiful expression. “Oh why…t-this rope is real tight, you see. I-I can't even feel my limbs.” You uttered, laying on your side with a pout. “Can't you maybe…loosen them a tad bit?” You genuinely asked because upon bounding you, Miguel had fastened the ropes so taut that it was practically etching an imprint into your skin and cutting off blood circulation.

“Nay…” Miguel simply stated, taking another puff from his cigarette. At his denial, you growled in frustration. “Why, at least stop your damn smokin'. You're makin’ it hard to breathe in this already dusty inn.” You complained, burying your face into the beige blankets in irritation.

But if only you knew how much Miguel was holding on by a thread.

Upon entering the shared bedroom, he instantly felt it…

The longing. 

The arousal.

He never gave a damn about things like that—too busy with his bounty job to care. But ever since you've shown your face and made an appearance as a new fugitive, he began to desire it…

You were always on his mind, even during the times you went into hiding, and he was tracking someone new.

He craved you,

needed you.

Now you were laying upon a bed, bound tightly like a pig being served to him on a platter, and it was taking every fiber of his being to stay rooted in his seat.

Miguel's eyes traced your body, taking in your fallen hat and unkempt hair upon the bed, hands bound behind your back along with your ankles secured tightly together. Your clothes hugged your figure even more than they did before, the sight only leaving Miguel clawing at the armrests of his seat.

He took another huge inhale, watching his cigarette slowly losing its life because of his need for solace when your voice filled the room again. “Hunter, can I ask ya a question?”

“I'd rather you not.” He hastily responded in his dead tone, knowing any signs of flirtation or seduction would have him out of his chair in a blink of an eye.

You rolled your eyes at his words. “Come on, now. I can't sleep; you ‘parrently not going to either, so… let's talk.” You chuckled, looking over at the bounty hunter from your restrained position.

“Since my days of freedom are numbered. Might as well…” You added, causing Miguel to sigh, your words secretly tugging at him. He took his dying cigarette into his gloved fingers, snuffing it out in a nearby tray. “Speak then, but say anythin’ improper, I won't hesitate to put ya to sleep myself.” He threatened, but you couldn't help but have your head go straight into the gutter.

“Put me to sleep, ya say…?” You smirked, biting your lip at the thought of having some other type of restless fun with the hunter. Miguel scowled at your suggestive tone, anger the only thing keeping his arousal at bay. “You know what I mean; now either ask yer question or shut yer mouth and sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, taking in the hunter's booted foot constantly bouncing against the wooden floorboards and the sight of him lighting yet another cigarette. “Are ya stressed or somethin’?” You asked, watching his chest greatly rise due to his massive inhale of the cigarette—his pecs and abdominal muscles becoming accentuated under his shirt.

“You can say that.” He replied, avoiding your eyes to look out the window behind you. “Well, then let's talk 'bout it. What's yer problem?” You inquired with a grin. “What's got ya so antsy that yer glued to that pack of cigarettes?”

Miguel glanced at you, mahogany eyes narrowing in thought of if he should speak about his ‘problem’ or not, soon deciding the latter. “None of your darn business.”

You snickered, expecting him to remain secretive. “Damn…must be real bad.” You assumed, glancing over at him and making eye contact, causing the hunter to hastily look away, a grunt of irritation passing in response.

Miguel was obviously avoiding your gaze, and you couldn't help but find the large male's attempts rather adorable. You grinned, turning your eyes up to the ceiling, allowing a pleasant silence to fill the room, except for the rhythmic bounce of Miguel's sturdy black boot upon the floorboards. You deeply inhaled, taking in a big whiff of the hunter's cigarette smoke before speaking.

“I believe I know what yer ‘business’ is, hunter...”

Miguel's heart dropped at your words, his blood running cold as every part of his body stilled. His tongue fiddled with the cigarette between his lips as he eyed your tied body, taking notice of your ability to maneuver onto your back, now gazing up at the ceiling.

He took in the sight of you, your waves of beautiful hair spread like a tapestry, creating a soft frame around your head. He clicked his tongue, taking another puff of his cigarette. 

‘This gal is just tryin’ to get under my skin. She don't know a thang.’

Miguel thought, trying to keep a level head. “Vaquera, you don't know what yer talkin’ ‘bout,” he said dismissively, leaning back in his chair and taking his cigarette into his two fingers, exhaling the smoke through his lips.

You hummed, his avoidance only making you want to poke the bear further. “Oh, I believe I do,” you stated, keeping your eyes on the ceiling. 

“Over these past couple of months, yer've been watchin’ me, as I've also been watchin’ you, hunter.” You said in a mysterious voice, Miguel's hardened face faltering at your confession.

A sly grin spread across your lips as you pressed on. “I've read and heard how the great bounty hunter captures and kills many outlaws—never taking him more than a week to complete a bounty and not given a rat's ass about any of ‘em.” You explained. “‘Even toppin’ yer rival, the great, Jessie Owens and her gunslingers on many occasions with yer many arrests.” You chuckled tauntingly.

Miguel felt a mix of emotions, stuck between being flattered and irritated at your constant prodding. He glanced over at you, flicking the ash of his cigarette into the tray, trying to figure out what you were getting at.

The hunter hated when you screwed with his brain and made him feel like a hopeless mutt that you had wrapped around your finger.

He wanted you to get to the damn point…

“And what ‘bout it?” The hunter snarled, glaring daggers at you. You simply giggled as if you weren't being targeted by a raging bull. “Be patient, Miggy, I'm gettin’ there.” You teased, your tone of voice and nickname causing the hunter’s insides to stir.

“What did I tell ya ‘bout that name?” He spat coldly, his voice holding a tone of dominance. You only laughed, struggling over onto your side to get a better view of the hunter. “To not call ya that, but yer should know better than anyone that I don't follow the rules.” You said, giving him a fake pout whilst laying your head upon the soft blanket, trying to find comfort despite being tightly restrained.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your fake pout that he couldn’t help but find adorable. “‘Cause yer've never had proper punishment.” He bluntly stated, his cigarette smoke leaving his lips and nose to further encase the room.

You bit your lip, glancing over at the smoking Latino up and down. “And what punishment is proper in yer eyes, hunter?” You inquired, knowing he'd surely take the bait.

Miguel looked at you, your perfect skin, the way you bite your lip, the sight only causing his breath to catch in his throat. It didn't help how tightly your clothing hugged your body, the rope only further accentuating your figure and leaving nothing to imagination of how you looked underneath all that fabric.

He wanted nothing more than to see you in all your glory…

Your eyes darted down at an evident bulge that poked against the hunter’s black pants, the corners of your lips turning up into a devious grin. The Latino, like you anticipated, took the bait, falling right into your trap.

“A proper punishment is tossin’ ya across my lap and bruisin’ that pretty ass until ya learn to behave.”

The hunter said huskily, desire potent in his western-Latino accentuated voice; however, upon seeing your amused smirk and raised eyebrow at what he'd just confessed, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Just…goes to show that yer parents didn't teach ya how to conduct yerself properly. Anyone would believe the same.”

“Mhm…” You hummed teasingly, unable to hold back from laughing. Miguel scowled at you, hating how you always seemed to make him feel like a schoolboy time and time again. His lust and arousal blinding him so greatly that he’ll forget everything—his duties, the consequences, who you were to him.

You were a damn criminal, a dangerous one at that, with your sharp tongue and killer body that can seduce any and everyone. You did whatever it took to satisfy your own wants and desires, so why the hell was it so troubling for him to detain you?! He'd taken down and killed many outlaws, so why?

The hunter’s hands clenched tightly into fists upon the armrests, his knuckles turning white with tension under his gloves. His mahogany eyes appeared redder with his raging fury. “Stop playin’ ‘round and get to the damn point!” He barked, taking another deep inhale of his cigarette.

You grinned at his satisfying anger, the hunter never disappointing you when it came to him showing how evidently you were pissing him off, but you’ve gotten what you were seeking from him— his previous response answering your prediction.

“Fine, ya fancy me… 

Don't ya, hunter?”

Miguel's heart skipped a beat at your perfect assumption. It took everything in him to hide his emotions—something he'd never had a hard time doing until now.

He scoffed, averting his gaze. “Ya wish, sweetheart.” He coldly said, snuffing out his fifth cigarette into the ashtray and wetting his lips with his tongue.

You chuckled, shifting upon the bed to soothe the growing ache in your wrists due to the tight ropes. “Well, Miggy, a wish or not, you ain't answer my question.” You emphasized, watching his defined jaw clench and his black, gloved hand enter into his pants pocket once more, fishing for his box of cigarettes.

Miguel's entire body was heating up, feeling like the room was closing in on him; it was taking all of his willpower to not do something that could jeopardize his duties. But with you using that nickname he's told you countless times not to address him by, it was causing his pants to become increasingly uncomfortable around his already swelling member.

The hunter's bushy eyebrows tightened, his mahogany cold eyes trained on you. “Outlaws and hunters ‘re like water and oil—we don't mix, it's why we're enemies for goodness sake.” He sternly said, lighting a match to ignite his sixth cigarette. He took a deep inhale of the tobacco, a sigh of contentment passing his lips. “And I've told ya, I don't experience such feelin’ for people, and definitely not ya.”

“But yet, ya do.”

His head instantly snapped over to you, finding your gaze already on him with a grin upon your cherry lips. “And ‘cause ya do, it's tearing ya up inside… 

Ain't it, Miguel?”

A scowl crept upon the hunter's lips, his nose scrunching up in anger at your persistence.

‘What did she want? For me to spill my guts? To see me weak?!’

Miguel pondered, trying to discern your motive behind your pressing questions. He took another huge puff of his cigarette, trying to control himself.

“What game are you fuckin’ playin' at?” He growled, becoming tired of your jokes and giggles.

You laughed, giving him an innocent shoulder shrug, still bound tightly due to his handy skills. “I simply am askin’ questions like yer've allowed me to.” You said, raising an eyebrow from your laid position. “What? Have I struck a nerve?”

Miguel's eyes flashed red at your taunt, and before he could stop himself, he was standing up from his seat and walking over to you. “Don't play fuckin’ innocent with me, smartass” He snarled, his large hand encasing around your throat, effortlessly pulling you up onto your knees on the bed, bringing you face-to-face with him.

A small gasp passed your lips, his grip tight around your throat more in intimidation than harm. You glared back at him due to his sudden rough action, but upon seeing he was clearly holding on by a thread, you couldn't help but give him a flirtatious smile, one that caused his rage to deepen. “What do ya want from me? To see me lose control? To go against my damn duties?!” The hunter shouted, his face trembling in uncontrollable anger. “What ya find pleasure in that? Seeing me lose my shit?”  

“Why, yes indeed... ”

Miguel's eyes widened in disbelief at your confirmation, his anger hastily bubbling back to the surface.  “What the fuck did ya just say?” He said through gritted teeth, his cigarette hanging dangerously low from his lips, its ash dropping close to your face.

Your eyes roamed his facial features, taking in how furious he was, but you were certain his fury wasn't solely from you.

He was frustrated…

Sexually…

It was like you were a slab of meat to him and he was a starving dog. You were teasing him with your mere presence and honestly…you were enjoying it.

You could never understand why you secretly liked this hunter. Yes, he was the best of the best, and it was so fun to watch him blow his top, but it wasn't what truly led you to want to know everything about him—what kept you yearning for another encounter with him.

It wasn't until now that you finally discovered it…

His resilience to temptation was what you adored. How fascinating it'll be if he was to experience even a taste of what he craved.

It was why you allowed him a little bit of fun during your previous interaction; but even still, he was composed, never losing himself in the moment of you down on your knees for him, granting him the relief and satisfaction he so desperately was yearning for.

But you wanted him to forget your roles of hunter and outlaw and give in to his desires.

That's what you wanted from him, needed even.

You bit your lip, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “Ya heard me, hunter. I want ya to give in to yer wants, and if that means losing control…

Then so be it...”

You smirked, watching his cold expression falter to one of surprise at your request. You grinned, never before seeing him so speechless. To entice him further, you leaned in close, your hands still bound tightly behind your back and his gloved one still around your throat, the smell of smoke and his natural musk filling your nose, only exciting you more.

“It'll be so good, Miggy to finally let go—to crave that hunger ya have for me.”

You coaxed in a low whisper, your western accent potent in your voice. Your eyes glanced down to his lips that were pulled into its usual scowl, unable to ignore how enticing they looked.

“You know I won’t stop you..."

Miguel groaned softly, his fingers flexing around your throat as his member twitched inside of his pants, begging him to give in to your words—to submit to his desires. The more you gazed up at him, saying all the right things in that sexy voice of yours…

He was tempted to give in…

“Do ya even know what ya askin’ of me?” He inquired, his eyes full of lust as he removed his cigarette from his lips. You nodded, wanting so much to touch him and persuade him. He was so close to submitting—you could feel it.

“Yes…I want ya, Miguel O’Hara. I’ve wanted ya for a long time.” You honestly said, biting your lip and looking him up and down. "Gosh, I’ve never wanted someone to fuck me so badly.”

“Mierda.” He muttered under his breath, his restraint snapping at your words of desperation as he crashed his lips to yours.

Miguel devoured your mouth in an intensity he’d never felt before. His hand tugging you closer to him by your throat to keep you pressed to him, feeling the softness of your body against his firm one was enough to make him lose it. His tongue penetrated your parted lips, finally tasting you after preventing himself for so long.

It was like he was finally tasting the forbidden elixir of the Wild West. Your sweet scent and lips enveloped him and lingered like the aftertaste of a smuggled bottle of top-shelf whiskey, each moment a clandestine sip that descended him more into the depths of no return.

You moaned softly into his mouth, his hunger being what you’ve wanted for so long. His dominance and lust grew with each interlock of your lips, and when he finally parted, you realized how breathless and aroused you were.

Miguel gazed down at you, breathing heavily while taking in your flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. Every time he saw you, you seemed to become even more breathtaking than before.

You looked back at him, panting and feeling a throbbing in your lower belly that longed to be satisfied. Now that you’ve gotten a taste of the bounty hunter, he was like a drug—his roughness and hunger turning you on more than anyone ever had in your entire life.

You wanted so much to touch him, to caress his sharp jawline decorated with a hint of stubble and feel how painfully hard his member was, but you were still, sadly, restrained—hands bound behind your back with your ankles tied together as well. Miguel ensured you wouldn’t be escaping him tonight upon entering your given room at the inn, but you wished for nothing more than to be released.

Currently, you had no desire to leave…

“Miguel…unbind me.” You requested a little desperately through ragged breaths, causing the hunter to chuckle. “Untie ya? That what ya want?” He inquired with a grin, bringing his cigarette to his lips to take another puff, exhaling the smoke. You nodded, wanting nothing more than to be free, so you could touch him in return.

The hunter saw the eagerness in your expression, bringing a smirk to his lips. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied at finally having power over you for once; it was honestly, a good feeling.

He held his cigarette between his lips, his gloved hand slipping into his pocket to pull out his steel pocket knife, effortlessly cutting through the thick rope that covered your wrists and ankles.

You sighed in relief at the sound of snips, along with subtle fibers separating, soon feeling yourself being freed. Usually, you’d instantly feel the desire to escape, to run for the heels with a huge grin upon your cherry lips at being able to outwit the hunter once more…

But not this time…

Your hands found his waist, caressing his taut skin through the fabric of his black collared top. “I knew ya could have fun.” You teased, bringing a rare smile to the hunter’s lips. He took your face in his hand, bringing you closer to him once more.

“Then saddle up, Muñeca. I’m just getting started.” He whispered, inhaling his cigarette once more before pressing his lips to yours, releasing the smoke into your mouth with each kiss.

The sharp, lingering bitterness of the smoke mingling with each exhale, accompanied by the combination of his sweet lips, created the perfect harmony. Each kiss left you breathless and lusting for him even more.

Miguel groaned softly, his thick gloved fingers moving from your neck to begin unbuttoning your dark blue and brown fringe top, revealing your gorgeous skin and assets that had been teasing him from the first time he’d encountered you.

Leaving your mouth, he trailed his lips along your throat, kissing the sensitive spots and not hesitating to push the dark blue top from your body, exposing your bare chest and stomach to him.

Your eyes fluttered at his kisses as you took the lit cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag and relishing in the serene tingles that filled your head along with Miguel’s kisses, sucks, and nibbles along your skin. You felt Miguel smirk at your action, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone before pulling away.

The sight of you gazing up at him, that playful smile on your lips as you smoked from his cigarette had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen—his cock throbbing in his pants to be released.

“Vas a ser la muerte de mí.” He muttered, his mahogany eyes dark with lust, as they trailed your body. His face of awe—enough to show how he was feeling.

You chuckled at his expression. “I’ll take it you like what you see?” You teased, bringing a toothy grin to the hunter’s lips. “I’ll be lyin’ if I said I didn't.” He chuckled, his large gloved hands cupping your perky breasts in his massive palms—the pair feeling like soft pillows in his hands.

He savored the soft moans that escaped your pretty mouth, capturing each whimper with a peck to your lips, unable to resist how addicting it was to kiss you.

You were aware that the hunter had experience, but it felt like he knew your body like the back of his hand. His massive palms kneaded your supple flesh, switching between soft and rough squeezes, while his fingers flicked and pinched your hardened pebbles.

In your fingers, you held your shared cigarette, eyes half-hooded. With every maneuver of his hands along your chest, your juices spilled down your thighs. “Ya like that?” He asked with a smirk, gripping your breasts tightly, making you cry out. “Mhm, Yes! Just like that,” you gasped, chest heaving with the growing pleasure.

Miguel growled at your words of satisfaction, feeling the need to be released from his clothes—his cock painfully hard inside his pants. “I have something better for ya,” he said, pulling away to remove his black wide-brimmed hat, tossing it across the room, and tugging his shirt over his head.

You bit your lip, your core pulsating at the mere sight of his defined chest. His chiseled pecs, bulging biceps, and toned abs were covered with dark brown hair, each muscle completely taut from his years of being a bounty hunter. Along his torso were faint scars and beauty marks that only emphasized his attractiveness. “Not bad, hunter,” you laughed, giving his body a once-over. Your gaze followed the happy trail of coarse hair that descended from his navel to dip under his pants towards the massive bulge that was begging to be freed from its confines. At the sight, memories of your previous encounter with him filled your mind, causing your juices to further coat your thighs and drip down your legs.

Miguel smiled, savoring the way you were looking him up and down, appreciating his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had experienced this, but it felt good to be admired, especially by you. He noticed your eyes focused on his crotch, prompting a chuckle from him. “Don’t be scared, ya seen it before,” he said tauntingly, making you roll your eyes but unable to hide your small grin.

You crawled towards him, placing the cigarette into your mouth and beginning to unbuckle his belt, maintaining eye contact. “I must say, hunter, I’ve missed this,” you snickered, pulling his pants down to release what you’ve desired since your previous encounter.

The sight still left you speechless…

His fully erect, tanned member was presented in front of you, slightly darker than the olive skin tone of his body. A bush of dark brown coarse hair sat atop his veiny shaft, his tip a Tuscan red, with a protruding vein running along the underside that led to a pair of large, heavy balls. The hunter was definitely above average, being very girthy and long as well. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal soaking through your pants, sullying the dark blue fabric.

Miguel completely adored that look of awe upon your sexy face, leaning down to kiss along your neck while lifting you slightly to lay you down upon the bed.

His teeth and lips sucked marks along your skin that you gladly accepted whilst his heavy shaft rested against your stomach, causing your belly to flutter, and a whimper to escape your lips. “Gosh, I-I can’t wait any more,” you whined, wanting to feel him inside of you, the throbbing of your empty core becoming painful.

Your desperation was music to Miguel’s ears, his body needing you as well. “Then, let’s not wait 'round no more, Cariño.” He effortlessly whipped you around to lay you on all fours upon the bed—your forearms and knees holding your body up as your clothed rear end was thrust into the air, left completely vulnerable to him.

Miguel took in your gorgeous backside, an evident trail of your arousal sprouting down your pants like the trails of a passing storm, nature’s delicate brushstrokes down the dark blue fabric that covered your bottom, the sight making his cock twitch.

He licked his lips, reaching over to remove the lit cigarette from your cherry lips to place it in his, inhaling it as he ran his large hand along your clothed bottom. Your eyes fluttered, the sensations seeming to be heightened due to your inability to see him. The hunter groaned, giving your cheeks a rough squeeze, releasing a moan from your throat.

Fuck, ya perfect,” he whispered, feeling his gloved fingers roam along your clothed, drenched folds, adding slight pressure that caused you to further soil your pants—your essence soaking the fabric even more, and revealing the evident outline of your soppy pussy underneath. Miguel groaned, roaming his hands to squeeze your bare hips and caress your rear, soon returning back to where you wanted him the most.

You whimpered softly, savoring how good he was making you feel until the loud sound of a rip filled the room, causing your eyes to snap open.

A rush of air suddenly made contact with your rear end and throbbing pussy as you looked over your shoulder to see that Miguel had ripped your pants open—granting him a clear view of your heavily dripping core.

You were conflicted, not knowing whether to be angry or even more aroused; however, you weren’t able to respond as the hunter didn’t hesitate to grind his massive length along your dripping folds—the wet sound filling the walls. “O-oh fuck,” you moaned, arching your back and moving in sync with him.

Miguel couldn’t get over how wet you were, his thick cock gliding through your folds, testing your saturation. “Hmm…ready?” he asked in a small growl.

You were only able to muster a broken, "Mhm," in response before feeling his massive tip begin to seep inside of your soaking entrance.

A drawn-out moan passed both of your lips, his gloved hand clenching the remnants of your pants that enclosed around your waist, holding you during his insertion. Once he bottomed-out, it took everything in him to not lose himself in how much your pussy was gripping him, the urge to thrust into you with total abandon being very enticing.

Your fingers gripped the beige blankets tightly, eyes rolled into your skull at how much he was blissfully stretching you. It instantly made your mind go blank.

The pleasure only heightened with his slow slide out and breathtaking slam of his cock back in, releasing a loud mewl to erupt from your throat. With each drag of his member inside your dripping entrance, his force and speed increased until he was brutally fucking you like a rabid animal.

Miguel couldn’t help himself; he tried so hard to take it slow, to not harm you like he feared this whole time, but you were too perfect, he swore you were.

You took him so well, too well, that he became lost in the pleasure. Your exquisite pussy gripped his cock just right with each thrust, his hips smacking loudly against your rear.

The room was filled with the echoing of slapping wet flesh, high-pitched moans, deep grunts, and the loud creaking of the bed.

The scent of sex and smoke was potent as Miguel occasionally took puffs of his cigarette. You didn’t even notice the pleasurable and painful tears streaming down your face at the sheer intensity of his pace—switching constantly from erratic and rough to slow and deep.

The ashes from his cigarette occasionally dropped onto your lower back, burning your skin and sending a sting throughout your entire body. The pain only deepening the extreme sensations coursing through your being. Your brain was scrambled, your body trembling, and already releasing for the second time under his influence.

Miguel groaned, brushing your hair from your shoulder to nuzzle into your neck, inhaling your sweet, natural scent, his pace never ceasing. “Fuck, bebé, you feel so good. Mierda.” He moaned into your ear, his cigarette hanging from his lips, as his praises caused the familiar knots to form in your stomach again.

It seemed Miguel had found the weakness to your witty tongue. With his pace, you couldn’t form a word—whimpers, whines, shrieks, and the occasional cries of his name were the only sounds you could muster.

With any other man, you would have felt pathetic, but with him, you’ve never felt so alive.

With a gasp, Miguel pulled out, flipping you to lie on your back. Your dazed eyes blinked, trying to settle your blurry vision on him.

The hunter gazed down at you, your rosy tear-stained cheeks, messy hair, hickey-filled neck, dripping pussy only arousing him once more. He inhaled the rest of his cigarette, pinching the end to snuff the flame before kissing you, his cock entering your eager hole once more.

You moaned into his mouth, the smoky taste, and his lips only intensifying the burning tension in the pit of your stomach. His thrusts were slow and deep while his mouth ravaged yours, exchanging the smoke of his cigarette with you with each interlock of your lips.

Miguel was feeling himself getting terribly close, his balls becoming painfully tight, every clench of your pussy leaving him twitching; but he needed another orgasm from you.

He groaned into your mouth, your kiss becoming more messy. Saliva dripped from your chins whilst your tongues entwined with each hungry mesh of your lips.

With each kiss, Miguel slowly increased his pace—his coarse hair grinding into your swollen clit, heavy balls smacking into your rear along with his gloved hands gripping your hips, angling himself as he pulled you against him in a frenzy.

Your eyes rolled, moans constantly becoming stuck in your throat with each of his deep thrusts. His member constantly attacked your G-spot, causing you to become a moaning, trembling mess underneath him.

Abruptly, your orgasm crashed into you like a stampede. You cried out Miguel’s name through your climax, spraying your juices in thick spurts, haphazardly, into the air, coating your stomach, thighs, and Miguel’s abs and cock with your essence. The loud sounds of dripping and squelching filled the room upon your orgasm.

At your release, your pussy clutched Miguel’s cock tightly, a blissful rush of tingles coming over him. His thrusts became sporadic and inept following you in your climax.

He hastily pulled out, shooting his creamy, white load upon your stomach with a guttural groan, the veins upon his lower belly and thighs pulsated, his mahogany eyes closed whilst breathless grunts passed his parted lips with each release of his essence.

Your eyes fluttered at the warm sensation as you tried to catch your breath and regain your thoughts and strength after the intense moment, but it was no use…

Miguel had fucked you senselessly.

But it was so worth it.

You’ve gotten what you wanted—the hunter to give in to his desires, to grant you the fucking of a lifetime, and he’d done so and even more.

Miguel climbed on next to you, the bed creaking under his heavy weight as he laid down beside you. His burly arms wrapped around your frail body, pulling you gently to his chest. He found your pants and small tremors utterly adorable as he kissed your bare shoulder. You blinked back the dizziness from your previous encounter, glancing over your shoulder at the hunter to find something you couldn’t believe…

You found love in his eyes…

“You okay?” He asked in his usual gruff voice, stroking his thumb across your rosy, tear-stained cheeks, his mahogany eyes roaming your face with a trace of concern. You scoffed at his expression. “Of course.” You chuckled, noticing that he wasn’t at all breathless and tired as you were—simply lying upon the bed like the two of you weren’t just fucking like two animals in heat.

“Did ya enjoy yourself?” You inquired, turning to face him, but with some struggle—your body already feeling sore. He placed a hand on your hip, caressing you with a smile. “Of course, what was not to love?” He genuinely said, making you raise an eyebrow at the flattery. “Oh really now, is the infamous bounty hunter complimenting me?” You asked teasingly, finding his damp coffee-brown curls clinging to his sweaty forehead rather cute.

At your playful remark, hus grin broadened on his tanned face. “You can keep a secret, can’t ya, sweetheart?” He smirked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Miguel never felt his heart swell so much. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he didn’t want it to ever stop.

You laughed, gazing up at him. “Of course…At a price.” Miguel snickered, anticipating the response, but it still piqued the hunter’s interest. “And what’s that, miel?”

“Don’t turn me in.”

At your words, meant as a joke, Miguel’s heartfelt smile instantly dropped, bringing him back to the reality of the West.

You were an outlaw… 

He was a bounty hunter… 

Bounty hunters and outlaws didn’t mix… 

He’s supposed to take you in…

“Mierda.” He sighed, every happy emotion he felt draining from his face to be replaced with his usual cold expression of a scowl and dead mahogany eyes.

“Miggy?” You called out to him, your eyebrows furrowed. “Are ya okay?” You inquired, your turn now to ask about his well-being, but it was met with silence.

Miguel had never felt more disheartened and conflicted. He adored his job as a bounty hunter, the thrill of the hunt and the ability to use his exceptional skills to track down any criminal for a hefty amount of gold and cash, but you made him question everything…

It’ll be hypocritical of him to chase down outlaws like a damn dog, arrest them or either kill them depending on their crimes, and do neither to you.

You were a criminal, you’ve robbed and stole from many, and have taken a few heads with you along the way.

But fuck…

He couldn’t bring himself to hurt you or arrest you.

So he’d returned back to the question once more.

What should be done with you…?

He turned over to look at you, taking in your troubled eyes that gazed back at him. His hardened expression softened at your face that showed genuine interest in him in return.

Or were you playing him once more…

The hunter reached out, cupping your cheek in his large gloved one, the action instantly making your heart warm. You leaned into his palm, eyes trained on him. “Ya thinkin’ again. Ain’t ya?” You asked, heaving a sigh.

Miguel stroked your face with his thumb, relishing in how soft your skin was. “How can I not? This is goin’ against everythang I stand for.” He uttered, but unable to pull his hand away, and neither did you wish him to.

Even though you were used to the seduction of many men—only sleeping with most of them for survival or for a means to escape, but now…

You desired the hunter, despite him being your enemy.

He’d killed and arrested many people like you— did it without a blink of an eye, but instead of feeling fearful of that, it oddly, only made you want him more.

You placed a hand on his chest, delicately tracing patterns along the curves of his chiseled and ruggedly hairy pecs, a comforting silence enveloping both of you. Miguel’s deep sigh of contentment escaped his lips as his large hand moved from your face to tenderly stroke your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

“Yer never answered my question.” Your western accent filled the room once more, looking up at him. Miguel's bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mind a little foggy due to your mere closeness and touch. “What question?” He asked, glancing down at you, his confusion making you giggle. “Gosh, how did I remember and not ya?” You playfully teased, believing he’d previously scrambled your brain to no return, instead, it seemed you’ve done so to the hunter.

The corners of his tightly drawn lips twitched to a smirk. “I was just…lost in the moment.” Miguel replied. “But what’s the question I didn’t answer?”

“If ya fancy me or not.” You stated, the hunter’s heart jumping at the reappearance of the question. He grunted, his burly arm enclosing around your waist possessively, pressing his firm body against your soft, supple one. “I shouldn’t...” He whispered with a heavy sigh, feeling with each passing second, he was doing what he’d told himself he’d never do.

Love… 

Feel…

“But ya do.” You retorted once more, cupping his face. “So whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?” You asked playfully with a grin.

That smile—that smile was everything to the hunter and always made his heart flutter and his stomach to stir. “That’s what I’m debatin’ in my head, Cariño.” The Latino sighed. “For the first time, in a long time, I don’t know what the hell to do.” A troubled expression crossed the hunter’s face, making you feel sorry for him—you’ve never seen him so conflicted.

"What's yer head sayin'?" You asked, already knowing the answer. "To take yer fine ass in," he replied in a gruff voice, tightening his grip around you, as if he never could let you go.

You hummed, feeling him rest his chin upon your head, another sigh passing his lips. "And how 'bout this?" You asked next, placing a hand over his right pec, where his heart resided.

"What's that cold heart of yer's tellin’ ya?"

Miguel's mahogany eyes snapped down at you, your inquiries seeming to punch him in the gut each time. He kept your gaze, staring into your intrigued orbs.

The hunter wet his lips before cupping your chin between his gloved fingers, leaning close to you, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes roamed your face before allowing his heart to speak the words he'd been holding in for so long.

"To make ya mine."

Miguel said, his mahogany eyes never leaving yours. "I wanna take care of ya, not allow ya to have to steal another coin in yer entire life," the hunter uttered, his fingers caressing your chin and jaw. "I wanna protect ya, love ya, ride alongside ya in the desert—not as enemies with an intent to capture ya…, 

But as lovers…"

You stared back at the infamous and cold bounty hunter, not quite believing the confession pouring from his lips.

In all your life of being an outlaw and criminal, you've had moments where you've tangled in the sheets with a few individuals, them speaking similar things as the hunter did, but you never felt the same. Simply flashing them a grin, and upon them falling asleep, hastily finding the nearest exit and riding off into the sunset. However, right now...

You didn't want to run.

"Ya sure?" You asked with a smirk. "I'm quite the handful." You said, tucking a curl of his damp coffee brown hair behind his ear. Your words caused a deep rumble of laughter to erupt from the hunter, one that surprised him. His mahogany eyes that usually held death and coldness in them, now were full of love and affection.

"I reckon I've always been fond of a good challenge." The hunter said, pressing his lips to the top of your head, his kisses always bringing a wave of warmth to spread throughout your body. "I figured as much." You giggled, meeting his loving gaze. "But let me let ya in on a 'lil secret." You grinned, beckoning him closer with a finger. Miguel raised an eyebrow, a small smile upon his lips as he leaned in, awaiting your next words.

"I've always had a soft spot for ya, hunter."

You said in a low whisper, the Latino swiftly pulling away in shock, meeting your eyes to find any sign of deceit, but either you were playing him again, or you were genuine. Either way, his heart swelled at your confession.

"So…whatcha tryin' to do, vaquera?" He asked, his duties, reputation, or him being a hypocrite vanishing to the back of his head. Your confession tugged at him more than he'd expected. It was something he'd always secretly wanted, needed even—for his oppressed affections and missed arrests to not have been for nothing.

That after all this time of exchanging bullets and cutthroat words, you actually felt the same…

The hunter still couldn't wrap his head around the fact you fancied him in return, but he was certain he was willing to do anything for you in this moment.

You flashed him a grin, knowing his duties as a bounty hunter were tied to his very soul, unable to separate from him as your troublesome nature was with yours. "Then how 'bout we try this whole… secret lovers thing, eh?" You proposed, caressing the side of his thick neck and along his broad shoulder.

Miguel hummed at your touch, deep down liking the idea very much. He wanted nothing more than to experience moments with you that didn't end with guns being drawn. "I'll be willin' to give it a go." The hunter replied, not knowing how much his agreement made your heart soar.

You hastily pressed your lips to his, capturing him in a passionate kiss. Miguel smiled, kissing you back with much fervor and pulling you on top of him. His hands caressed your soft flesh while you straddled his hips. Your kiss swiftly became more heated and intense as a small groan escaped the hunter's lips, soon feeling something hard brushing against your thigh.

You parted from him with a laugh, glancing down to find he was heavily aroused once more before meeting his eyes. "Ya want me again, hunter?" You asked in a sultry voice, causing a huge grin to spread across his lips, a sight still so foreign from his usual deep scowl.

"Always…"

He uttered, cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a long searing kiss. Your evident adoration for each other felt in each deep interlock of your lips.

And in that moment, the hunter knew he loved you, as you knew you loved him in return…

“Ya sure it’s him?”

The rough western accent of a woman uttered through the quiet of the night, the breeze brushing along her ebony skin and running through her thick, black curls.

“Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt,” the older male replied. “Yeah, he was lookin’ real close with that outlaw back at the saloon, a lil’ too close if ya know what I mean,” the other added, causing a growl to escape the woman’s crimson lips.

“What the fuck are you doin’ Miguel?”

She hissed under her breath, her gloved thumb spinning the caliber of her pistol in thought.

“So…Jessica…what’s the plan?

We gettin’ rid of him?”

“Nay…” Jessica Owens replied, whipping around to look at the two gunslingers. Her cold amber eyes bore into them through her black eyeglasses, and the two straightened up under their leader's harsh gaze.

“I wanna see this for myself…”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!! I know I've already mentioned it, but gosh, I enjoyed writing this, and to confirm, yes, there will be a part 2. 🧡🐴

Honestly, along with my other stories, Entangled Desires (The kink series), and requests, there is a lot that I'll like to get done, so please be patient with me lol. 😅 Once again, thank you so much, bestie, @amariiyagurl for the idea. Love you so much girlie!! 🫶🏾🫶🏾

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe! 🤎🧡

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[draculasfavoritewife]

Touch Me Please

Summary: Aftereffects can be painful to work through by yourself, and a little help from your partner can be a godsend.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Unwanted touch from a gross man, initial lack of communication, suggestions of a panic attack. Extended sequence of getting handsy in the shower. Possessive! Din.

I will never tire of writing shower scenes ❤️‍🔥. I love the thought of Mando's partner sometimes going undercover to flush out particularly oily bounties. And I really don't know what came over me for this one's ending...I have to blame my senselessness on the utter chokehold this man has on me hehe.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I had it handled."

Din gives no response to your annoyed statement, simply lowers himself on one knee to yank his vibroblade from deep in the throat of the male Twi'lek on the floor, whose body has just barely ceased twitching.

You angrily stalk towards him, wrenching your chain along in one hand, your own knife still humming loudly in the other. "Don't you tune me out, Mando," you warn, using his professional alias as much out of displeasure as necessity. "I. Had it. Handled. But no, you just HAD to have things done your way. And now he's dead and we have to make a run for it."

"Warm or cold, makes no difference," he says gruffly, still not looking at you. He's a little too focused on the prone body of the asset, and you briefly wonder what's bothering him.

He doesn't usually act so impulsively when you're undercover.

With an exasperated snort, you shake your head and turn your attention to your modified slave collar, pressing the hidden release so it falls away, leaving you unchained once more. "This was a waste."

"We got what we came for." He rises and hefts the dead man across his wide shoulders with breathtaking ease, indicating the doorway with a sharp jerk of his head. "Let's get out of here before too many of his lackeys come looking for him."

You sheathe your knife and pull his pulse rifle from its holster on his back. He doesn't object.

He can tell you might need to disintegrate a few lowlifes before it's safe to hold a conversation with you again.

Your escape goes smoothly, more so than the actual mission, ironically, and soon the two of you are standing in the ship's hold, watching the carbonite seal over your latest asset. Din is acutely aware of how close you are to him, all his senses on high alert as his religiously conditioned mind struggles to process how you can just STAND THERE so exposed. Your slave dancer disguise is perfect, as far as it can be called a disguise.

As much as the pair of you shares under cover of darkness, he's never really seen so much of your skin before, bared between little more than straps of leather and the drape of filmy netting. He has to remind himself repeatedly that you consider yourself dar'manda.

He wonders too, if you'd done jobs like this before your partnership. Not once did he see anything in your stride that betrayed your discomfort. Images flash through his head unbidden, of the way you moved before your new "master", of how you remained still and silent even as that crime lord TOUCHED you....

Din Djarin is a controlled man. So his admittedly violent and perhaps unnecessary reaction to seeing that filth's hands straying -- too close to areas of you that belong only to him -- has him slightly shaken, though he'd never say so.

Does he regret having buried his blade in that scum's neck for his sins, for trying to take what's his?

No.

He doesn't.

He finally emerges from his brooding at the sound of your voice beside him. "I'm not angry at you, Din." Everything from this mission has finally caught up with you, drowning the adrenaline in exhaustion. "I just wish you trusted me more. I know I don't look dangerous like this --" you gesture down your mostly unclad form, not seeing the Mandalorian's gaze subtly follow, "-- but I can take care of myself. I had to, for a long time. I was in control, not him."

"I know." His voice comes out cold; he's struggling to keep himself from unloading all his confusion and dismay on you at once. "I do trust you, Cyar'ika. I just...."

You wait, but it's like waiting for a stone wall to open up for you.

Nothing gives.

Normally you would gently cajole that stone wall into eventually breaking down, but you just don't have the capacity to do so at the moment.

"I'll be in the 'fresher if you need me," you sigh, turning away. "I need a shower and a change of clothes."

He says nothing, and you don't invite him along.

For the first time in a while, the silence that falls between you two is taut, barely stretched over spiking emotions that are too rampant to reach the air.

The feeling of hot water pounding into your skin clears your head as it always does, letting your patience recharge and your frustrations bleed away down the drain. Sense slowly begins to reclaim your thoughts, and you let your mind drift as you wash away the scent of smoke and spice, your fingertips trailing absently across your body as new questions rise of their own accord.

You can't understand why you feel disappointed.

The job went well. It doesn't matter in the wider scheme of things whether you were the one to acquire the asset or Din, not really. You both get paid the same.

Were you simply hoping for more of a reaction to your dancer outfit from your laconic partner?

Your hand slips in the water, brushes over your ribcage. It's one of your favorite places to find Din's hands lingering when the two of you are half-awake in bed, your skin sensitive enough there that the calluses on his fingertips still raise shivers from you every time.

But to your disgust, this time it isn't his hand you feel on your body, but the memory of a much different hand, one with overlong nails searching for something that isn't meant for it. A hand that's been dead for over an hour now, but the sensation is still there, and not only there, but trailing down your neck, slithering around your waist, loitering a moment too long atop your thigh, and you can't keep back the sound of horror that forces its way up your throat.

You feel disgusting and helpless with the mere idea of those hands crawling your body.

And all you know is you need it gone now.

Desperately.

So as the sensations continue to heighten unpleasantly, you do the only thing you can think of.

"...Din?"

His footsteps are swift, and he's in the 'fresher before you even need to call for him a second time. You can see his hulking dark form outlined through the frosted door panel.

"What's wrong?" He sounds concerned.

"I...." You pause and take a deep breath. "I need you, Din. Please."

He doesn't protest, doesn't question you. The lights go out and you hear the clack of the beskar as he strips and sets it aside. Scant moments later, he's under the water with you, solid and familiar and radiating heat, and you're suddenly so needy for his touch it's all you can do to keep from throwing yourself at him.

"What do you want from me?" he breathes, water dripping from his hair down to your face.

"You." Most times you're a playful flirt, but this time you have no room left for games. You just want him to remind you who you really belong to. There will be time for other things later. "I want to feel your hands on me, Din. I need to get the feeling of that miserable scum off of me. Touch me, please."

He pulls you into him, a tad more roughly than usual. "Where, Cyar'ika?"

You melt into the welcome haven of his chest, your hands immediately finding their way to some of the more distinctive scars that ridge his skin. "Anywhere you want, my Love."

He's ravenous in his compliance, all but devouring you with his touch, lips joining his hands as he focuses first on your throat and shoulders.

It's as if he's as desperate for the contact as you are, and suddenly his strange actions become clear to you, as his hands flawlessly overrun all of the places where the other man had been.

He took note of every single unwelcome caress, each one still burning in his mind's eye, each movement of foreign hands a wrong against you and him that cries out to be righted.

And so he follows that path diligently, his heated touch obliterating any claim that vermin tried to make on his sacred space, reconquering everything you offer him like the Mandalorians of old.

You're surrounded by him, blind in the dark and the steadily falling water, held flush against his body, your senses reduced to purely touch and hearing as he growls broken phrases in Mando'a into your skin.

"I've never seen you so territorial," you huff out in a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips, as his pause in their journey across the landscape of you.

"Why?" you ask the well-loved chamber of his mouth.

"For my actions. I let my jealousy rule me in the moment and I offended you." He lifts you in his arms, your back resting against the 'fresher wall and your arms wrapping around his neck. You settle into the new position with a happy hum, letting your hips kiss his and feeling his hands slide down the backs of your thighs in reply.

"But seeing that son of a Hutt with his hands all over you like that --" his forehead comes to rest against yours. "That did something to me I can't explain."

One of your hands finds its way into his hair as the other gently scratches across his muscular back, making him sigh.

"Thank you, Din."

You can FEEL the curious eyebrow raise.

"For caring so much. For coming to my rescue when I need you -- every time. Next time," you add, mischief creeping back into your tone, "we can reverse the roles, if you'd rather. I can think of a lot of people who'd pay an exorbitant amount for a dancing Mandalorian. Think of that -- you, dressed in that get-up, but with the helmet still on, of course -- that would intrigue any crime lord, all right."

"You sound like you've imagined that more times than you should have," he chides teasingly.

Your only response is a soft laugh, though you do press yourself more insistently against him and give his hair a suggestive tug.

"Hmm. Someone's still not satisfied." He lets you slide from his embrace back to the floor, and you whine with disappointment, though to your relief all echoes of unwanted hands have dissipated.

Now you're just left hungry for more of HIM.

"Hush, Mesh'la, I'm not refusing you." The extra grit in his lowered voice suggests he wants more as well. His thumb brushes across your lips, rough and sensual. "I just think it would be more...pleasant to finish this in my quarters, don't you? Cold water and romance don't always go so well together if the heat runs out."

You nip at his thumb and smirk. "Thinking as always, Djarin."

"About you, at any rate." He falls quiet abruptly as he pulls away, as if abashed that such a flippant admission actually left his lips.

You laugh and duck back under the water. "Go. Get your hair dry and whatever else you need so I don't see your face. I'll get out when I hear you leave."

He starts to open the door, then suddenly thinks twice and is upon you once again, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips and his lips grazing your collarbone.

"You're beautiful," he grates out in a rush. "And I can't stop thinking about you in that costume. I just thought you should know that."

You sigh into his firm hold, a sinful idea taking delightful shape in your mind.

"How about I dance for you then, Din Djarin? Would you like to see that, ner'alor?"

The breath leaves his lungs all at once in a sharp exhale. "Yes, Mesh'la. Dance for me."

When he finally goes, you're left to finish your shower with an overwhelming ache for him and some very tempting plans turning over in your head.

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian; separated from one's heritage

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

[navybrat817]

Your landlord is elusive. You've been calling him for weeks about the broken washing machine, your rent checks have gone uncashed, and you can't even leave a voicemail.

When he finally shows up, bloody and bruised, it seems there's more than the washer to tend to.

Oh, this is long overdue.

You Get What You Pay For

Pairing: God the Bounty Hunter x Female Reader Summary: Your landlord shows up expectedly after weeks of radio silence and prefers a different form of payment as you patch him up. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Injuries, b/lood, v/iolence, implied n/oncon (you have been warned), God the Bounty Hunter (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: For Roo and @the-slumberparty 's May challenge. Prompt in bold italics. Beta read by @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

"I’m sorry, but the mailbox you are trying to reach is full."

With a sigh, you hung up the phone and took your laundry basket to the bathroom. Your landlord hadn’t answered a single call of yours in weeks, which was about how long you had gone without a working washing machine. And because you couldn’t leave a message and didn’t know how to fix it yourself, you had to resort to washing your clothes in the tub. You refused to go into town to use the laundromat or call someone to repair it. Not because you didn’t have the money to pay, but because you didn’t want anyone to see your face.

He wouldn’t know to look for me here though, would he?

You suddenly missed your old apartment as you turned the water on. It was warm and cozy, the opposite of the cold, quiet place you now occupied. You tried to brighten it up with flowers, but the house wasn’t a home. Maybe one day, years from now, you could go back to the city.

If it was ever deemed safe enough for you to return.

Your stomach sank as you pulled up your bank account to check the balance. It was much higher than it should have been. Not only was your landlord not answering his phone, but he hadn’t cashed a single one of your rent checks. The instructions were clear that he didn’t accept direct deposit or cash from tenants. Only checks made out to a rental property. Thankfully you opened a new account before you found the place, knowing better than to use your old account in case anyone checked it for paper trails.

Why isn’t he cashing my checks?

You shut the water off and got to work, doing your best not to let your mind race. Was your landlord ignoring you? Possibly. He was a bit of an enigma. A handsome man, but still an enigma. In fact, you had only seen him once and he told you to call him God when he introduced himself. The cold look in his blue eyes told you it wasn’t a joke as he unceremoniously put the keys in your hand.

“Welcome home.”

What if he found out what I did? Will he kick me out? Where will I go? What if someone found out I'm living here and went after him? If something happened to him because of me…

You had gone most of your life with keeping your head down and minding your own business, but it wasn't living. Opportunities slipped by because you either played it safe or didn't have the means to otherwise. So you got a little bold and maybe a little greedy. Why else had you stolen from a powerful man? He wasn’t a good man and you didn’t think he’d notice anything missing, but that was no excuse to rob him. You should’ve known he didn’t miss a thing.

And I was so careful until he caught me.

"I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch."

Looking back, you weren’t sure how you managed to get away. It was all a blur. He didn't call the cops. He wanted to take care of you himself. If he ever got his hands on you, he’d tear you apart before you begged for death. Because no one who crossed him lived to tell their tales. How far would he go to find you? What if he found God and made him an offer to sell you out?

Maybe it was time for you to move on to another place.

"First aid kit."

You spun around and caught yourself before you fell to the ground, your heart in your throat. In the doorway stood the very man you were trying to get ahold of, his short brown hair disheveled and sporting a black eye and blood on the corner of his mouth. Were you so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him enter the house? Or was he that quiet?

"Are you going to help me or stare at me?" he asked, clutching his ribs as he took a step inside. "And here I thought you were a hospitable tenant."

"Sorry," you whispered, tightening your robe. He hardly gave you any room as you got the kit out from under the sink. The bathroom wasn’t that small, so why was he practically on top of you? "Here, let me help."

You carefully guided him to the toilet, but he didn't seem to need your help. Even sitting down, his size and presence intimidated you. Was that blood on his torn shirt? And his jeans, too?

What the hell happened to him? Or does that blood belong to someone else?

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he answered dryly. "You should see the other guy."

You weren't going to push for him to say more.

He didn’t flinch as you cleaned the blood from his face. He didn’t take his eyes off you either as you carefully looked him over. You tried to ignore his stare, but the silence grew more uncomfortable with each second that passed.

"Why are your clothes in the bathtub?" he asked, surprising you by yanking on the tie to your robe. It, thankfully, didn’t open. "You know there's a washer for that."

"I'm aware that there's a washer, but it isn't working and you didn't answer your phone," you said, keeping your tone light instead of accusatory.

"Is that right? And you couldn't use the laundromat in town until you could get in touch with me?" he asked, an amused look in his eyes as you went rigid. Why did that gaze make you more uncomfortable than his previous dull stare? "I’ll look at it later. Sure it won’t take me long to fix it."

“I appreciate that," you said, wondering when you should mention the uncashed rent checks. "But let's get you taken care of first."

He grunted before he removed his shirt, tossing the garment in the tub with your clothes. "What’s one more, right?" he asked, sitting back and gesturing to his muscular torso littered with bruises and minor cuts. "Don’t think they’re too bad, but I’d prefer if you check."

"You do know I’m not a nurse, right?" you asked, even as you moved to look him over. There was a particularly dark bruise by his ribs, which was likely why he held them as he walked in. "just saying in case you wanted a professional opinion or if anything is really sore."

He hummed as your fingertips brushed along his skin. "Told you I'm peachy. And I'm sure you would’ve made a fine nurse if you really wanted to be one."

Your heart thudded in your chest at his use of the past tense, like you would never get the chance. Maybe your paranoia was getting the better of you. It was a simple statement. It didn’t mean a thing.

"School can be pretty expensive though," he went on with a tilt of his head. "Is that what kept you back? Finances?"

Your stomach turned at the question. He didn't blink and you hoped your expression didn't give your nerves away. Did he know? If he did, why dance around it?

"May I ask what happened?" you questioned as he furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry. It's none of my-"

"I killed some people."

Tension spiked in the small room, a nervous laugh escaping as you tried to figure out if he was joking or not. Dry humor occasionally went over your head. "You what? Y-You killed some people?"

"Yeah, I did. I kill a lot of people. Usually for money." he said unemotionally, clamping a hand around your wrist when you tried to pull away. "Not why I did it this time."

The ring on his third finger dug into your skin as you fought down the bile rising to your throat. He wasn't just an enigma. He was a killer. A man who spoke so casually about murder. Were you about to become his next victim? "Are you going to kill me?"

"Now why would I do that?" he asked as he stood, keeping a firm grip on you as he backed you against the sink, your legs almost giving out. "After everything I did for you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I didn't do my research on you? I can spot when someone's on the run, sweetheart. Though I didn't peg you for a thief," he answered as your eyes brimmed with tears. The sight didn't seem to inspire any sympathy considering he smiled. "You stole money from a powerful man. Dangerous, too. And you really thought hiding out here would save you?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, finding it harder to breathe as he stepped closer. It wasn't an empty apology. You made a stupid mistake. "I tried to give it back, but he-"

"I don't care why you did it," he dismissed, toying with the tie of your robe again. "He was an asshole who robbed people blind for years. I did the world a favor by killing him."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "He's really gone?" you asked, shaking a bit when he yanked the robe open. "What are you doing?"

"I killed him and his bodyguards before they could get to you. They got a few lucky hits in. Stroked their egos a bit before I took them out," he went on like he hadn't heard you, grazing his fingertips along your skin. "I took a big risk going after him for you. Very high profile."

"I didn't ask you to do that," you tried to reason.

"And since no one paid me and you kind of owe me for saving you," he continued, his fingers stopping just above your mound. "I decided I'm going to keep you."

You weren't sure if it was a form of shock you were experiencing because your mind screamed at you to fight, but you couldn't move. You could hardly find the word to speak. "Keep me?"

"Yeah. Keep you. Gets lonely sometimes," he shrugged, gazing unashamedly at your exposed chest. "Plus I wanted to fuck you the moment you showed up here. Now I can whenever I want."

Your eyes widened as he lifted his gaze to yours, a flash of darkness in his eyes when you tried, and failed, to shove him back. "You can't just keep me!" you blurted out, trying not to panic. You couldn't stay trapped there with him. Was he delusional in thinking you'd agree to that?

"Did you not hear what I said? I saved your life. You should be thanking me," he said, frowning when you glanced toward the door. Maybe you could break free. "What, you think you can run away? Get help? No one is going to save you from me."

He was right. You had no one to go to. What if you did and he went after them? Who would help you when you couldn't help yourself?

"Please, let me go," you begged, your tears spilling over as he spun you to face the mirror. You hissed as your hips dug into the counter, but your discomfort didn't matter to him. "You can have the money. All of it. I won't tell anyone. I swear!"

"I don't want your money," he said, kicking your feet apart. You felt his arousal as he pressed against you and it was enough to make you whimper. "Why do you think I haven't cashed your checks?"

"God, please," you said, shutting your eyes when he wrapped his hand around your throat. You didn't want to see his dark desire in the reflection.

"You'll say that again before I'm done with you and you'll watch as I take my first payment," he promised, your heart dropping as your new reality began to sink in. "Now be good and welcome me home."

Oh, what have I done? Love and thanks for reading!

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