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greenwitchfromthewoods · 1 month

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toxin. l Joel Miller

Summary: (dark!Joel Miller) your relationship wasn't healthy, something had to change

Warnings: +18, smut, angst, swearing, abusive relationship, crying, mention of violence, fingering, breeding and praise kink, miscarriage, toxic relationship, mention of blood

A/N: I don't know how this scribble came to be. I have allowed this thought to develop in my head, but I know full well that it's not perfect. I hope you'll be gentle with me. I’m sorry for any mistakes. I secretly hope you like this story. special thanks for listening to me @missannwinchester

He was like a toxin. He got under your skin, you had him in your blood, in your lungs, in your brain. You breathed him. You let him in. You let him take over you, make you dependent on him.

He found you without a problem. He fed you with himself. He graciously let you satiate yourself to your limits. And then he exceeded them and left you thirsty for more.

You were addicted to him, but you didn't want to admit it. Thirsty for something more than vegetation in QZ. Hungry for feelings, you didn't want to admit to yourself the havoc he was wreaking on your life and mind.

You felt used up when you crawled out of his arms, when you stopped feeling the taste of his lips on yours, when you washed his fingerprints off you. But no matter what happened, no matter what you heard or what decisions you made, you always showed up at the door to his apartment when he called.

You allowed him to do a lot. Your skin knew his gentle and rough touch, kisses and bites, caresses and slaps. He took your breath away. He brought you to a state where you couldn't take any more. You begged with tears in your eyes for him to have mercy on you, when your mind almost screamed "more!".

You didn't exist without him. He was your beginning and he was definitely going to be the end. But you didn't know how painful it would be.

You showed up at the QZ clinic only when the contractions were getting stronger and you saw blood in your panties. Everyone avoided this place, and you had a hard time getting there, exhausted from lack of sleep. But what you heard completely swept you off your feet.

"It's a miscarriage." The man with a gray face and a few days of stubble wrote something down in the chart. "It happens. Your body wasn't strong enough to sustain the pregnancy. Alcohol? Drugs? What did you take?" All you managed to do was shake your head and mumble a quiet "Nothing."

The man in the white coat looked at you carefully and sighed.

"It happens." He repeated as if this one sentence closed the whole issue. "Poor nutrition, work, stress. All of these things affect the course of pregnancy. But you... You didn't know about it, did you?"

No. You didn't. Your body played a joke on you. Your period was late for a while, but you didn't pay much attention to it. That's what happens sometimes.

It happens.

You returned home after being given some medication, but none of it could help you with what you were feeling. Emptiness. Your mind couldn't comprehend or understand it. You didn't know what you were feeling or what you should feel.

Pregnancy. Baby. Joel's baby.

His face appeared in your eyes in an instant. You hadn't seen him in over a week. You weren't looking for him, he always found you. But should you even mention it to him?

"Fuck..." you groaned as you lay down on the bed that creaked under your weight.

Joel would be furious. Your relationship wasn't romantic, it was more like a meeting with a drug dealer who gave you something that only made you feel high for a moment. He was a smuggler, the best, but you also knew he could be ruthless. He always got what he wanted, and if not, he took it by force. He didn't hesitate, he didn't think twice.

His strength made you feel safe. At least that's what you thought. Your body was a small price you paid for this feeling.

You wondered if he was fucking you here or at his place, and that's where he put that baby inside you. He definitely didn't plan on it. Joel Miller would never want to have a baby with anyone, and certainly not with you. You would be just a burden to him, not to mention a squealing infant.

A baby.

Did it know from the beginning of its existence that it wasn't wanted? Certainly not by his father, because you still couldn't define what you were really feeling. You saw children in Boston. Of course they were still being born, otherwise humans would have died out long ago.

You imagined this little creature that you could hold in your arms, whose warm body would lie on your chest, whose quiet babbling would fill the joy of your apartment.

Tears pressed painfully into your eyes, and your throat constricted in a dull sob. You were at rock bottom, there was nothing lower.

He showed up after more than a month. Suddenly, someone grabbed your hand on the street, and you immediately sensed that it was him.

"Are you looking for me?" he asked, moving closer to you.

You immediately felt intoxicated. The toxin began to seep into your ear.

"When did you come back?" you asked, your fingers tangling together.

"Two days ago." he replied, his other hand brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your face. "Did you miss me?"

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

You avoided answering his question, feeling that you would start to drown.

"Even more. But I won't bother your pretty little head with that. Do you have time?"

You did. You had been preparing for his arrival for a long time. But you were still afraid.

You took him to your apartment, because it was closer. As soon as the door closed behind you, his hands landed on you. Your back rested against his chest as his lips kissed your neck. You rolled your eyes.

The toxin was seeping into your system. Slowly.

"I missed you." the first lie "I've wanted to feel you for so long. Fuck... You smell like something sweet. What is it?"

"Flower soap." you replied, your hands clumsily trying to untie his grip "I managed to get in a while ago. Joel, I think we need to talk."

"Later, now I want you... Hey!"

You freed yourself from his arms and moved away to a safe distance. You saw the surprise in his eyes. Eventually, however, he cleared his throat and placed his hands on his hips.

"Okay then. Do you want to talk? Let's talk then."

"Joel, I..."

You were speechless. You had been preparing for so long, and now that you saw him in front of you, you couldn't find your voice.

His brow furrowed, he stared at you intently, but eventually he spoke.

"Have you lost your tongue?" he asked, "Listen, Y/N. We can talk later, right? There's no rush."

He took a step towards you, but your legs moved too, only in the opposite direction. He tilted his head, watching you with interest.

"Are we going to chase each other around the room now?" he asked.

"I wanted to..."

"To talk, I know. You've already said that." he interrupted you with a smile, "But you still don't get to the point."

"I'm leaving, Joel."

Your words hung in the air between you.

"Oh, are we going to do this again?" he finally sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is this some fucking foreplay? Jesus! How many times have you said that?"

A lot. You knew exactly what he meant. You had said hundreds of times that you were leaving. Sometimes you had even shouted it at him. And then he would catch you, you would thrash around in his arms like a fish.

"Fuck you, Joel! Let go of me!" you would scream.

So he would throw you on the couch or the bed, and then fuck you almost until you were unconscious. Your brain couldn't think rationally anymore, and leaving him was impossible.

The toxin was spreading through your system.

You couldn't leave him. He would never let you do that.

"It's different now." You replied.

"Oh, really?" Joel sneered. "What have you thought up now, sweetie? What's going on in that sweet head of yours?"

"Something's changed. When you disappeared... Something happened."

A heavy stone fell into your stomach. You felt the tips of your fingers go ice cold.

"What happened?" he asked slowly, folding his arms across his chest. "Did you meet someone? Some fucking prick? Huh?"

You shook your head.

"Then what? What happened, Y/N? Spit it out!"

"I was pregnant."

Your lips barely moved, but you finally said it out loud. You could see Joel trying to understand what you had just said. His dark eyes followed your every move as if he was trying to catch you in a lie, but he couldn't find anything. He gulped.

"With who?"

"W-What?"

"Who were you pregnant with? Did you fuck someone?!" he roared.

His whole body tensed. At that moment, Joel was simply terrifying.

"Only with you." You replied, surprised. "That baby was yours..."

"Are you sure?" You nodded. "Fuck! You couldn't do one thing right? You had to get pregnant, right?" He grabbed his head and exhaled loudly.

"Oh! It's my fault now, right?!" You snorted angrily. "I got myself pregnant! Why would I do that, idiot? To create a perfect and happy family with you? Don't be ridiculous!"

You didn't want to laugh, but it just happened. Joel's reaction didn't surprise you at all. It was just as you imagined it. He wanted to blame everything on you, as if you had done everything on purpose.

"I had a miscarriage, asshole!" you continued "While you were running around, I was in the clinic because I thought I was going to die from the pain."

"But you're alive."

"No thanks to you."

He nodded.

"So what do you expect from me now?" he asked, spreading his arms "Am I supposed to apologize to you? Marry you?"

"Fuck, no!" you winced at the thought "I don't want anything from you, Joel. Although... Maybe you can do one small thing for me. Get the fuck out!"

You felt strong. For the first time in a long time. You saw and felt everything clearly. Your body was fighting, your mind was clearing.

But Joel wasn't going to give you up that easily. You were his. You belonged to him. He couldn't imagine you leaving and taking away his power.

No, he loved it. He loved your submission, your devotion and loyalty. He loved that you always came back, no matter how he treated you.

Times like these could only create relationships like this. And you were made for him, just perfect.

"Listen." he began, his voice seemed softer, friendlier "Let's start again. We should calm down, look at it all from a different perspective. Maybe... Just maybe, what happened is a new chance for us."

"What do you mean?" you frowned and crossed your arms over your chest "What chance?"

"For us." he approached you slowly "We didn't plan this, did we? Maybe if I was here everything would have been different?"

"The doctor said my body was too weak..." you mumbled quietly.

"Poor baby." His hand tenderly touched your cheek, he noticed with satisfaction your almost natural reflex of snuggling up to it "You need someone to take care of you, don't you? You need a strong arm, support, tenderness... You know that with me you will find all of this, only I love you so much."

"D-Do you love me?"

This was something new. Such words had never left his lips before. Something strange quivered in your chest. Both of his hands were already resting on your neck, and his thumb tenderly stroked your cheek.

"Only a fool would not love such a wonderful woman as you, darling." He replied smiling "Look at yourself! You are beautiful, smart, caring." His lips approached yours, lightly touching them "You are perfect. Only for me. You would be a perfect mother to my children."

Something gripped you tightly inside. The toxin was looking for a new way to enter your brain.

"Have you thought about it?" Joel continued "You would carry my child. Your belly would swell, your breasts much bigger. God! A masterpiece."

"I thought you didn't want this. Not with me." you whispered.

His lips brushed your cheek, his hand slid down to your hip, squeezing it lightly.

"Silly." he laughed quietly "If you let me, I'll give you a new baby. I'll knock you up. As soon as you want it..."

He spread your legs with his knee, moved closer and you immediately felt the hard bulge in his jeans. He wanted you. This thought lit a small flame of hope in your heart.

"Maybe I won't have to leave..." you noticed with difficulty forming the words, because Joel's presence was making you more and more dizzy. He nodded.

"Where will you go, baby? The world is empty, dangerous. You're safe with me."

"And would you love me, Joel?" you didn't care at all that his hands were slowly unbuttoning your pants.

"Of course. We'll start all over again, baby. It'll be just as you dream it."

His lips finally crashed against yours. It was a hard kiss, one that was supposed to seal all his words and promises. His tongue invaded your mouth, ripping a quiet groan from your throat.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you pressed your entire body against his.

This was it. You had missed this for so long. Your body knew exactly what to do when Joel was this close.

Soft lips slid down your neck, kissing and nibbling on the delicate skin. His fingers very skillfully unbuttoned your shirt, revealing your bra and the curves of your breasts.

"My perfect babe." he whispered in your ear. "You missed me so much, didn't you? You wanted to feel my cock inside you so much again."

Your hips made a small circle and your crotch rubbed against his thigh, causing friction that gave you a sense of relief. Fuck! A strong hand squeezed your breast, and after a moment he slid your bra down to make it easier for himself to reach your sensitive nipple.

"Joel..." you whispered, but his lips quickly silenced you, kissing you hard.

He rolled your hard nipple between his fingers. You were sure you had no chance with him anymore. Your body craved every inch of him. You wanted Joel inside you, on you in every way possible.

"My good girl."

When his lips captured your breast, you slid your fingers into his hair. He sucked and teased your nipple, driving you crazy, and the arousal that was growing was already unbearable. So you didn't protest when his rough hand slid into your panties and straight into your heat.

"My little one is so wet." he commented, smiling slyly. "You want me, don't you? You want to feel who you belong to again. Say it."

You bit your lip as you felt his fingers slide over your swollen folds.

"Say it, Y/N." he reminded you impatiently, his voice commanding. "Say who you belong to."

"J-Joel..." you stuttered, looking up at him from behind cloudy eyes. "Only to you."

He nodded in appreciation.

"That's right, babe." he praised you "And that's why you'll let me do what I do to you, right? I'll bury my cock inside you, fill you with my cum to the brim and soon you'll be mine again, forever." two fingers slid into you so deep and suddenly that you almost lost your breath. "I know you, Y/N. Only I know your every sensitive spot, every scar, every need you have." his fingers quickly found your g-spot and soon you didn't understand much of what he was saying to you.

You were getting closer to your peak with every violent movement of his fingers, his hot lips once again dug into your neck leaving marks on it. You were his.

"That's right, sweetie! Give it to me. I can feel you're close. Your pussy is squeezing those fingers so well as if it wanted to hold them inside. Fuck!"

You clenched your fingers on his shoulders as the pleasure spread through your body, if it weren't for Joel your knees would have buckled under you. His fingers slipped out of you, lightly patting your sensitive pussy, and then he kissed you hard.

"My good girl." he praised you. "Good thing I managed to knock those stupid ideas out of your pretty little head." he took your face in his hands, an almost affectionate gesture. "You feel good, don't you?" you nodded. "Great. I'm very happy about that, you know. Come on now, let's go to the bedroom. I'll take care of you properly. We'll get rid of these clothes, because, fuck, you look a thousand times better naked."

"Joel?" your voice was weak, but you managed to get his attention.

"Yeah, baby girl?"

"Leave."

He smiled as if you had made a really funny joke. He kept fondly stroking your cheeks, brushing your hair away from your face.

"You can't be serious." he stated "I'll be gentle, you know I can. This pussy missed me. Did you see how fast you came?"

"I want you to go." You repeated now in a more confident voice "There will be no fucking. The mere thought of your cock inside me disgusts me."

His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched. But you didn't even blink, you didn't show how scared you were.

"Baby..." he started again, but it wasn't the voice that had just been whispering dirty things in your ear, it was already Joel who was poisoning your head and blood "We talked about this."

"No, Joel. You were the one talking about this, not me. I've already made my decision. And I'm finally choosing something that's good for me."

You weren't ready for it, but you held your place as his strong hand tightened around your neck. This man didn't throw away his toys until he got bored with them himself. And you were his. You belonged only to him.

"You know I could..." he said, and his fingers twitched, "Just give me a reason."

"I already gave you one."

It was the longest silence, and you felt like your heart would jump out of your chest. Only when after a while his grip loosened and he let go of your neck, pulling away, did you breathe.

"You'll regret this, little one." he said, "This world will swallow you and chew you up. You'll crawl to me, because you know that only I can keep you safe."

"We have to check it out then."

"We will." He nodded and walked to the door, placing his hand on the handle, only then did he notice your packed backpack against the wall.

A strange shiver ran down his spine. He took a sip and threw over his shoulder, "Try to get to Jackson. I heard there might be a good place there."

You didn't have time to answer as the door slammed shut behind him.

That was the last time you saw Joel Miller.

And the first time you felt clean.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #dark!joel miller

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creedslove · 10 months

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I was thinking about Joel working hard to buy a small gift for you until he finds a heart-shaped locket but he's embarrassed because he thinks you deserve something much better, he smuggles what he can and comes home tired but a little excited to give you the detail.

He cried the day you showed him that you put a photo of him in the locket, he hugged you very tightly, burying his face between your neck and shoulder while he tried not to make his crying sound so loud

while you petted his wavy grey hair.

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: omg baby, I am screaming and crying and throwing up at this wonderful idea, it's beautiful, lovely and sooo accurate because I'm sure this is how Joel would act underneath his rough exterior 😭

• it took Joel so long to admit how important you were to him, his true feelings for you, instead of just shrugging off and pretending he didn't care about you at all, he battled himself really hard in order to come clean with his own feelings

• but from the moment he finally admitted and allowed his old broken heart to beat faster for you, suddenly, you were the only thing that mattered to him, even if life was shit and neither of you had any perspective of future, he would die and kill for you and you knew it

• he often orbited from thinking he didn't deserve you and that you could find something better, but at the same time he was selfish and he didn't care about anything other than having you all for himself, as you were the only good thing he still had

• even if you two lived in a shitty, old, disgusting and moldy apartment, the times you spent fucking, holding and cuddling each other were the only good part of his life

• it was because of you he managed to slow down with his drinking and pills, he hadn't stopped it yet, you knew sometimes he needed it to cope with reality, but you were his favorite drug nonetheless

• he wanted to get you something nice, even if it was pretty hard to find something decent, he felt like you deserved a small treat for being his, and even if most of stuff he found was still shit, being a smuggler had it's advantages

• so when he saw the locket in the shape of a heart, he needed to have it for you, you deserved something pretty and gorgeous like you were, so he traded stuff here and there and managed to smuggle it back into the QZ so he could surprise you

• the day he gifted you the locket, you had squealed in happiness like a child and wrapped your arms around him, jumping into his embrace and kissing all over his lips and face, it was such a gorgeous gift, so thoughtful and you didn't hesitate in showing him gratitude for it

• he was so glad to see your reaction, knowing you deserved that and much more, it brought some light into his heart, to see you so glad because of a small gesture, which wasn't a small gesture to you at all

• if anything, it was a real big gesture and you knew you had to do something meaningful, there was only one thing you could place inside of it

• going to your safe box where you kept your personal objects and other significant things, you went through your polaroids; since you and Joel had snuck out of the QZ once to find stuff and you came across an old polaroid camera and some expired films at what seemed to have been a convenience store, you simply couldn't leave it behind

• yes, the lenses were a little cracked and the film was old but you managed to snap a few pictures of you and Joel - mostly against his will - and you didn't hesitate in taking one of them, cutting in the shape of your locket and placing inside of it

• when he came home from his shift that day, you flew to his lap as soon as he sat down on the couch, and wrapped yourself around him, he noticed the locked hadn't left your neck since he got you it and you smiled big

"open it!"

• you cheered pointing at it, which Joel chuckled and did as told, he didn't know exactly what he was expecting, but he knew he wasn't expecting to see his picture inside

"now I keep you next to my heart all the time Joel"

• you whispered to him, smiling at him with hopeful, loving eyes, while he felt tears springing through his own, not sure where that emotion was coming from, but it was there nonetheless

• his strong arms wrapped around your smaller frame as tight as he could and he buried his face between the crook of your neck, your hair falling all over it, as he tries muffling his sounds so you wouldn't notice he was actually crying

• Joel Miller wasn't a man to cry very often, but his old heart couldn't take that much love, kindness and innocence you had within, he didn't know why you had settled for him, a man with such an ugly past but he was never giving up that feeling for you

• of course you knew he was crying, but you decided not to say anything about it, it'd be better not to embarrass him, so instead you just clung to him, your hands caressing his graying curls, petting him so gently as you shared that embrace

• you loved Joel and he loved you, even if he didn't admit it out loud, there was no denying it

____

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal headcanons #pedro pascal headcanon #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller headcanons #joel miller headcanon

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hellishjoel · 1 year

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seven days, six nights

5.6k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

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summary: You get jumped in the QZ after a deal gone south and hide yourself from Joel to keep him safe. After eventually finding you and learning the truth behind your injuries, he heals you and promises revenge.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak Joel, living in the Boston QZ, somewhat established relationship, mentions of falling ill, mentions of hunger/starvation, mentions of weapons, mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a fight/brief assault, descriptions of bodily injury, talking about medical shit (and I ain't no doctor, I used google, don't sue me) thoughts and descriptions of murder (… isn’t he just so dreamy?), angst, light fluff at the end, half-ass edited (apologies in advance)

A/N: So happy to practice some post-outbreak writing! Enjoy this angsty one shot (inspired by this lovely ask!) that I fuckin loved writing. Dedicating this to @macfrog, as I pictured this entire plot with pixel Joel.

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery-” “Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-” “Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.”

Joel doesn’t know where you’ve been. You haven’t returned to his apartment in the QZ for days. He keeps track. Every time the sun rises and shines blistering beams of light into the quiet apartment until the moon replaces it and casts light silver streaks between the torn-up pieces of newspaper taped to the windows. Another day gone.

You had a routine. Make the smaller drops or pickups on your own, return to Joel, and report back to him with anything you think he might find useful or interesting. Five days ago, he sent you off to negotiate a truck battery with that West End District piece of shit, Robert. He shouldn’t have let you go alone. Fucking smugglers, you couldn’t trust any of them. Hell, Joel was even surprised you trusted him at first. He regretted not insisting on being by your side, even if it was just as your personal attack dog to keep Robert on his toes.

Despite Boston being one of the more “well-managed” QZs to still exist, the black market that emerged from it was just as strong. That’s where Joel came in. He figured if he could smuggle himself into one of the most protected quarantine zones in the country, he could smuggle just about anything else.

Drugs, weapons, ammunition, illegally forged paperwork, counterfeit ration cards, you name it, and Joel could work it in or out of the city. Joel’s reputation was usually enough to keep you both out of imminent danger as he became popular with not only the inhabitants of the QZ, but also with fellow smugglers. You all needed each other to stay alive, in one way or another.

Don’t be mistaken; the Boston QZ wasn’t perfect. It went through its fair share of scares. Food sources dwindled occasionally, leaving people angry, starving, and rebellious. Fireflies were a constant nag on depleting military resources. The fighting never truly stopped. This partially made Joel’s life easier. When times got tough, people searched for Joel to procure particular goods to help keep them afloat or, more importantly, alive.

That’s the problem Joel ran into after spending a night in FEDRA lock up. He was the one in need of supplies.

Joel was sick. Not infected sick, not cordyceps sick, some kind of infection he got from poor sanitation in the lock-up that attacked its way through an open wound Joel had gotten. He didn’t know if it was from work duty or from the recent street attacks, hence his stay in the FEDRA lockup. No matter where he got it from, an infection in the bloodstream wasn’t easily curable.

The doctors, what very few the QZ had, were scarcely treating the sick due to a lack of supplies. And Joel was only getting worse.

He was fighting a high fever, his breathing was fucked, as was his heart rate. Only a few days into his symptoms, he was crashing. He was damn near on the devil’s doorstep. He wasn’t made for heaven’s gates.

Joel didn’t have friends in the QZ, but there were certain high-powered people who needed items smuggled, too. And the guards paid him well to keep his mouth shut about what he saw going in and out of those gates after curfew. That’s why when one of his more popular clients heard Joel was an inch from death, they sent you.

You burst through his apartment, the door nearly flying off its hinges as you fled to his bedside. He pushed you away with what little strength he had at first, the infection was making him lose his damn mind. His skin was scarlet red, and he was clammy with sweat. He didn’t know you, you didn’t know him. But you weren’t going to let him die.

“Joel, I’m here to help you, hold still.”

Then you started your search, tearing Joel’s clothes off one by one until you found the sizeable cut on his upper bicep near his shoulder, a huge scrape from a metal blade that had gotten infected. The man had tons of scars, all in varying sizes, shapes, and places on his body. You didn’t know his past, but his body told his story. He was a fighter.

Your fear was how far into sepsis Joel was. Any further or even just a few hours later, you might have witnessed his organs begin shutting down.

Despite his hazy state, Joel was struck by your amount of supplies. You weren’t a Boston QZ doctor, he would remember a face like yours. It took a smuggler to know a smuggler, and you dealt in medical supplies.

Joel passed out not long after you got there. You caught him up in the morning, you never left his side. You monitored him, kept checking his vitals, pumped him with water, shoved antibiotics down his throat, cleaned his wound before it could fester anymore, and tried to regulate his body temperature. This could have been a lot worse. It should have been a lot worse.

This was your first time experiencing Joel Miller’s tenacious stubbornness. He wouldn’t fucking die, not last night, and not today.

A few weeks later, with Joel improving, he picked up on you around town. The way you blended in with just about everyone else. Not much slipped past Joel these days with his eyes like that of an eagle. But you slipped right through his fingers, didn’t even know you existed, despite running the same territory.

That’s when he decided he wanted someone like you on his team. Not just for your medical skills, but the type of supplies you ran was in high demand. You never did tell him where you got it, or how it was funded, all he had to know was that you were in. And you have been in ever since.

Joel introduced you to heavier smuggling, like weapons and bundles of cash. Even people for the right price. He taught you how to make fake documents of verification and how to forge other paperwork. This was a lot bigger compared to your clean syringes and medicine.

You learned a lot from each other. You taught Joel patience, and to thank you for saving his life, he taught you how to orgasm in less than five minutes.

The relationship you shared, if you could even call it that, wasn’t strictly a romantic one. Both of you were too guarded for something like that. But also, life was too short and unpredictable right now not to crave pleasure to erase the pain from the past.

It was hard to admit, considering how independent you’ve grown since being accepted into the Boston QZ, but you were thinking about Joel in ways far beyond a slightly romantic relationship. He had protected you and cared for you in the Joel sort of way that’s hard to read but you know exists.

Joel worked extra hours to hand you off extra ration cards, shaking his head and not looking at you when he said it was no big deal, just take’em. Or when he didn’t want you to stay in spare housing, he offered to let you live with him in his nicer, non-shared apartment. It was a small slice of heaven in this fucked up world. You liked him, hell, maybe it was more than like.

That’s why when you got jumped by Robert’s guys on the way back to Joel’s with the truck battery, they damn near killed you. They left you passed out in the alley. Robbed you of your ration cards, stole back the battery, smashed your head so hard into the brick wall you had passed out. All you wanted to do when you came to was crawl to Joel. So you did. You were outside his door, beaten and bruised, about to knock. Then you just stood there and spiraled.

You listened from the other side of Joel’s door to the floorboards creaking as he paced the old wooden beams. You were late and left him worried. He was waiting for you to come home.

The thought made your stomach twist. You looked like shit. You knew what Joel was capable of. One look at your bruised and bloodied face would send him flying down the street with a rifle in his hands and a pistol shoved in the back of his jeans. You couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt in a war with Robert.

Joel was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than Robert, but their smuggling operations varied greatly. Robert was an arms dealer, with henchmen all around the QZ. Joel only worked with a handful of people, he kept his circle small. If Joel went after Robert, you were more likely to find him dead in the street than anything else. And you couldn’t do that to Joel, not after all he’s done for you.

If Joel saw you hurt, he would kill Robert. He’d kill anyone that laid a finger on you. No one touches what’s Joel’s. Not merchandise, not weapons, not the pills he smuggles in and out of the QZ, and certainly not you.

So you tiptoe back down the stairs and run to the spare housing blocks just before the curfew alarm sounds. What Joel doesn’t know won’t get him killed.

---

Joel stands in line during the heat of summer, ration cards stuffed in his back pocket as he waits with others in the queue for a tray and some food. The dining hall was packed, and by the looks of other people’s trays, the food was low again. All he can think about is how he worked extra shifts all last week to get more ration cards for both of you. Without these cards, you were going hungry. You were supposed to be by his side, where were you?

By day six, Joel was restless. He didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you in bed beside him. All he could picture during his sleepless nights was his body spooned in behind yours, the heavy weight of his arm curled around your waist, being able to sense even the tiniest of movements. You’d push off his arm in the middle of the night, telling him that you just needed to use the bathroom or get some water.

It wasn’t always like that, though. Sometimes, you have nightmares. Ones that left you shooting up straight in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, crawling backward in bed like something or someone was chasing you. Joel didn’t know everything about your past and vice versa, but he knew wherever you came from before Boston was a different form of hell. He would hold you in his arms, console you, wipe your hot tears, lay your head on the warmth of his chest, and tell you to level out your breathing by listening to the beat of his heart. He held you in his arms until you eventually fell back asleep. Most of the time, you’d wake up and wouldn’t remember a thing.

What if nothing was wrong with you, and you just realized you didn’t want to be with someone as broken and battered as Joel? He didn’t make being in his company easy. He gave you a lot of shit, pushed you to the limits, told you on more than a handful of occasions he just wanted to be left alone. You’d ask about his daughter, the one he sparsely spoke about, and he’d bark at you until you regretted even thinking about her. He didn’t make things easy on you, but Joel did care about you. Even if he was shit at showing it.

He pushed you away, maybe you took the hint and left him.

On day seven, he started asking around about you, something he saved as a last resort. The less you two were seen together, the better. You had him worried sick, and he was damn near ready to raid Robert’s warehouse to see if he had taken you, made you his girl against your will.

That was until he caught a glimpse of you going past the market. It didn’t take much, he recognized your figure and trailed you with his eyes. You were walking towards spare housing, with a heavy backpack and a sweatshirt on. Your arms were wrapped securely around you, and your head was down.

He navigated through the crowds, jaw tight, putting down heavy steps on the broken gravel road as he pushed people out of his way with a guided hand on their shoulder. He followed you out of the crowd and down the street lined with stone barricades and rubble from a recent building that was raided by patrol on the hunt for Fireflies. You turned sharply down an alleyway, and Joel followed you, needing to see if you were okay, looking for answers.

As soon as Joel took the alley, he was attacked and harshly shoved backward, his shoulder blades smacking the red brick wall behind him. A small switchblade was then shoved against the protruding vein in his neck, heated puffs of breath leaving him. He initially panicked in the moment, his hand tightening around the wrist that held him there.

“Why the hell are you following me?” You bark at him, head still lowered. Joel’s eyes narrow at the sound of your voice.

He speaks your name.

Your strength relaxes, and you lift your head up to see you had pinned Joel. Shit, you thought one of Robert’s men was following you from town. You let out an exhausted breath of relief.

“You’re really holdin’ me up with the knife I gave you?” Joel asks. He smacks the back of your hand, reflexes making your fist open up and lose the grip on your switchblade. Joel snags it with his free hand and glares at you. He takes the opportunity to shove your forearm off his chest, the one that was pinning him against the wall, and sending you a few paces back from the force he exerts. He hesitates but folds the blade back into the handle, and offers it back to you.

You let out a sigh of relief to see that it was just Joel. But this was still a problem.

You retrieve the switchblade you accidentally surrendered to him and stuff it into your sweatshirt pocket. You cross your arms and look away to the entrance of the alley. “What the hell are you doing following me, Joel?”

He lets out a scoff through his nose and shoots daggers out of his eyes that you won’t meet. “What the hell am I doin’? Where the hell have you been?” He tries not to bark so loud. You won’t stop staring at the entrance of the alley, and Joel’s not sure if you’re thinking about running or thinking about being ambushed.

He grabs your arm and drags you further into the alley, sunset on the horizon. He brings you to the back of an old school that was ready to collapse. He pushes you back against the wall and stands close, too close.

“Answer me, what the hell happened to you?” His voice shoots goosebumps across your skin, low and growling for answers.

The grip he has on your arm tightens and washes a flood of heat over your injured arm. Your mouth hisses with hurt, trying to breathe through the pain. You shake him off of you and clutch your arm lightly. “‘M fine, Joel, I can manage.”

You’re speaking with a break in your voice that Joel can’t quite place. The hood you’re wearing is working overtime to shield your face.

He pauses before he slowly looks over you. “Why are you wearin’ a sweatshirt in the middle of summer?”

The silence he’s met with only leaves him more curious. What are you hiding? He swiftly pushes the hood off your head before you can stop him, and he’s not prepared for what he sees.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his large hands delicately coming up and caressing your cheeks.

You sigh and roll your eyes. The skin around your right eye is blueish-purple. You lightly twinged at the contact, no matter how delicate he was being. “It’s not as bad as it seems, it doesn’t hurt-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Joel mutters, lightly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger as he angles your face from left to right, allowing him to get a full look at the damage done to you. You glance down at his broken watch for comfort, the band fraying and the glass shattered, but he still wore it.

You can’t exactly explain why your lower lip starts to wobble. It was so hard to stay away from Joel, to distance yourself, but it was all for keeping him safe. Your small fists lightly clutch the button-up shirt he’s wearing around his abdomen, finally feeling a slight sense of security.

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery.”

“Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you.

You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-”

“Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” His thumb gently examines the cut on your lip. You curl it inwards to stray from his touch. “Robert do this to you? His guys?” Joel’s asking accusingly, and you know better than to lie to him. You swallow the growing lump in your throat and gently nod, blinking back tears.

His face grows taut with anger, his brows furrowing and the creases in his forehead are set in stone. His jaw is clamped shut while he grits his teeth. Joel’s probably thinking of a million scenarios of how to put Robert down. Which way would last the longest, string out the torture, make him apologize to you, and beg for his life. Make him apologize to Joel for ever touching a hand on what was his.

“Joel, you need to take a breath. Focus.” The last thing you wanted was for Joel to go on a rampage tonight in search of Robert. “I’m fine, this shit happens. We’ll get back on track and-”

“Can’t believe they let you live.” He murmurs, taking a look at the damage that he can visibly see before lightly sighing and releasing your face. You’re quick to pull the hood back up and cross your arms in front of you as some sort of shield.

His eyes are sunken in, his chest is lightly heaving as he tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. The rain is starting to scatter more, hitting your muddy sneakers and Joel’s dark denim shirt. The setting sun meant curfew was just around the corner.

“Come on. We’re goin’ home. Need to take a look at you in the light." You hesitate but his eyes are pleading for you to just let him take care of you. So you let him.

---

You travel up the same staircase you did just a week ago, limping and injured, broken and feeling guilty. Joel needed that battery for the truck. He was going to leave Boston and go to find his brother, Tommy. Neither of you had discussed if you would come with. For Joel, you think you might do just about anything for him if he asked.

He stabs his key into the lock of his door. You hear a crying baby in a neighboring apartment, it was probably startled awake by the blaring of the curfew alarm. Lightning and thunder crack outside as Joel pushes open the door. You follow him inside and set down your backpack by the door like you usually do. Another strike of lightning makes his apartment flood itself with white-silver streaks of light, if only for a moment. Joel flips the lock back into place and hits the switch to the one overhead light in between the kitchen and the living room. You’re sweating up a storm in your sweatshirt.

Though living in Boston’s QZ wasn’t great, you had to admit that not every quarantine zone had clean water and electricity. Joel had an old standing oscillating fan that was stationed at the foot of his bed during the summers since he ran so warm all the time. He said he traded about four or five meals worth of ration cards to get it, said that it was considered a steal. You shed the heavy material of your sweatshirt and sit tiredly down at the end of his bed, closing your eyes as the fan wicks away your sweat and cools your face.

Living in spare housing the past week was hell. You barely slept. The homeless, sick, and injured all found their way to spare housing. You weren’t safe there. And you didn’t have any ration cards to your name. You had to trade one singular, perfectly clean syringe to afford four rolls of bread. It was all you could get at the time being. Everyone was fighting for work, knowing ration cards and food were low. Since you were still somewhat new to the QZ, you weren’t given privileges. You laid on a nasty, old cot for a week. Joel’s small apartment was heaven. The solitude was peaceful.

Joel was standing at the sink, water running over a cloth as he stared down at the water circling the drain. He needed to take a breath, set his anger aside, and get you to talk.

Joel wrings out the rag, loose droplets of water splattering in the sink before he sits down at his small wooden kitchen table. “C’mere.” He whispers, taking your attention away from the fan. You slowly stand up and make your way to the table under the central light in his living room, sighing softly as you slowly sink into the accompanying chair. Now in the light, he observes your injuries closer.

Without your sweatshirt on, he can see bruises and scrapes along your arms, residual blood on your knuckles and under your nails. His little fighter. He notes that your tanktop is a bit shredded, and he fears the worst.

You catch him staring and intervene. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let them get close enough to touch me like that.” You glance down at the sweaty tank top and lightly tug on the hole. “Just got this while I was running away, trying to hop a fence.”

Joel frowns and slowly works his eyes over you. “‘S not like you to get caught. You’re pretty damn fast.”

You held down a bubble of laughter as your fingers played with the fraying material of your top. “Yeah, well, they already got one or two good hits on me, so I was a little hazy.” Your words don’t settle him. They infuriate him.

He brings his attention to your face. Your eye must have been swollen at one point, but it wasn’t anymore. The puffiness had gone down, and the bruises were in their final stages of healing. You have another more prominent bruise on your cheekbone, black and blue, but it’s not broken. That’s good. The cut on your eyebrow and the matching one on your lip catches his attention. A man with a ring.

“Red hair? Crooked nose, missing a front tooth?”

You blink a few times rapidly, curious as to how the hell Joel knew the characteristics of one of your attackers.

“How did you…” You start to say until your words trail off, shaking your head in confusion.

Joel sneers lightly and brings the wet rag up to gently dab at the cut on your lip. “Not a lot of men are stupid enough to wear a ring that basically signs their name on whoever’s face they’re knocking in.” How he describes your fight makes you flinch and shift uncomfortably in your chair, evading his eye contact. “Sorry.” He mutters quietly. “His name is Chase, Jase, somethin’ stupid like that. One of Robert’s guys.” Joel’s words lightly flitter off as he shifts his attention to your lip once more.

It was still swollen and angry. You probably tried to eat with it still agitated and delayed its healing. But you know this already. You ate because you didn’t have a choice. It was that, or starve. He hated knowing you were roaming the streets in a horrible hunger, especially when he had ration cards waiting for you at home.

Your eyes twitch closed as Joel’s wet rag rinses the blood out of the cut on your lip, the old excess blood lightly trickling into your mouth. Your tastebuds catch the tang of metallic and salt. You did what you could with the medical supplies you had, but you didn’t want to waste on yourself what you could potentially sell. If you were avoiding Joel for a while, you needed to be able to make trades of your own. You did use some supplies to clean the cut on your head. You were lucky the wall you were thrown into didn’t leave you with a concussion.

Joel is still wrestling with why the hell you didn’t come home, why he had to go out and find you. Why, why, why? Why did he let you go alone? Why did the deal go south? A terrible feeling soured his stomach. Robert’s men were ruthless, they must have felt kind enough to let you live. Or it was a message to Joel from Robert. You’re next.

Joel wasn’t scared of Robert, but for them to be scared of a young woman was a mystery for the masses.

He tosses the rag down on the table and stands up. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.” He grunts up, his lips snarling and his nostrils flaring in heated fury.

He storms to the kitchen and impatiently fills up a glass of water. Joel was fantasizing about plunging his thumbs into Robert’s eye sockets and squeezing until his head turned into mush. Or maybe Joel could take him to the Eastern district, throw him in the Massachusetts Bay, and hold him underwater, only bringing him up from the brink of drowning before pushing him down again. And again. And again.

Your sweet voice breaks Joel’s murderous thoughts. “Joel, I owe you the battery, and I promise I’ll find another one. Just give me a little time and-”

Joel slams the glass of water on the counter, the clatter of it echoing around the room. “Don’t care about the damn battery!” His back is to you, broad and strong shoulders heaving lightly as his head hangs low. His hands are gripping the edge of the counter. “Thought they fuckin’ kidnapped you! Or worse!”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, your lower lip wobbling once more as he slowly starts shaking his head.

“I almost lost you, and it’s my fault.”

Your eyes soften at his words. He’s felt this way before, and he’s been haunted by the mistake ever since. His daughter, you think.

His low, southern drawl makes you focus on him once more. “Tell me why you hid. Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured things out, for fuck’s sake!” He shouts as he turns to face you, his body falling back into the counter as he crosses his arms.

Your chest swells with heavy emotion. You stand up so fast from your chair that its sent scraping backward. “I did come here! I did! I heard you inside and I..” you pause and shake your head, still finding your voice.

“I was scared you’d be upset with me letting someone steal the battery, I was afraid you’d go after Robert and get yourself fucking-- killed, Joel! I don’t want you to die, okay? I need you!”

“And I need you!” He shouts back, lips parted with heavy breaths, both of you trying to settle with the newly shared revelation.

You both stare at each other from across the room, watching as Joel’s jaw slowly begins to click loose. He shoves himself up off the counter and closes the distance between you two. You hesitantly take a step back, and he pauses his footsteps. His eyes soften, and he looks as broken as you do.

“Please,” he pleads, gently shaking his head. “Would never hurt you, baby.” He puts his hand out, a gesture of kindness and warmth that you’d missed all week, yet you still hesitate. You almost wait too long, he’s already reeling his hand back into his side.

“Joel,” you whisper with soft relief. You eagerly take a few steps forward, ignoring his hand, and gently settle your head on his chest as you tightly squeeze your arms around his lower back. You close your eyes and melt into him, finding solace in Joel’s embrace.

Joel’s arms stay hovering in the air for a moment, lips parted as he looks down at the top of your head. He shames himself for even hesitating. He puts one hand on the side of your head and holds you to his chest, while the other settles low on your back. He breaths peacefully for the first time in a week.

You stay like that for who knows how long. He’s warm, and you feel protected. You sink into his arms, he takes on your weight. He walks you backward to the foot of his bed once more, letting you delicately fall back into the mattress. You watch with tired eyes as he unties the laces of your sneakers, one after the other. He shucks down your jeans, making you giggle.

“Joel, you don’t wanna fuck me right now, I smell like spare housing.”

The right side of his mouth twitches up as he shakes his head at you. “I know you do. ‘M takin’ you to shower.”

You sit up on your elbows as you smile a bit bashfully at him. “Good. Because I’m too sore to fool around anyway.” You whisper with a teasing smile as you grab the bottom of your tank top, peeling it up and off of your sticky skin. Joel tries not to stare. You’re not sure if he’s clocking your naked figure or the bruising around your ribs and legs.

You’d need some time to heal. Joel knows you do. While you shower, he makes you as big of a feast he can muster up with the canned goods he has in his cupboards. You try to eat the first real meal you’ve had in a week slowly, to savor the taste, but you end up shoveling your spoon into the bowl and scraping it clean.

Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time, watching you, observing you. He won’t let you out of his sight for a while, but maybe that’s what’s good for you. You meet his gaze and he speaks a silent vow. We’ll find Robert, steal the battery back, then kill him and anyone else who laid a finger on you. He nods. You nod too.

Joel’s not sure how late it is by the time you two fall into bed together. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but he says it in the way he holds you. Back in his arms, he’s more alert of how sore you are from your fight. He gently cups your face, watching your eyes slowly flutter closed with long blinks. You must be so tired. And he doesn’t want to keep you awake. He’s afraid to look away, like if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll disappear again.

He speaks your name and gently stirs you awake. “Hm?” You softly murmur, bringing your hand up and gently feeling over the planes of Joel’s chest, fingers lightly grazing his chest hair.

He looks down at you for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Don’t run away like that again.” His words are stern before he pauses again, lightly pushing some hair behind your ear and touching you like a delicate flower. You watch him attentively. He cups your jawline and angles you to look up at him. “We’re takin’ that battery back, and we’re gettin’ the hell out of here. You hear me?”

Your heart swells at his words. We. You slowly nod in agreement. You feel Joel’s gentle kisses on your forehead and the tip of your nose. You lean up to capture his lips, but he falters by an inch. A confused expression crosses your face.

“You’re hurt.” He mutters, referring to the cut on your lip. Don’t wanna hurt ya, sweet girl.

You roll your eyes and take his face in your small hands. “Don’t care.” You whisper before you pull him in, and the two of you share a featherlight kiss. You let it last, both of you soaking it in after a week apart. A week too long.

Joel’s the first to pull away, giving you a playful little glare. The bruising on your face reminds him of the boxing movies he grew up watching. “Easy, Rocky.”

You look at him confused and cock your head. “Who?”

He rolls his eyes at you and sighs, gently running his hand down your side. “Go to sleep. I’ll teach you about Rocky one through five tomorrow. D’you at least get a few good hits on Robert or his guys?”

You hum quietly and let your eyes dip closed. “Mhm.”

“Like I taught ya?”

“Just like you taught me. Gave ‘em the ole left, right, goodnight." You bring up your fists to demonstrate. "Made Robert’s nose bleed, think I broke it.”

Your head falls into Joel’s chest, feeling it rumble with laughter and a sense of pride. “That’s my girl.”

His body shields you from the outside world. You sleep like a rock for the rest of the night. You live another day, and so does Joel. But with Joel’s promise, you know Robert’s days are numbered. You’ll be sure of it.

---

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

In a Perfect World, You Love Me [i]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: injury, mentions of blood, cursing, derogatory name calling, forced drug exposure, hallucinations, light smut, angst, and some angst, and a little more angst just to top it off (actually this isn’t nearly as heartbreaking as some stuff i’ve written before lol), self doubt, anxiety, also cobb vanth is here. it’s not a warning but i love him so i wanted to mention it.🤷🏻‍♀️

word count: 6,961

Summary: On the way to visit an old friend, you and Mando find trouble. Both of you are subjected to a drug that puts you in your perfect world. But, when you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, how do you know what to trust?

a/n: bitches be planning out short drabbles about heart break only for it to turn into a long wordy mess. it’s me. i’m bitches. anybody know the show supernatural? it’s a show about like dramatic ass sad brothers who travel the country fighting monsters? (i know you know i’m being sarcastic). i watched that one episode where the djinn puts dean in like a dream world and it inspired this. i wanted to name it ‘din djarin’s djinn dream’ but that seemed a bit too on the nose.

“sometimes it is not love that breaks your heart. it is disappointment.”

-r.m. drake

Grogu was safe. That was the first thought that came to mind. You were so incredibly grateful that Mando had decided to leave the small child with Peli at the shop. It had been a last minute call. Weirdly, you were also thankful that you hadn’t stayed behind. You nearly did. Traveling through the Dune Sea was an absolutely miserable experience between the heat and the sand. It would have been so much more comfortable to just sit in the shop, cuddle with Grogu, and watch Peli con her customers.

However, when Mando mentioned he was going to Mos Pelgo you jumped at the chance to visit Cobb Vanth. It had been ages since you last saw the man, and you were eager to catch up with the marshal. So you climbed onto Mando’s rented land speeder, wrapped your arms around his beskar armor, and the two of you set off. What was supposed to be a simple day trip to greet an old friend and ask for a favor turned into a Maker forsaken nightmare.

Your face was throbbing in pain, you tasted blood in your mouth, and you were fairly certain your right wrist was broken based on the swelling and discoloration. Despite all of that, despite the pain and fear, the thought occurred to you once more. You were so thankful you were here.

“How pathetic.” The smuggler cackled amongst his small crew. “You’re going to protect the Mandalorian from us? You dumb bitch.”

Five dangerous men stood at the rim of the pit you were trapped in while Mando laid motionless behind you. There was a bit of blood pooling from out of the bottom of his helmet, onto the sand, and the only comfort you had that Mando was still with you was the slow rise and fall of his chest.

The smugglers had set a trap that Mando and you had fallen right into. As your land speeder tripped a wire it caused a blast that had both of you falling into a pit. The damned thing was deep enough to leave both of you injured and you prayed that your injuries were worse than Mando’s and he was just out cold for a moment. Your attackers began to argue amongst one another and you stayed on high alert. Mando and you were fish in a barrel. They could rain blaster fire down on you and there would be nothing you could do about it. The only reason you hadn’t grabbed Mando’s blaster to fire up is because you didn’t want to trigger a massacre.

“Shoot her dead then climb down and collect the beskar. Easy.” One smuggler scoffed and pulled out his blaster. You flinched but the loudest of the men, the leader, shoved the blaster’s aim away from you. “What?”

“The moment we try and get off world we’re gonna get stopped by those damned pirates again.” He snapped. “We keep the girl alive and hand her over as the tax we pay to pass free. We keep all the Mandalorian’s armor to ourselves.”

“Who’d want a bitch over beskar?”

“Oh, trust me.” The lead smuggler chuckled and the sound made you cringe. You set your hand in Mando’s gloved one and wished more than anything his grip would tighten around you rather than stay limp. “I know the man running the show right now, and he’s got a weakness for pretty little things.”

You tried to hide the tremble that shook your frame and you whispered for Mando to wake up⏤ for him to hear you. The lead smuggler opened his bag and you grasped Mando’s blaster. As threateningly as you could manage, you barked out. “You come down here and I’ll kill you. You hear me?!”

“Aw, she’s got some bite. Maybe we should keep her instead.”

“Shut the hell up.” The lead snapped and continued to root through his bag. “Where the kriff is that damned spice bomb?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Spice was bad news. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to touch. You had seen what the addiction could do to people, and you had a very bad feeling about what a spice bomb would be. “There it is.”

Panic hit you, and you lifted the blaster to start firing but the leader tossed a glowing red ball down into the pit and the smugglers dove away from the hole. The ball exploded mid way down into a cloud of red dust that rained down on you and Mando. You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the bottom of your shirt, but it was to no avail. Your entire body grew heavy, collapsing on top of Mando’s chest, and a sharp, tingling sensation washed over you before your eyes fell shut.

Din woke with a start⏤ panting and desperate for air. His mind was filled with a heavy fog that he tried to swim through to gather his bearings. There had been a wire. Din noticed it much too late and he remembered the ground swallowing you and him whole. You. Your scream was the last thing he could recall.

His hands drifted to his face and Din hated that it was only then that he noticed he wasn’t wearing a helmet. He blamed the fog. Din scrambled about the soft bed he realized he was tucked into as he searched the space around him for his armor. Din was in a bedroom he didn’t recognize wearing only a pair of sleep pants. Dank farrik. Din leapt out of bed but stumbled rather than landed with any amount of grace. Where was he? Where were you??

He forced himself to take a steadying breath and centered himself.

The bedroom was small. Only a large bed, a clothing dresser, and two nightstands on either side of the bed. The walls were painted a soft blue, two doors leading out, and one wall had a window that spanned nearly the entire length of the room. Din blinked in confusion. Outside was a bustling city with towering pillar-like buildings and early morning light spilling down through holes in the upper shelf casting light on a city that was very much alive. Din knew where he was. He just didn’t know how he got here or how this was even possible.

“Sundari?” He breathed in shock. Din had only seen images of the cities of Mandalore. Sundari, the domed capital city, being the most infamous of all. This must have been a dream. Exactly how hard had he hit his head in the fall?

Din, in all his distraction, hadn’t even noticed the sound of running water until it stopped. He spun on his heel and stared at the door in the corner which must have led into a fresher. Din wasn’t alone. His hand snapped to his hip for his blaster but met air. Maker, he’d be happy when this concussion finally passed. He scanned the room for any kind of weapon he could use and as he grasped the nightstand drawer he froze. Sitting on top of the small table was a holo image being projected up from a disk as decor.

It was a photo of you and Grogu. Din narrowed his eyes at it in confusion. The two of you were at a park of some kind, but he couldn’t recall where or when this had occurred. The door opened, making Din jump in surprise. Fine, concussion or not, he’d fight his way out by hand. However, as if he couldn’t possibly be caught more off guard, you stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” You stepped toward him and Din stayed frozen in place. Your hands came up to run across his bare chest before settling on his waist where you continued to trace your fingertips up and down in a repetitive pattern. There was so much happening at once that Din didn’t even know what to think. It didn’t help that the moment your skin touched his, his mind seemed to short circuit. “I was trying to let you sleep in for at least a little.”

Ever since you had confessed to him weeks ago that you wanted more than just a friendship Din had been plagued with dreams of you. Visions of you moaning under him as he buried himself into your warmth, of you riding his cock while his hands explored your body, of him simply holding you in his arms and memorizing your features unimpeded by his helmet. But never had it ever felt this real.

“Din?” You tilted your head. Hearing his name from your lips, he shuddered. How was this happening? You staring up at his bare face and whispering his name in concern.

Din tried to open his mouth and speak, but his voice had left him. When you confessed to him, it had taken every fiber of his being to not react. As much as he cared about you, as badly as he wanted you, he knew it was a bad idea. Din knew he had to draw a line to keep you safe. He was dangerous and Din knew it was selfish of him to keep you and Grogu around despite that. He always figured the two of you would go your separate ways when the jedi were found and Grogu was delivered, but Din would never be able to say good-bye to you if he crossed that line. So he lied. Told you he didn’t feel the same and walked away leaving you teary eyed and broken hearted.

You frowned. Your eyebrows furrowed and he had the overwhelming urge to smooth out your brow with his fingers. Trace every inch of your face with his hands. “You look sad, love.” You lifted your hands to cup his face. “Did you have that nightmare again?”

“Wh⏤What?” Din’s voice was quiet and ragged.

“We’re safe now. You don’t have to worry.” You caressed his cheek. “Me, you, and Grogu. We’re all safe. We have a home. Our days of running are over.”

Din shook his head. “No, no. We were in the Dune Sea. I⏤I missed the trip wire and we fell. You were hurt. We⏤”

“Din, that was so long ago. Out of all the bantha shit we’ve dealt with I’m surprised that memory is the one plaguing you.” You said.

Din pulled out of your arms. “It wasn’t. It just happened. You’re lost⏤ You’re hurt. I have to⏤”

“I’m not lost. I’m not hurt. I’m safe, right here with you, in our home. Grogu is still sleeping down the hall. There’s no place safer for our son and I.” You set your hands on his chest once more. “Grogu with his buir, and I with my riduur.”

Din was so shocked by the Mando’a that left your lips that he didn’t even register the soft kiss you pressed in the middle of his chest. Right where his iron heart would be if he had his armor on. You stepped away from him, walking to the dresser off to the side, and Din watched you go until you let the towel fall from your body. He forced his gaze up to the ceiling to keep from staring. Something felt wrong. Was this a dream? Was he dead?

Din didn’t trust the world around him.

You startled awake. A cloud of panic and fear drowning you.

“Mando!?” The nickname left your lips before you even registered a thought. You scrambled to sit up, arms reaching out to try and find purchase, but it was too dark to see anything. Even without your sight, something felt familiar about the material under your body and the comforting smell surrounding you, but the last memory of the smugglers dropping the spice bomb had too much adrenaline rushing through your body for you to think properly.

The wall in front of you shot up with a metallic click and a light blinded you. Hands grabbed your calves and you screamed again trying to kick them off. “Mesh’la! You’re safe!” Mando’s modulated voice filled the air. “You’re on the Razor Crest. You’re in my bunk.”

Your eyes adjusted to the light and you recognized your setting. That’s why it was familiar. Mando’s scent surrounded you as you were nestled in the blankets and pillow he used to sleep. Standing at the bunk’s entrance was the Mandalorian himself. He looked unharmed, but he always looked unharmed when he was covered from head to toe in his beskar.

“Mando!” You cried in alarm and launched yourself at him. He didn’t complain when you wrapped your arms around him tightly. Mando simply held onto you and kept you from knocking him over. This should be awkward considering how he had bluntly said he felt nothing for you only weeks ago. But, you were so relieved that he was safe and alive that you didn’t care. His hands rubbed your back soothingly as he mumbled soft reassurances. “I thought you⏤ I thought we⏤”

“We’re safe, mesh’la.” Mando replied.

You leaned back and he kept his arms around you. “What happened? The last thing I remember…” It hurt to try and pull the memory out of your own head. Spice bomb. Red dust had rained over you and Mando. You passed out on top of him. “The⏤The bomb.”

“It knocked you out.” Mando said. “My helmet filtered it out, I think. I woke up with you on top of me and the smugglers were climbing down. We fought. I won. Then I carried you back to Peli’s.”

“All of that happened?”

“We’re in hyperspace now.”

“How,” You shook your head, “How long was I out?”

“Two days. The spice hit your systems hard. I was⏤” Mando cleared his throat, the sound scratchy through the modulator. “I was worried about you, mesh’la.”

It was only then you realized you still had your hands resting on his shoulders and he had his own wrapped around your waist as you sat on your knees⏤ the bunk making the two of you eye level. You swallowed nervously. “I, uh, it was you I was worried about. Your head. I thought I saw blood when you were out cold.”

“Small injury. Only took one round of bacta to clear up.”

“Good.”

“You, on the other hand,” Mando mumbled. He brushed his gloved fingers across your face. The touch lingered on your cheekbone. The same one that had hit the ground hard enough to make your face throb. Mando pulled his other hand away to wrap around your non-bruised and non-swollen wrist. How much bacta had he used to get all your injuries healed in two days? “Mesh’la, I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “None of that was your fault.”

Mando kept quiet, as if he didn’t agree but didn’t know what else to say. The sound of a soft coo made you lean forward and peer around the edge of the bunk where Grogu was standing by the ladder leading up to the cockpit. He lifted his arms and waddled closer. Mando released you to pick the small child up. Grogu whined until Mando set him in your lap and you didn’t hesitate to cuddle the boy to your chest.

Thank the Maker, he hadn’t been with the two of you. You let out another sigh of relief. It seemed like you and Mando had gotten out of the pit by luck alone and you don’t know what you would’ve done if Grogu had been harmed during the whole thing.

“Here. Let’s get you some food.” Mando set a hand on your elbow to help you slide out of the bunk. What caught you off guard was when he let his hand travel from your arm to your lower back as he led you toward the ladder. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his entire frame. Mando was a good man. It wasn’t the shiny, silver metal of a Mandalorian you were attracted to or the reputation of a dangerous and strong bounty hunter. You had fallen for the kind and protective man who hid under both of those roles. Mando’s head turned to stare back at you and a thrill went down your spine. He whispered your name.

You took a step away and cleared your throat. Mando let his arm fall away. Your obsession with him, your stupid idiotic crush on him, had you misreading signals left and right. The only reason you had confessed was because you convinced yourself that he was shooting you lingering looks and that every brush of his hand against you was purposeful and not a mistake made in passing.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. Mando had made his position clear, and you were done crossing the lines and boundaries he had set.

“Can you get up to the flight deck alright?” Mando asked and you nodded. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Mando tilted his head toward the ladder and he waited until you began to climb⏤ as if he was worried you’d fall off mid-way up. When you got upstairs, you settled into the co-pilot’s chair with Grogu in your lap and stared out at the blurring lines of hyperspace. A small smile settled on your features.

The world around you was right again.

Din felt more like himself once he had his armor on. It still felt like the world around him was spinning and nothing made sense, but his beskar was like a heavy, impenetrable comfort blanket. He sat in a kitchen, helmet on, as he stared out at Sundari through a window that sat near a dining table. It seemed the home around him was part of a tower inside the domed city, and Din still couldn’t wrap his brain around that. The sound of footsteps startled him and he turned in time to see you padding down the hall with Grogu in your arms. He pushed to stand⏤ seeing the small child putting him at ease.

“Why do you have your helmet on?” You asked after handing Grogu to him. The child bounced in his arms chanting a recognizable sound asking for food. “Are you leaving already? Don’t you want breakfast?”

Din stayed quiet. You moved around the kitchen with the ease of someone who did this regularly, and he watched you make a meal. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t understand, but he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt toward you being so domestic. Especially after you had just claimed that he was your partner, your husband, your riduur.

“Come here, cutie.” You cooed to Grogu and he let you take the boy from him. You set him in a little high chair and set a bowl of food in front of him. As per usual, Grogu didn’t hesitate to begin scarfing down what was in front of him. You lovingly pressed a kiss to his head then walked over to lean at the corner of the kitchen island next to him. “Din, please talk to me.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la.” He sighed.

You had shifted even closer to the bar stool he sat on. Din tensed when your hands settled on his thighs and you stepped between them. Slowly, you took his hand in yours and began to peel his gloves off. Din sucked in a breath, but couldn’t find a complaint to speak. You did the same thing with his other hand. Finally, your hands rested on his helmet, but you didn’t move. Not until Din gave a small nod. You pulled his helmet off carefully, respectfully resting it on the counter, and Din felt his features soften as he stared at you. Maker, you were beautiful.

“Din, listen to me, I love you.” You said. A pretty smile spread across your features and you took his face between your hands. “But if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I am going to kick your ass.” He chuckled and leaned into your touch. Was Din losing his mind? If this was insanity, it felt so good that Din really didn't think he minded. “Are you… Are you having one of your mornings?”

“One of my… mornings?” Din furrowed his brow.

“You know, when the nightmare doesn’t end.” You whispered.

Din shook his head. “This isn’t a nightmare. It’s a dream. A dream I don’t deserve.” He let his hands rest on top of yours with the plan to pull them away, but he was too weak to actually go through with it. Din sighed, “I lied to you.” A flash of confusion crossed your features. “I said I didn’t care about you in the same way you felt about me, but it was a lie. From the moment you stepped onto the Razor Crest I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Mesh’la, you are my world.”

“Din, are you…” You paused then a small laugh left you, “Maker, are you talking about when we were trying to get to Mos Pelgo, still? I confessed to you and then we got caught weeks later and…” You shook your head. “Don’t scare me like that. When you said you were sorry and you lied, I was worried something had happened. It’s just a bad morning. They always pass.”

“What are you talking about?” Din asked.

“Fine. I’ll jump start your memory.” You pushed up on your tiptoes and then sat on his thigh. Naturally, his hands went around your waist to keep you from falling and your hands wrapped around his neck. “You confessed to me. It happened months later. You’re an incredible bounty hunter, but you move slow as hell, Din.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was right after we decided to keep Grogu with us. Become a real family. For the record, it also took you way too long to propose to me too.”

Din could picture it all and it made everything so much more confusing. Had that happened? No. Not yet. Yet? Had he meant to think of that word? Yet? Din wasn’t planning any of that, but it sounded right. No part of him thought he deserved you or Grogu, but Maker this was what he always wanted. It was the life he craved, but was too broken to admit aloud.

“But,” Din tried to find a tether to hold him in reality, “Sundari. We live in Sundari? Mandalore is dead.”

“No, it wasn’t. The poison the Empire caused faded away. We rebuilt.” The sound of a door chime made you glance over your shoulder. “Kriff. She’s here early.” You slid off his lap. “Grogu, we’re gonna be late! Let’s get you cleaned up so Soran can walk you to school.”

Din watched you scoop Grogu up, the boy gave him a wave he returned numbly, and the two of you disappeared down the hall. Were his fears the reason he was confused? What if what you said was right? He was just trapped in a nightmare and it was keeping him from living his life. Din had finally taken the leap, taken the chance, and found his perfect home. Now, his fear was crawling back and trying to ruin it again. Din always did this. He always fought himself. It was why he had denied your initial confession and wasted so much time in the first place.

Moments passed, he could hear you moving around the home with Grogu. Until finally the door chime rang again. Din stood up and faced the hall. Seconds later, you stepped back into view. You gave him a bright smile.

“Alright, where were we?”

Fully accepting this for what it was, Din marched toward you. Your feet came to a stuttering stop and an excitement filled your eyes. You knew what he was doing before even he knew entirely. Din basically tackled you, pressing your body as tight as he could to his chest, and crushed his lips to yours. You responded immediately. Your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue found it’s way past your lips. Din let his hands trail down your back, over your ass, under your thighs, and with ease began to pick you up. Just like with the kiss, you were on the same page as he was. You jumped just enough for him to lift you off the ground and your legs wrapped around his waist⏤ locking your ankles at his back.

Din had planned to carry you down the hall, back to the bedroom, but he felt you grind against him and that plan went right out the window. He slammed you against the wall, lips leaving yours to trail down your neck. Maker, he wanted you. Keeping you pinned to the wall with his hips, relying on your grip around his waist and neck, Din pulled his hands away so he could grab the collar of your shirt. He ripped it down to the middle of your torso so his mouth could reach your breasts.

“I liked that shirt, you know.” You gasped, but the way you kept trying to find friction against his hard on told him you didn’t like it all that much.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Din replied before leaving open mouth kisses down your chest. One hand went back to cup around your thigh and the other yanked your breast band down so his mouth could wrap around your nipple. The unholy moan that left your lips nearly made him come undone right then and there.

“You’re going to be late to work. They need you today.”

“Mesh’la, I don’t kriffing care.” Din said after pulling his lips away from your breast. His mouth found its way back to yours and after leaving a messy kiss there he pulled away only far enough to speak. “As far as I’m concerned the only place I’m needed is right between your thighs.”

Din licked into your mouth, and he was startled when your hands untangled from around his neck. Then, with great proficiency, you began to unlatch his armor. His vambrace and left pauldron fell to the ground with a heavy thunk. “How did you do that so fast? How’d you know where the latches were?”

“I’m your wife, dummy.” You unlatched his right one, it joined the other on the floor, then you ripped the cloak out from under the top of his chest piece and pulled down on the collar of his shirt so you could leave too soft, teasing kisses against the hollow of his throat. “Now, either keep carrying me down the hall to our bed or drop me on the floor⏤ I don’t care, I just need you to fuck me.”

Din was not going to make it to the bedroom.

You rose from your seat with Grogu nestled in your arms sleeping. It hadn’t taken long for the boy to fall asleep between the warmth of your arms and the silence of hyperspace. As you drifted toward the door, Mando spoke up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna put him in his hammock is all.” You whispered.

Mando glanced over his shoulder at you then nodded. “Good. Come back up when you’re done.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise but you gave him a quiet confirmation before leaving the cockpit. You made your way down the ladder slowly and carefully so you didn’t wake or drop the little green gremlin snoring against your chest. You chuckled and rubbed his back while crossing the cargo hold. When you set him in the hammock, he stirred briefly and you took the time to lightly rock the hammock while humming him a lullaby. Only when you were convinced he had fallen back into a restful sleep did you find your way back to the cockpit.

“He’s down for the count.” You joked and dropped back into your chair.

Mando flipped a few switches on the panel before spinning the pilot’s seat so he was facing you. Your eyes widened and you shifted awkwardly in place. The weight of his heavy stare on you was intense. It burned into you and for a brief second you were sure he could see straight into your soul.

“What’s going on?” You asked. “You okay?”

“I could’ve lost you.” Mando whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s over, Mando. We don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“It’s not over, mesh’la. There will always be another fight, another opportunity for someone to take you from me.” He argued.

Mando wasn’t wrong. Your lives were a constant battle to maintain the upper hand over all the people trying to take Grogu and harm both of you. It was the exact reason why you had found the courage to confess to him in the first place. You stupidly convinced yourself that you didn’t want to lose anymore time⏤ waste another second. The silence in the cockpit was agonizing. You wanted so badly to break it, but you had no idea what to say to do so.

Luckily, Mando did not have that same problem.

“Come here, mesh’la.” He motioned you toward him with the curling motion of his fingers. You swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in the middle of your throat like a rock. “Please.” The word was spoken softly, but there was a firm undertone that made it feel less like a request and more like a command. You stood up and took the single shaky step that was required to put you in his reach. Mando’s hands found your hips and he startled you by pulling you into his lap. With a yelp of surprise, you were forced to rest your knees on the outside of his thighs. The moment you were situated Mando spread his own thighs further so each of your legs were pinned between him and the chair and you were even more open to him. “Oh, sweet girl…”

“Mando. What⏤ What are you doing?” You whispered. Your entire face felt hot⏤ kriff, every inch of you felt hot.

He shook his head, his hands roaming up and down your sides, “I never should have said no to you. What happened, it made me realize how much,” Mando raised a gloved hand to your face, “how much I care about you.”

“Wait, really?” You breathed. It was the stupidest kind of response to give and you hated that you just blurted it out. Mando chuckled in response, and you shook your head. “Mando, maybe you’re just… feeling this way because what happened was so fresh. We should give it a little time⏤”

“I spent two days waiting for you to open those pretty eyes for me, sweet girl.” Mando cut in. “I’m not losing another second with you.”

The hand fell from your face to rest on your shoulder and, with the other still on your hip, Mando pressed you down on top of him. He shifted his own hips so he could drag the hard bulge in his pants against your core. A sharp gasp of surprise left your lips. Mando kept you pressed against him and when he dragged his hip against yours again the sensation caused you to groan this time.

“Dank farrik.” Mando grunted as he bucked up against you⏤ this time you moved your own hips to add to the friction and he moaned. The sound of him losing control shot straight to your core and you let your hands rest on his chest so you could grind into him more. Maker, you wanted to hear that sound again.

Mando sat up straight and the only thing keep you from tumbling off his lap was the hand he wrapped around your waist. He reached past you, hands hitting switches and buttons, and suddenly the entire panel of flickering lights went dead. “Mando?” You questioned. He hit one more switch and you glanced over your shoulder to watch as the windows darkened until the lights of hyperspace couldn’t be seen. Nothing could be seen. A hiss of pressure release, then a hand took hold of your jaw to turn you back so you faced forward.

“Mesh’la.” Mando whispered. Before you had only heard his unmodulated voice from a distance, as he was eating out of sight or lying in his bunk with the door closed. But, now it was closer than you could ever imagine. He mumbled your name and you could feel the movement of his lips just barely brushing against yours⏤ his hot breath on your face. “Say you want me, mesh’la.”

You took in a deep breath and nodded. “I want you, Mando. I’ve always wanted you.”

Rather than pressing his lips to yours as you wanted, Mando lifted you with ease and pressed you against the control panel. Something sharp was jabbing you in the back, but you didn’t care. Mando’s leather gloves roughly yanked your pants down, underwear and all. You had lifted your hips just enough to help him, but when you lowered yourself back into a seated position you hissed at the cold metal against your bare skin.

You lifted your hands to find his shoulders, you wanted to feel his face, but Mando’s hands grabbed you by the wrists and pinned them to the panel by your head. He leaned over you and slowly dragged his hard cock, hidden behind his flight suit, against your already dripping wet lips⏤ but it wasn’t the only lips you wanted touched.

“Kiss me, please.” You begged and tried to lift your head to find his, but he leaned back just enough to avoid you. “Mando, I want to feel you⏤ all of you⏤ please.”

“Not yet, mesh’la. Be patient.” His entire weight was pressing down on you. “Good girls are patient, and only good girls get rewarded. Is that what you want, mesh’la? To be my good girl?” You nodded, breathless from the agonizingly slow way he was grinding into you. “Words, mesh’la.”

“Yes.” You gasped. “Please, Mando, please⏤”

“How lucky am I?” Mando hummed. “To have such a pretty girl begging under me. I’ve wanted to make you fall apart since the moment you stepped onto my ship.” You tensed as an alarm began to faintly ring at the back of your mind. Something inside you was trying to warn you. Mando kept whispering loving words on top of you. “You’re mine, mesh’la. You’ve always been mine and you always will be.”

“No.” You tried to squirm out from under him, but Mando was much too large and much too heavy for you to even move an inch. “No, no, no.”

Taking the hint, Mando released your hands and jumped away from you. Breathless, you tried to sit up and gather your bearings. “What is it, mesh’la? What’s wrong?”

“This is wrong.” You shook your head.

“No, it’s right. This is what you want, this is what I want.”

“No, it’s not.” A sob left you. “You don’t want me. You said so yourself. You don’t want me. This isn’t right.” Your head was beginning to pound in pain and Mando’s voice sounded like it was suddenly far away. The cold metal under you was beginning to turn hot and the firm smoothness of the control panel was taking on a new texture⏤ something grainy that shifted under you. The darkness turned to a blinding light and you gasped as pain began to settle into you.

Your face was throbbing, you tasted blood in your mouth, and your right wrist was aching. Now you had a pounding headache as well. You blinked your eyes, trying to clear the blurriness out of your vision, and you saw a man climbing down a ladder into the pit you laid in. The smugglers. The spice bomb. Your hand tightened around the blaster you had taken from Mando and you lifted your heavy arm to fire at the man. It hit him in the back and he fell from the ladder and landed motionless only a few feet away.

You blindly fired shots up to the ridge of the pit. Over and over⏤ not knowing what else to do. You fired so much that you never noticed the sound of someone else’s blaster mingling with yours. A familiar voice was calling out to you, but it wasn’t Mando. Your heavy arm sunk back into the sand, blaster falling loose, and your eyes began to droop in exhaustion.

You wished it was Mando calling for you.

You woke up slowly. Your entire body was sore and it took straight willpower to get your eyes to stay open. There was a thin cot underneath you and a flickering fire ahead of you. A groan fell from your lips as you tried to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa,” A familiar voice said, “Slow down there, little lady.”

“Vanth?” You tried to turn to find your friend, but a warm hand kept you from moving too much. Suddenly, Cobb Vanth was kneeling beside you with a charming grin. Your entire body sagged in relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now.”

Vanth rubbed his jawline and gave you a wink, “I am much better looking than those damned smugglers, huh? How’d you and Mando get caught up in all that mess?”

“Mando!” You sat up quickly, immediately wincing when a sharp pain shot through you.

“Maker, darling.” Vanth scolded. “Your tin man is doing just fine. He’ll feel just as shitty as you when he finally wakes up.”

You glanced around and just as Vanth said your companion was lying on a small rolled out cot of his own. The firelight dancing as it reflected off his beskar. “He’s really okay? I think he had a head injury.”

“He’s fine. I promise you.” You nodded and Vanth offered you a canteen of water. As he asked, you began to tell him the story of what happened. It didn’t take long until you reached the point of the story that made your cheeks warm. Vanth noticed your hesitance and bumped his shoulder into yours. “Say your piece.”

“They threw a spice bomb and… and some weird shit happened.”

“Yeah, a spice bomb will do that to you.”

“What is it?”

“Depends. What’d you see?”

You paused before shrugging. “I was on the Razor Crest. Traveling with Mando and Grogu. Like always. It was… it felt so real.”

“Probably glitterstim then.” Vanth made you drink more water. “I have no idea how you broke out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The drug should’ve put you under. Place you in a happy haze of the thing you want most and trap you there for as long as the drug runs its course. Too much and you can end up dying in that perfect little world.” Vanth explained. “Usually, you can’t get out unless someone hits you with an antidote. Something to cancel the effects of the glitterstim. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you shock yourself out of it.” Vanth shrugged. “It all happens quick. In the first few minutes you either fall into the spice’s trap or you snap through it. The fact that I saw you wake up and shoot that smuggler is quite the feat, darling. How’d you do it?”

You wrapped your arms around your legs and rested your chin on your knees. The drug in your system deemed your perfect world to be Mando confessing how badly he wanted you. How pathetic was that? You didn’t stay under because even in a drugged out haze your mind knew that it was fake. Mando didn’t want you. Not the way you wanted him. Tears filled your eyes. Vanth didn’t press for you to answer and instead set his arm around your shoulder as a comfort. You leaned into him and fell asleep.

Every single part of Din’s body hurt. It reminded him of when the mudhorn had tossed him around like a ragdoll. Every atom in his body though, despite the pain, screamed danger. Din forced himself to sit up, blaster drawn. He was in the desert, by a fire in the dead of night. Across from him, he saw Cobb Vanth sitting there casually. Din’s blaster was pointed at him, but Vanth just gave him a slight wave.

“Hey there, brother.” He greeted. “You can put the blaster away.”

“What⏤” Din began to ask, but then his eyes landed on you. Your head rested against Vanth’s thigh and he had one hand resting on your shoulder. Part of your face looked bruised and even from this distance he could see your busted lip.

“Smugglers got the jump on y’all. Hit you with a spice bomb.” Din holstered his blaster and cursed. Dank farrik. Whispers of his dream world lingered in his mind and Din had to shake his head to try and rid himself of the way your lips felt against his skin. “You’re lucky.”

“This is lucky?” Din asked dryly. Maker, his body ached.

“Little lady here broke free of the spice dream.” Vanth said. Din’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know what he wanted to know more⏤ what your perfect world had looked like or how you had broken out of it. Vanth’s hand was tracing shapes on your shoulder as you slept and Din frowned at the touch. Coming from an imaginary world where he was fucking you, his wife, to reality where you were sleeping against another man was jarring. “You got stuck in it. Tell me, Mando, what was your perfect world?”

You were. You were his perfect world.

But, Din couldn’t bring himself to admit that in his current reality.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #cobb vanth #din djarin smut #a smidge of angst #idiots in love #pining

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mellowwillowy · 11 months

Text

Yandere Reader × DOL

Warning: Extreme Content, unsafe sex, Crazy Reader

Bailey - Eden (M), Sydney, Ivory, Whitney, Kylar - Mason, Avery, Harper, Alex, Wren, Great Hawk, Black Wolf, Robin

Bailey's boobs! Eden's boobs! These 2 squeezeing your face! DIE! HAPPILY!1!1!

"What are you doing? I'll be charging you for this." Bailey spat as he watched you sucked his tits, hands groping it like a squishy. Eden on the other hand lets you use his tits as some sort of pillow. Ah... heaven... bless.

Sydney's anal bead, I'll squeeze it down your throat instead of using it as a rosary!

Sydney's hand gripped yours tightly as you used the anal bead inside their throat, fuck, they didn't expect this at all. Please, don't stop. Better yet, use your hand or your cock/strap-on on their throat now!

"Mwooh... mhoreeee....!"

Ivory's Necklace, right, fuck you wanna do if I swallow it whole?

"Get it out..." Ivory throatfucked you as their hands and tentacles choked you, "get it out right now, fuck, get it out!" Actually, you doubt they were throatfucking you to get this shit out. They were just trying fuck their cum out.

Walking Whitney

Whitney and a leash on your hand, no, not a leash to you but to them! Crawling the school hallway naked, how did it feel like to have the table turned now? Oh... look at how turned on they are, "fucking slut, you like people seeing your sex hmm??"

"Shut up..." they growled back but the trail of cum they left said otherwise ♡

Kylar and Mason the undies sniffer

Look at them. You understand if it's Kylar but Mason? Really? Sniffing your undies while you were swimming?

"K-Kylar did it! He did it first!"

"That still doesn't change the fact that you are a teacher. Oh, aren't you a perverted one? Just how down bad are you to the point you are caught sniffing with this," you pulled Kylar by his hoodie, "damn fucking loser who jerks off to my picture?"

"Uuu... you look so cute in that jacket so..."

Avery and alcohol

Fuck, you are sick of them raging at you every now and then. So? What to do? You eyed on the alcohols they got for the two of you and...

Crash

You hit their head with it. Just before they could say anything, you forced the alcohol down their throat, burning it. Just as you noticed they were wasted from the hit and burning sensation, you stripped them down and,

"I think you'll look great with your hole stuffed with this," you showed them a bottle of alcohol, "I don't give a shit about safe sex, feel free to have a check with Harper soon."

Doctor Harper...

Harper groaned as you plunged yet another syringe into their arm, the content? It's empty. Better be empty than fill it in with the drug they would use on you right?

"I bet it feels good, getting injected here and there right you fucker?"

Wren the smuggled

"Ehehe~ look at you~ so adorable in my bag, all tied up hm?"

The smuggler had been smuggled. Fuck, you were so going to enjoy fucking them while charging everyone fortune just to watch you fuck them dumb.

Milking Alex~!

Oh, the farm was growing. Look at it, the milk production got better in both quantity and quality! As expected of Alex! Now, it's time to milk Alex with your mouth and hand again!

Great Hawk the terrored

"Come on now, walking is better than flying right?" Great Hawk whimpered as you handed him his daily food. You caressed his bandaged wings that you broke with your own hands. "Good boy~ now eat, you'll need the energy to mate."

Black Wolf, awooooooo

Black Wolf did so as you fucked him dumb. What a pack leader he is, a great breedable alpha all along.

Robin, burn your fat down.

At this point, they were probably either traumatized or suffered from the masochist traits. Look, look at those marks ♡ how many times have you whipped the fuck out of them? It'll help burning down some of the fat they had.

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mossy-rock-in-a-field · 9 months

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My Elderly Mother Plays Baldur's Gate: Part 3

(For those who missed it, my mom is having me play Baldur's Gate for her because she's not good with controllers but she still wants to smooch Gale, set things on fire, and see the story. For Part 1 and 2 of her adventure, click here.)

Yesterday my mom wrapped up Wyrm's Crossing and finally made it to the Lower City. I told her that this is the part of the game where the decisions start getting a little harder and morally grey, but she didn't really believe me. Eheheheh.

Here's how Act III is going for her:

Something I forgot to mention in my previous post is that my mom reads every line of Tav’s dialogue out loud so she can pretend like she’s actually conversing with the characters. I have to time the dialogue selections so the NPCs respond to her at just the right time for immersion purposes. She gets a kick out of it.

Upon finding a sachet of silkroot in a smuggler’s cave and being informed it was essentially drugs, her first question was: "Can we sell these drugs?" I asked her where this energy was when I was a teenager, and she said, "The economy of Baldur's Gate needs to be supported." We did, in fact, sell the drugs.

She always stops to talk to Withers and recite “fate spins along as it should” in a silly voice. She also does Withers’ little hand gesture with it because she thinks it’s funny. We both say it together now. It's not relevant, I just think it's precious.

I asked her if she plans on killing Gortash to save Halsin from Orin but she said, “Sacrifices need to be made, dear. Desperate times!” (I guarantee she'll try to save Halsin anyway; she really likes him, but she's super scared of Orin. Probably why she's toying with the idea of killing Orin first.)

I wish I could describe the face she made when THAT scene with the Emperor showed up. It was somewhere between horror and blatant confusion. I honestly couldn’t breathe I was laughing so hard. (She turned him down, obviously.)

She has made a pros and cons list in her Baldur's Gate journal for both Gortash and Orin. So far, Gortash is winning because my mom really dislikes Orin and thinks she's spooky. I honestly have no idea who she'll kill first at this point.

My mom had Astarion rob the donation box beneath the Stormshore Tabernacle (which contained our fucking donations so idk if it’s robbing or just taking back our stuff). However, she got the “castigated by divinity” curse, and when Shadowheart removed the curse at camp, a big celestial popped out of Astarion and proceeded to murder Gale in his tent. My mother was very distraught; I was crying laughing.

We left off at Lorroakan's office last night; my mom is coming back over today so she can watch Dame Aylin break his bitch body in half and do a bunch of other stuff.

I'll keep you guys updated on her crimes!

#my mom plays baldur's gate 3 #she's having a blast you guys #bg3 #baldursgate #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #gale #gale of waterdeep #astarion #shadowheart #dame aylin #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #orin the red

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persevereforahappyending · 9 months

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Luck Runs Out |Part 1|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Drugs, Guns, Violence

Word Count: 2.4k

Note: This is what happens when hyperfixations converge

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Cut the line!” You screamed over the raging storm and grinding machine.

“No!” Your captain yelled. “We can’t let the product go!”

“We have to!” you turned to face the captain.

“We have too much money riding on this drop.”

You watched as your fellow crewman continued to push the lever, trying to raise the net with product. You lifted thousands of pounds of fish almost daily so drugs shouldn’t be any different. It wasn’t usually different. The thing about machines though, no matter how many times you’ve used them, no matter how reliable they were in the past, they could still break.

The machine continued to groan, the wire grinding and struggling to raise the net. It was a bigger drop than usual, but it wasn’t anything you and the crew couldn’t handle. The thing that didn’t help though was that there was a major storm, the waves crashing around the boat, swaying it violently back and forth as your crew tried to raise the drugs. Most fishermen would have held out in leaving the dock when they heard the storm would be rolling in, just wait for it to pass and leave in the morning to get their catches. Your crew had a time limit though, you were told about the drop and drug dealers didn’t care about a ‘little storm’ in their words. Your job was just to get the drugs and bring them in.

“We have to cut the line!” You shouted, begging your captain to see reason.

“No!” He screamed back. “We get this line up or being out of a job will be the least of our worries.”

The grinding got louder, you looked to see the device to lift the net now smoking. Any other captain would have told them to cut the line, it would have sucked, but any other fishermen would have just taken the loss of the catch, the risk wasn’t worth it. You weren’t just any other fishermen though; you were the best. Your crew brought in some of the biggest catches, you were on one of the nicest fishing boats in the harbor, for fishermen the whole crew were well off not just the captain. You were also drug smugglers, you moved more drugs than fish, that’s where the real money came from.

“Screw it!” You said, watching as your crew mate struggled with the lever, losing his grip and as he slipped from a large wave that crashed onto the deck. The lever went down, the cord holding the product started to drop back into the ocean. Your crew mate quickly recovered and grabbed the lever, pushing it up as he caught the product, the cargo swinging from the sudden change.

You rushed forward, moving to push your crew mate out of the way when the cocking of a gun stopped you in your tracks. You heard it clearly, as if there weren’t crashing waves and thunder surrounding you.

“I said no,” your captain repeated.

You slowly turned to see your captain aiming a revolver at your head. You stared down the barrel of the gun, looking over it to see no hesitation in your captains’ eyes. You took a step away from the machine, refusing to back down from your captain's gaze. He was your captain, this was his ship, what he said was law, if he asked the men to throw you overboard, they would. A crew was supposed to be like family, fishing was dangerous, and the ocean was unforgiving, if you couldn’t rely on your crew, you might as well be dead. Everyone had a job and you needed to trust everyone would do their job, if you couldn’t trust them, then there was risk, everything could go wrong, and on the ocean, if something goes wrong it can not only cost you your life but your entire crews.

There was a groan then a loud snap, breaking the tense moment. Your eyes left the gun pointed at you and went to where the drugs were being lifted. One of the cables had snapped, the other was straining itself to hold the load. With the crew distracted you ran forwards, hitting the button to release the load. The net of drugs instantly dropped; the boat harshly swayed at the change in weight, sending you flying back into the side of the boat, nearly going over the edge.

You held onto the edge, trying to keep yourself upright. You turned around just as a shot rang out. An incredible force hit your shoulder, flipping you over the side of the boat. The cord that had broken free of the machine lifting the drugs entered the water, wrapping around your ankle as it trailed after the net it was connected to, the drugs you tried so hard to cut loose to save everyone was now dragging you to the bottom of the ocean. You weren’t a good person, you’d made a lot of bad choices in life, whatever the reason for those choices ultimately led you to where you were now. You always knew getting involved with this life was most likely a death sentence. Maybe the god of the sea would take mercy on you, maybe remake you into a shark or something cool. You weren’t that lucky though; the sea god was just as ruthless and merciless as the ocean he ruled. You were in his domain; you didn’t deserve his mercy.

You watched as the light from the boat slowly faded. You weren’t sure if they were leaving you, they probably were, or if you were too deep for light to reach, also probable, or made you were starting to blackout from whatever hit you, also highly likely. You deserved this, sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor, alone in the dark with nothing to do but rot. You deserved this.

Your eyes snapped open, the saltwater stinging them. You might have deserved to die like this but that didn’t mean you were going to make it easy. You were a fighter to the very end and there was no way you were going to sit back and just let the ocean take you. You swam up, trying to kick your foot loose from the cord it was tangled in. the cord seemed to only get more tangled, the pallet of drugs only pulling you deeper by the second. You felt around, searching your body for the knife you always kept on you. You let out an internal sigh of relief when your finger brushed the metal, your hand quickly gripping the rubber handle.

You freed your knife and swam down, the cord that was around your ankle was too thick to cut through, you were going to need to cut the net the drugs were in. You swam further down, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes. You felt around, finally feeling the net, following the path of the net until you found where the cord around your leg connected to the net. You quickly dug the knife into the rope, sawing back and forth until the cord broke free. You didn’t waste a second, quickly swimming back to the surface.

You broke through the water, gasping for air, trying to keep your head above the water as the waves crashed over you. The storm was still raging, you looked around, seeing nothing but the glint of your knife in the moonlight. A few seconds after floating on the water, trying to reserve your energy since you didn’t know right from left in the ocean. If you just started swimming you could end up going further out to sea. You needed to find a piece of driftwood or something just to keep yourself afloat as the current guided you back to shore.

You sheathed the knife back at your side, not removing your hand until you knew it was secure. You reached down, bringing your leg up as you tried to detangle the cord from your ankle, while also keeping your head above the water. The cord was thick and heavy, it kept trying to drag you down but eventually you got it around your foot, kicking your foot to untangle the rest of it until you were finally free.

Something else broke the surface, making you jump but when you got closer you saw it, three tightly sealed packs of drugs. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, the drugs that seemed to be your downfall might be the thing that saved you. You swam to them, pushing them as close as you could together, holding them in place as they kept you afloat.

You pulled out your necklace that you always kept tucked under your shirt, giving it a kiss, silently thanking Poseidon or any other sea god that might exist. You didn’t necessarily believe in the Greek gods, but you grew up hearing those stories, fascinated by the mythology of it all. When you got into fishing your mother gifted you a little trident necklace and ever since you had never taken it off. You knew it was kind of stupid and your crew always made fun of you for it, but you always kissed it before going out to sea and held onto it during difficult times. You didn’t believe in it but on the off chance that the gods were real you wanted to show your support in some way, besides, representing the god of the sea and showing him respect didn’t hurt anything. It gave you comfort, believing in a god, believing that when you went out to sea you’d be protected and if the worse came, then you’d have somewhere to go, that your soul might be protected in the afterlife.

Or maybe Poseidon saved you only to let you die a far harsher death. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean isn’t ideal but it would have been quicker than your current predicament. Now you were floating in the middle of the ocean, a couple bags of drugs the only think keeping you from exhausting yourself and sending you back down to your demise. No one knew where you were, no one would come for you, your crew would lie about what happened and everyone would write you off as dead. You were soaked down to your bones, the top half of your body shivering in the moonlight, you had no food, no water. Your only hope of rescue was being close enough to shore that the tide would carry you in before you died from dehydration, which you knew wasn’t likely. Otherwise, your fate lied in the coast guard stumbling upon you or some unsuspecting fisherman catching sight of you as they set out for their catch.

You sighed, closing your eyes, yeah, the sea god was pissed at you. You couldn’t blame him; you did taint his ocean with drugs after all. You deserved everything that was coming to you. At least the rain stopped, maybe you were being shown mercy after all, maybe Poseidon wasn’t going to allow you to die alone, in the ocean, in the freezing rain. To most that wouldn’t seem like a kindness but for a god that was about as merciful as it got. You were lucky the waves weren’t still crashing over you, refusing to allow you to break through to the surface, fighting your way up and the surface just constantly being out of reach. If you were to die by simple dehydration, then you were lucky.

You had one arm stretched out over the packs of drugs to help keep them together, your fingertips dipping into the water with each movement of the waves. You rested your head against the packs, your eyelids becoming heavy despite your desire to keep them open. The last thing you saw was the moonlight before you finally lost consciousness.

Your eyes slowly fluttered, squinting as you tried to look around but quickly dropped your head back down when you didn’t have the strength to lift it. You groaned, as you reached over, touching your shoulder, gritting your teeth at the pain that shot through your entire body at the lightest touch. When you pulled your hand away, resting it in front of your face as you opened your eyes just a bit more to see your fingers coated red. With that your eyes slowly closed again.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, not able to open your eyes again. The sun beating down on you as you swayed with the waves. You weren’t sure where they were taking you, to shore, or further out into the ocean, inching closer to your demise with each wave.

The waves got rougher, making you regain consciousness for a second. It sounded like people were talking, you nodded thinking you finally succumbed to delusions and now you were hearing things. Certainly, it was only a matter of time before the ocean took you again, dragging you back down to your watery tomb.

Death never came though, you were gripped by the shoulders and hoisted upward, gently being placed back down on a hard surface. You tried to open your eyes, squinting as you saw a handful of silhouettes standing over you. One of them stood taller than the other, looking down at you as he pointed to the others, seeming to give them orders. When he turned, the sunlight hitting him just right, you could see he had a beard, he also smelled oddly like fish, maybe Poseidon was real after all, or maybe you smelled like fish, you were on a fishing boat the night before and had been in the ocean since then.

“Holy shit,” someone whispered, the first thing you could properly hear but your eyes wanted to remain closed as you tried to turn toward the voice.

“Let’s get back to shore!” someone ordered.

“We need to get them to a hospital,” another voice said. This voice was closer to you, and you felt pressure go to your injured shoulder, causing you to let out a cry, your body jolting from the pain but quickly flopping back down again.

“No,” you rasped out. “No hospital.” You tried to raise your hand to wave them off, but you didn’t think your hand ever left the ground. “No,” you breathed out before finally fully losing consciousness again.

#mabel finestkind #mabel (finestkind)#mabel x reader #mabel x you #mabel x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind 2023 #luck runs out

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wishful-thinking64 · 1 month

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One Hell of an Unpopular Opinion #04

The reason behind the Exterminations should've stayed to prevent Sinners from overpopulating the Pride Ring and I don't like how Hazbin Hotel portrays Adam as being in the wrong for hating Sinners.

_________

The whole, "We kill Sinners for our entertainment," reasoning from Adam and Lute as well as, "I approved of the Exterminations to avoid Hell's Sinners from starting an uprising," reasoning from Sera is so stupid. Specifically, Sera's reason. Because logically approving of the Exterminations would only lead to more and more Sinners wanting to start an uprising with each passing Extermination. Adam and Lute's reasoning has to be the way it is so that the show writers can make it seem like Charlie's in the right when the show gives us reason to believe that she's actively wrong. For example, Angel Dust was born in New York City and into a Mafia family likely somewhere around the years 1912 - 1915 as he's stated to have died in his young to mid 30s in the year 1947 due to a drug overdose. Angel Dust was a mobster for most if not all of his life but he hasn't shown or stated that he feels any remorse or guilt for what he did back then. The only thing he feels guilty for is for his past self having signed that contract with Valentino which is totally valid however making a soul contract with Valentino isn't the reason why he's in Hell. Angel Dust is in Hell for being a murderer, a drug trafficker, a drug attic, a smuggler, and for likely having committed several other money related crimes. I swear, people hear or see the word Mafia and automatically think of death when the majority of their crimes are motivated by currency. Like, its still not good but its not just senseless murder either. The point is, we haven't seen anything about Angel Dust truly wanting to change. Yeah, there was that scene in episode #06 where Angel turns down Cherri's offer to do drugs but that doesn't suddenly mean he's no longer a drug attic for turning down ONE offer. Most of the Sinners we see or know of in Hell are fucking horrendous people. Alastor was and still is a serial killing cannibal because he can. Let me repeat. He WAS and STILL IS a SERIAL KILLING CANNIBAL because he CAN! There is an entire place in the Pride Ring known as the Cannibal Colony (in the show it got changed to Cannibal Town but I've been calling it Cannibal Colony for 4 years now and I do not plan on stopping), Martha's in Hell which makes sense considering she and her entire family were actual Devil worshipers, Loopty and Lipton experimented and killed the poor, and Valentino is a rapist. We still don't know enough about most of what the HH's cast did when they were alive which is why I think Sir Pentious ultimately getting into Heaven was a load of BS. We don't even know why he ended up in Hell in the first place but he tries to help his "friends" once and dies in the process and that's enough to get him redeemed???

Seriously, what did he do to deserve damnation? Also, I know Viv probably doesn't have Cain or Able as that would give Adam an understandable, even justifiable, reason for despising Sinners. His first and oldest son, Cain, is LITERALLY the FIRST SINNER. For what? For killing his younger brother, Able, by slicing his throat with a knife or sharp object in the same manner Able did when sacrificing his lambs. Although, I've also heard that Cain killed Able by bludgeoning him to death with a stone by repeatedly bashing it into Able's skull. Either way, if anyone deserves to hate Sinners the MOST then it's Adam & Eve without a doubt.

#vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #hazbin hotel critical #hellaverse critical #anti charlie morningstar #hellaverse criticism #anti vivziepop

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alltheirdamn · 10 months

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A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!Reader)

CHAPTER 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you were your father's daughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not when it came to family.

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

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

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

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

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

You just were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

“Fuck you,” your father spat.

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

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

Everything was gone.

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

___________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he followed.

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

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

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

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

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

An invitation to run.

A warning if you did.

Neither sounded appealing.

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

But you would never return to him.

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

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

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

And option one it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…a Mandalorian…”

“Look at the beskar…”

“Have you ever… seen one?”

A Mandalorian?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Wrong choice,” he growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough,” he barked.

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

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

He hesitated a moment, his helmet assessing you.

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

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

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

“Just…” You panted. “…Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least for now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Fuck. He didn’t want to hear that.

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

She was dangerous.

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wished the Mandalorian had listened to your pleas.

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

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

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

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

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

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

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

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

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

#mando #mando x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #star wars fanfiction #mando x you

175 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 1 year

Note

Hi again Bestie!

This is for the Enemies to Lovers Angsty Joel ask. I was thinking a new reader with show Canon Joel? But if that’s too much work and it works better with Lavender Joel and doc that’s fine too!!

aaa thank you so much for responding!!

OMG HI BESTIE!

Thank you so much for the ask and for being patient! I hope this fits with what you're looking for. Thank you for reading and reaching out! Love you!!!

(This ask came in from @dundienominee and they're tagged with permission HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!!)

Loathe/Lust

You have every reason to hate Joel fucking Miller. He knows it. It doesn't stop him from coming to you for help.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Legal age gap (reader is 27 and has known Joel since she was 25, Joel is 46.) SMUT :D Canon typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.4k

Spring, 2013

At the end of the world, there were very few constants.

One, you were fucking tired of jerky.

Two, there was never a shortage of people who needed healing.

Three, you hated Joel fucking Miller.

Everything else could shift and change but those things were facts.

Jerky was a staple of every meal because, with QZ food, there was no such thing as fresh. There was often no such thing as enough, either, but fuck were you tired of jerky.

And QZ life wasn’t easy on anybody. People needed a lot of patching up here. You’d come up through FEDRA school, 17 and a junior in high school when the outbreak happened. You were tapped early for your aptitude for biology and taught the very basics for helping to keep people alive. You didn’t know much about the world before, you’d been a teenager when things went to shit, but you knew what they taught you barely qualified as medicine. Still, you did everything you could to help people. It was nice, having purpose in this shitty life.

Then there was Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Joel fucking Miller, drug smuggler. Joel fucking Miller, guy who got your brother mixed up in his stupid illegal activities. Joel fucking Miller, the man who introduced your brother to fucking Marlene. Joel fucking Miller, the person you really blamed for your idiot brother taking off across the country to help the goddamn Fireflies as though there was a single fucking thing people could do to fix this disaster, to bring down FEDRA. Without Joel fucking Miller, Nathan never would have gotten hooked on drugs to begin with, never would have been vulnerable, never would have fallen for Marlene’s bullshit.

If it wasn’t for Joel fucking Miller, you wouldn’t be here, alone.

But you were.

And you hated him for it.

And he knew that you hated him for it.

Which is why it was a hell of a shock when there was a knock on your door late one Thursday night, just before curfew, and Joel was there, grimacing and panting for breath.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you snapped, almost slamming the door on him. He threw his hand out and caught it before you could, his thick fingers closing around the edge of it.

“Not any happier about this than you are, Brat,” he spoke through clenched teeth, using the nickname your brother always called you. The name he’d called you for 22 years before he went across the country because of Joel fucking Miller. “But I don’t exactly got another choice.”

He adjusted his leg so you could see it in the light. A knife was embedded there, right where his femoral artery would be.

“Shit,” you muttered.

“Can’t exactly go to the clinic with this,” he said. “But you’re dumb enough to take that fuckin’ doctor’s oath seriously so…”

“Calling me dumb probably isn’t the smartest move when you want me to save your goddamn life,” you glared at him.

“I ain’t wrong.”

“Fuck you,” you sighed, opening your door wide and stepping out of the way. He limped inside, going for the couch. “Don’t even think about it, asshole. Kitchen table, if I’ve got to clean your blood off my floor I’m not trying to get it out of the fucking carpet.”

He grimaced but obeyed, heading for the table and sitting down heavily in one of your mismatched wooden chairs. You went to collect what you’d need to - hopefully - keep him from fucking dying in your apartment and came back, propping his injured leg up on another chair before pulling a third one up alongside him. You put a towel down below him and took your scissors and cut his jeans, exposing his leg where the knife was sticking out.

“At least you weren’t dumb enough to pull it out,” you muttered, examining the wound. “Know how big the knife is?”

“Big,” Joel said wryly.

You glared at him.

“I meant in inches. Not that you men can judge inches worth a damn…”

“I can,” he said. “And it’s about 8 inches. Trust me, I know.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Alright,” you said, actually meeting his gaze. His eyes were oddly gentle, a softness to them that made your heart ache a little when you looked at him too long. “I’m going to do what I can here and I have my shit set up and ready to go but if this thing shredded your femoral artery, you’re going to bleed out and die in just a few minutes and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m as prepared as I can be for a heavy bleed but if you’re really fucked you’d need someone to take a blood vessel from one part of your body and use it to patch the femoral and it should go without saying that I can’t do that in my fucking kitchen. I could put a tourniquet on you and try to get you to the clinic but…”

“FEDRA would just finish me off,” he nodded. “I get it.”

You paused for a second, looking at him.

“I really will do everything I can,” you said, actually earnestly speaking to him for a change. You felt… bad for him. For Joel fucking Miller. You didn’t like the guy but you didn’t want him dead.

You pulled on gloves.

“Look, Brat, I know this is a win/win for you, alright?” He smirked a little. “Either I owe you or I’m dead and you don’t have to fuckin’ deal with me anymore. Promise I won’t haunt you if I finally got myself killed, OK?”

You nodded and tried to wrap your head around the idea that Joel fucking Miller might be dead at your kitchen table in a few minutes.

“Anything you want me to tell people if…”

“Don’t have much I’m leavin’ behind,” he said, actually serious now. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him be serious before. He sighed. “Been fine with dyin’ for a while. About time it caught up with me. Just tell Tess and Tommy I’m sorry for fuckin’ ‘em over. Sorry to you, too, for draggin’ you into it. Don’t have anyone else.”

You nodded again. Why was Joel making you feel bad for him? Making you think of him like a person instead of some asshole now? When it’d be on you to keep his stupid ass alive?

“Right.”

You cracked your neck and loosened your body up before putting a hand on his bare thigh. His skin was warm and soft, his leg muscled and thick.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” you warned him. “But you need to stay completely still, otherwise something that wasn’t already fucked up might get fucked up. I’ve got to pull the blade out as straight as I can, try to get it to go the same path it went in, OK?”

“OK,” he nodded, his large hands going to the base of his thigh, like he was going to hold himself still. He looked at you again. “Meant what I said. It’s really… it’s alright if it kills me, OK? Don’t want you to feel like shit if it does. Not your fault.”

“Yeah, I’d hardly feel like shit for taking you out, Miller,” you rolled your eyes even though the idea of him dying mad your stomach turn. Maybe it was because it would be on your shoulders and you didn’t want anyone to die because of you. Even Joel fucking Miller, the man you hated more than anyone else. The thought that part of him wanted to die made your chest tight. You took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

You pulled the knife out as quickly as you could while also holding it steady - which, as it happens, wasn’t all that quick. Joel hissed in pain but, to his credit, didn’t move.

There was a fair bit of blood once the blade was freed but it wasn’t a full-blown arterial bleed. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good news, you’re not going to bleed out on my kitchen floor,” you set the knife down and grabbing gauze, putting pressure on the wound. “You missed your femoral artery. I still need to get this bleeding to slow down before I can stitch you up and you’ll need to take it easy for a bit but you’ll be fine.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he smirked a little but still. He looked relieved.

“You’re a constant disappointment so I’m used to it.”

He snorted and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms, watching you hold the gauze to his leg. His bare, strong leg. You swallowed.

“Hear from your brother at all?” He asked.

You looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

“Every now and then.”

“He doin’ OK?”

“Fine, from what I can tell,” you replied. “Doesn’t have anyone giving him a steady stream of fucking drugs which I’m sure helps.”

He shrugged.

“Demand is demand, Brat,” he said. “Don’t blame the supply.”

“Want me to go back in and cut your femoral artery?” You snapped. “Because I can make that happen.”

“Honey, I don’t think you could cut the femoral artery of someone who was tryin’ to kill you if you had the chance,” he smirked. “Not gonna do it to me. You should work on that.”

You just rolled your eyes and changed out the gauze.

“In just a second I’m going to get to stab you over and over with a needle,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Think I’ll see just how close together I can get these stitches. Can’t wait.”

It didn’t take long for the bleeding to slow and you did, indeed, stab Joel fucking Miller 20 times in the leg with a needle.

“There,” you said, looking over your handiwork. “Looks like you’ll live to ruin lives another day.”

“Livin’ the dream,” there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. You set the needle down and took off your gloves before getting up.

“Alright, you’re not going home tonight,” you said, squatting down so your shoulder was tucked into his underarm. “It’s after curfew, anyway, and I’m not about to let you waste all the trouble I just went through by getting picked up by fucking FEDRA. I’m moving you to the couch and going to set you up so that leg is elevated. You can go home in the morning.”

He nodded and shifted in his chair until part of his weight was on you. He was big, bigger than you really realized, his weight more substantial than you’d expected. He was so broad. You hadn’t been close to him before, had never realized it. He sat heavily on the couch and he hefted his injured leg up as you grabbed some towels to stack below his ankle.

“Comfortable?” You asked, hands on your hips.

“Think there might be a pea under one of these cushions…” You flipped him off with a roll of your eyes. He smiled. “I’m good. Thank you. For… well, all of it. Appreciate it.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “I’ll work on that so next time I can finish you off.”

He smirked.

“Whatever you say, Brat.”

You woke up early but Joel was already gone.

You didn’t see him again until he showed up at your door almost a week later, not long after you got home from a shift at the clinic.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” You asked.

“Just you.”

He held out a book and you frowned and took it. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

“What…”

“Saw you had some of her on your bookshelf there,” he nodded toward it. “But didn’t see that one and it’s the only one I’d fuckin’ heard of… Anyway. Thought you’d like it.”

“I do but…” you turned the book over in your hands. It was a nice copy, with a cloth cover and a ribbon bookmark. It would have cost a small fortune on the black market. You looked up at him. “Why are you giving me this?”

He shrugged.

“Saw it, thought of you. Wanted to say thanks for not killin’ me.”

“You really don’t…”

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Brat.”

He left while you were still staring at the book.

It was three months before he was back at your door again. You’d read Pride and Prejudice twice since then, disappearing into the story, reluctantly thankful to Joel fucking Miller for the best escape you’d had from the QZ in years.

This time, it was after curfew and he was clutching his arm, soaking wet as it poured rain outside. You just sighed and wordlessly opened your door.

He came in and sat at your kitchen table while you grabbed towels and gave him one.

“Don’t have a knife lodged in there do you?” You asked, grabbing your stash of medical supplies.

“Not this time,” he dried his face and roughly pressed the towel to his hair. “But it’s a nasty cut that hasn’t stopped bleedin’, think I need stitches.”

“Can you take the shirt off?” You asked, going to the kitchen to wash your hands throughly.

“Think so,” he called after you.

You stopped in your tracks when you turned around. The shirt was off and Joel was… fucking beautiful. His chest and arms and shoulders were broad and sculpted, his stomach a little softer and inviting. You wanted to touch him, not as someone treating him but as someone experiencing him, enjoying him. You shook yourself mentally.

He was Joel fucking Miller. You were not going to get turned on by Joel fucking Miller.

“You just love giving me an excuse to stab you repeatedly don’t you?” You said, sitting in the char beside him and pulling on gloves.

“Figured you’d be bored,” he smirked. “Got a big knife if you want to try to take me out this time…”

He nodded to his belt and you looked down instinctively. He did, indeed, have a large knife strapped to his side. You rolled your eyes.

“Sit still while I do this,” you demanded.

“Yes ma’am.”

You disinfected and cleaned the wound before you started stitching it. You could hear Joel grimacing as you did and you tried to ignore just how good his damn arm looked as you worked on it.

“How’s Nathan?” He asked after a minute. You looked away from his wound to glare at him. “What?”

“He’s not here,” you snapped. “You can’t get him involved in your shit, can’t get him running drugs for you again, can’t get him putting his life on the line to feed his damn addiction, you can’t take advantage of his weakness so you can make more goddamn ration cards! So stop fucking asking!”

He was quiet and you went back to stitching.

“S’not why I ask,” he said after a moment.

“Then why do you?” You kept your eyes on your work this time.

“I’m not the one who got him hooked on that shit, you know,” he said, ignoring your question. You scoffed. “It’s true, I’m not. He was hooked well before I met the guy…”

“And how’d that happen?” You asked, harsher than you really meant to be.

“His dealer was a piece of shit,” Joel said. “Asshole named Robert. He knows who’s most vulnerable, who’s desperate, who he can overcharge and drive into debt. Nathan owed him money. A lot of fuckin’ money. He didn’t have it and Robert wasn’t too happy about that. So… I intervened.”

“Intervened?”

Joel shrugged and you glared at him, needle in your fingers.

“Sorry,” he said. “But… Robert’s an asshole but he’s smart enough to know that I’d fuck up him and his guys. So, I made him back off. But Nathan still needed the drugs so…”

“So he took up with you,” you finished for him, making the last stitch and tying it off. You cut the thread and sat back in your chair.

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel said, titling his arm to look at your work. “Wasn’t tryin’ to get him into trouble. Was tryin’ to keep him out of it. Seemed like a good kid. Didn’t deserve to get killed because some asshole was takin’ advantage.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “But still. You deserved to know. And I do hope your brother’s doin’ OK. I know you think I’m bad news but the Fireflies ain’t exactly the Girl Scouts.”

“Well, nothing is anymore, right?” You took off the gloves and started cleaning up. “Sit tight, I’ll find you a shirt. It’s after curfew because apparently you can’t piss people off at a reasonable time. You can take the couch again.”

“See, Brat, it’s all part of my plan,” he smirked. “Come here too late for you to send me home so I can sleep on your strangely comfortable couch…”

You rolled your eyes and found a shirt your ex-boyfriend had abandoned at your place when you’d broken up. You handed it to him and he went to the couch, not needing your help this time.

“Try not to sleep on the side with the stitches,” you said. “That should go without saying but…”

“But you think I’m an idiot?” He asked, brows raised, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Something like that,” you said, turning to to go bed yourself. But you paused, doubling back. He’d settled back in on the couch, his uninjured arm behind his head. He frowned at you, questioningly. “Thanks. For the book, I mean. Hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice since before the outbreak but it was nice, reading it again. Though I think I’d rather you owe me a favor than get the book…”

“Still owe you the favor,” he said and then looked at the spot on his arm where the stitches were. “Two, now.”

You smiled a little. At Joel fucking Miller.

“Good to know.”

He was gone by morning.

The next time you were able to talk to Nathan via radio, you asked how he’d meet Joel. You asked about Robert.

“Oh yeah,” he said, as though this should have been obvious to you. “Think I owe that guy my life, honestly…”

“He was selling you drugs that could have killed you, Nathan,” you wished he were about 2,000 miles closer so you could grab him and shake him.

“It’s all relative,” he said. “He sure as shit didn’t do to me what Robert did, I’ll say that.”

Joel fucking Miller.

What if your brother was only alive because of Joel fucking Miller?

It was two months before you saw him again.

This time, it was at the clinic. He was sitting in one of the small triage areas, just a curtain around the bed and you sighed when you saw him. He smirked.

“What’d you do now?” You asked, looking down at the chart.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to lie about symptoms so you’ll give me antibiotics to take back to Tommy. Think an injury of his got infected outside. Don’t want anyone lookin’ to closely at it.”

“Jesus, Miller,” you sighed. “Alright, what symptoms do you supposedly have?”

He rattled them off and you nodded along before sighing again.

“Let me get you antibiotics,” you said. “It’s a miracle none of you have fucking died, you realize that.”

“And I’m sure that’s a big disappointment for you,” he smirked.

“Every goddamn day.”

You went to the medicine cupboard and unlocked it, grabbing the pills you needed before closing it again when a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and ripped you around, so fast it made your head spin. You recognized the man standing so close to you that you could smell him. He’d been in the clinic a few times over the last few weeks, always complaining of pain. Everyone turned him away for drug seeking behavior but you could tell, the last time he was here, that he was getting desperate.

“Look you little bitch,” his large hand went for your throat before you had a chance to even fully realize what was happening, your eyes going wide. He thrust you back against the cabinet with a thud, knocking your head against it so hard that you felt your brain rattle in your skull. You dropped the bottle in your hand and it clattered to the ground as you instinctively clawed at his hand. He tightened his grip. “I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried asking. You’re going to give me what I fucking need or I’ll kill you and get it from someone else, understand?”

He squeezed tighter, your vision starting to get spotty. You couldn’t breathe and it’s not like you’d taken a deep breath before diving in the deep end of your parents’ pool. You wouldn’t last long without being able to breathe. Panic flared, acute and sharp, and your body scrambled to fight, to kick and scratch and punch to get a breath but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t letting you go. Your head was getting light and your vision was already narrowing when, suddenly the hand disappeared.

You collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air and looked up to see Joel on top of the man, a knee in his chest as he brought his fist down on his face again and again and again. The man tried to get his hands up to protect his face, then tried to land a hit on Joel but neither worked. Joel was almost eerily quiet as he pummeled the man, grunting with every blow, an almost unhinged look on his face.

“Joel!” You tried to yell for him as you pushed yourself to your hands and knees. Your body felt so weak compared to just a few minutes before. You couldn’t really talk, an unfamiliar, raspy sound the only thing that left you. You tried again, anyway. “Joel!”

You managed to make it to your feet and caught Joel’s elbow as he pulled it back one more time and he stopped, turning to look at you with that mad look on his face but it vanished the second he saw you. He dropped his arms, panting for breath, his eyes running over your face and neck. You pulled him back from the man as a nurse ran over to start examining Joel’s victim.

One of your hands went to your throat, cradling it gently and feeling for damage and you pointed to the pill bottle with the other one.

“Should get out of here,” you managed, though it sounded more like a garbled mess than actual words. But he seemed to understand. He picked up the bottle and gave you a last, lingering look before leaving the clinic.

One of doctors looked you over and said you’d be fine eventually, you just needed to rest. They offered you some pain pills - the same ones Nathan had been hooked on, the same ones the man today had been willing to kill you for - and you turned them down, just trudging home and collapsing on the couch when you got there.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been attacked. It was the end of the world, after all, it had happened a few times before. But it was the first time you had the feeling that you were about to die. Even when you’d been held at knife point for ration cards you’d had the feeling that everything was going to be fine. Yeah, you’d be short on some ration cards that day but you’d be fine.

Not this time.

You tried to relax, drifting in and out of consciousness on your couch, trying not to think of the man with his hand around your throat. The way his fingers had bruised you, the way his palm had crushed into your windpipe. The ruddy tone of his skin, the desperate and angry look in his eyes, the stink of his sweat. It was all there, every time you closed your eyes and relaxed too much it was there.

You’d just drifted off again when there was a knock on your door. You groaned and forced yourself off the couch and opened the door, your hand cradling your throat. You were half expecting it to be a coworker, coming by to check in on you.

Instead, it was Joel.

“Don’t try n’talk if it’s gonna hurt your throat,” he said. You frowned a little at him. He had a canvas bag over one shoulder. “Can I come in?”

“Not going to try and finish the job right?” You asked, voice strained and scratchy.

He rolled his eyes.

“Move, Brat.”

You made a face but stepped aside, anyway. Joel went past you to your kitchen, put the bag on the counter and started rifling through your cabinets. You followed him, frowning.

“What…” your hand was still against your throat, voice raw.

“Will you go sit down?” He gave you a look over his shoulder before going back to sifting through your things. “Jesus Christ…”

You threw your hands up but obeyed, sitting at your kitchen table and watching as Joel finally found what he was looking for. A pot, apparently. He put it on your stove and turned it on before going into the bag and pulling out a jar that he emptied into the pot. He stirred it for a moment before going into your freezer and finding the ice. He put some handfuls into a towel and came to the table, pulling out a chair and moving it so it was right in front of yours. He sat down and was so close to you that his thigh slotted between yours and you just sat there, looking at him, eyes wide.

“Move your hand,” he nodded toward it and you realized you were still holding your neck. You obeyed and he gently took your chin in his large hand - his knuckles cut and bruised - adjusting your head so he could examine your throat. “Damn, Honey, he got you real good.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Hush,” he ordered. “Hold your head still.”

He released your chin and lightly trailed his callused fingers over your throat, his touch lingering over where you knew was probably damaged and bruised. He took the ice in the towel and pressed it delicately to your skin.

“See, you do know how to listen,” he said. “Even does you good every now and then.”

You scoffed but you took the ice bundle from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. He sat back a little, his eyes running over the rest of you, his leg still between yours, the other brushing the outside of your thigh.

“He get you anywhere else?” He asked eventually. You shook your head a little. Joel nodded. “Good.”

“Why are you here?” You asked, voice a little clearer than it had been the last time you spoke.

“You need to eat somethin’,” he said. “And I owed you.”

“Why don’t I get to pick the favors?” You glared at him.

“I’ll still owe ya,” he shook his head a little. “Dyin’ to know what you’d cash it in on.”

“You and me both.”

It didn’t take long for the soup he brought to be done and he poured you a bowl of it. He got you both glasses of beer, also from the bag he’d brought. Your eyes went a little wide at your first bite of soup.

“What?” He frowned.

“This is good,” you said, going back for another bite.

Joel laughed.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not totally useless.”

“How’s your hand?” You asked, looking at his knuckles. He flexed his fingers for a moment.

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Had worse.”

You considered him for a moment. He frowned.

“What.”

“Why’d you do it?”

His frown deepened.

“Do what?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Save me. And beat the shit out of that guy. You hate me. Why’d you do it? Was it just that you didn’t want to lose out on the person who will stitch you up in the middle of the night or…”

“Don’t hate you,” he said, taking a sip of beer.

You scoffed.

“You hate me,” you said, taking another bite of soup. The weirdly good soup. “I know you hate me.”

“How do you know I hate you.”

“Because I hate you,” you said, though you were starting to think that wasn’t true anymore.

“Yeah, noticed that,” he smirked a little.

“You call me brat…”

“Nate called you brat,” he replied. “And you are a brat. Seemed appropriate.”

“You’re never nice to me,” you said. “Well, except right now…”

“You’re never nice to me,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to make your hatin’ me something that wasn’t fun for you, figured I should be mean back.”

“Hating you isn’t for fun you dick,” you glared at him.

“It’s not?” He looked a little amused by it all. “What’s it for then?”

“It’s for ruining my brother’s life!” You dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and set the ice pack down with a little too much force. “For getting him mixed up in your fucking smuggling operation and getting him involved with the fucking Fireflies and making it so he left town and I’m just left here, alone! I’m alone, I have no one and nothing and it’s all your fucking fault!”

You weren’t entirely sure when you started crying but you were. The overwhelming, gasping, choking kind of crying that you had to fight to breathe through. You could feel it in your chest, the pressure of the tears building up behind your eyes, every pain you’d suffered the past year welling up and bursting free at once, all of it directed at Joel.

“Oh, Honey,” he leaned forward and gently took your face in his hand, drying your cheek with his thumb. His legs were on either side of yours. He delicately pulled you against him, your face going to his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you, cradling you securely against his broad body. “I’ve got you, it’s OK…”

You stayed against him like that for a long time. Longer than you wanted to admit to. But it felt nice to be there in Joel’s arms. You didn’t have anyone here, didn’t really have friends outside of work. Your ex-boyfriend had broken things off a few months back and the idea of dating again the QZ sounded hellish so you just hadn’t done it. Joel, in that moment, felt like someone you had. He was someone that made it so you weren’t totally alone.

After a while, you’d calmed a bit, your tears slowing and your breaths coming easier. You kept your face buried in Joel’s shoulder, shifting a little so your nose was pressing against his neck.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you said, voice thick and rough from the tears and your injury. “Why’d you save me?”

He sat back from you ever so slightly, his hands taking you by the shoulders and guiding you back up so you were looking him in the eye. You wiped your nose on the back of your hand.

“You might hate me but I never hated you,” he said, his eyes oddly soft and earnest. “Not once.”

“Joel,” you said quietly. His hand went from your shoulder to your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair. You were suddenly, acutely aware of how little distance there was between the two of you. It seemed like too much.

He slowly, cautiously moved closer to you, his eyes going from your own to your lips and back again but he stopped just short of kissing you. Like he was waiting for you to close the distance, asking your permission.

You gave it.

You pressed your mouth to his and it was delicate at first, your lips brushing his, feather light but electric. Then, Joel’s grip on you got stronger, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. You let out a little moan, an ache growing between your legs.

Joel released your face and his hands traveled to your waist and he adjusted as he pulled you closer so that your legs went around him and you were suddenly in his lap. You could feel his hard length through his jeans and you realized that he hadn’t been joking about knowing the size of the knife. You groaned a little, grinding your hips down against him, and Joel moaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down and around your back, fingers spread wide over you.

“You sure about this?” He asked, peppering kisses along your jawline between words.

“Yes,” you panted, needy. “I want you…”

“Fuck, Honey,” he breathed. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His mouth reached the damaged skin of your throat and he delicately kissed each bruise on your neck, his lips warm and soft. His fingers lightly traced your bruises.

“He still alive?” He pulled back from you enough to look up at you from your position on his lap. You draped your arms over his shoulders and nodded. He frowned. “Shoulda killed him for touchin’ you…”

“Not worth it,” you said, kissing him again, harder this time. His hands moved to your front, unbuttoning your shirt.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his mouth close enough that his lips brushed yours when he spoke. “Promise you, you are.”

He nudged your arms down and slid your shirt off, pulling away from you to look down at your half naked body.

“Fuck, Honey,” he groaned, his large hands coming to your stomach and spreading warm and wide against you, moving over you, skimming over your skin with his rough fingers. He pulled you tight to him as his hands went for your bra clasp, unhooking it as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. He took it off, too, his hands finding your breasts, cradling them in his large palms, his thick thumbs brushing your nipples. “Jesus Christ, got no right lookin’ this fuckin’ good…”

He kissed over the swell of flesh before he found your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, licking the tip with his tongue, making you moan, your back arching into him. He did the same to your other breast, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your back like he couldn’t get you close enough. When he released you, he looked up at you, panting and desperate.

“Lemme take you to bed,” his hands slipped down your back to your hips, pulling you down firmly against his hard cock. “Need inside you…”

You just nodded quickly and his hands moved to your ass, holding onto you from below as he stood with you in his arms. You let out a little yelp as he did before he carried you down the hall to your bedroom.

He lay you down so gently on the bed it was almost shocking, kissing you deeply as he did. You fumbled with his shirt until it was unbuttoned and you could slide it off his broad shoulders and cast it aside. Joel moved to your jeans, unbuttoning them and hooking his fingers around them and your panties, pulling them down your body together, crawling back and kissing down your body as he did.

“Oh Honey,” he said once your pants were on the floor and he was kneeling between your thighs. He was looking down at your dripping slit. He spread your legs a little wider, opening the core of you to his gaze, before he ran a single finger over your folds. He left it against your clit, giving it the gentlest pressure. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You achin’ for me?”

“Fuck, yes,” you were practically squirming below him, your whole body raw and needy, the heat in you burning. “Please Joel…”

“Gonna make you come first, Honey,” his finger started working in slow circles, the pressure growing. “Make sure you’re ready for me. Get this pussy so fuckin’ wet for me.”

He sank a thick finger inside you, moving his thumb to your clit, and he moaned as you whimpered at his touch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” the hand not working your pussy went to your lower stomach, his fingers spread out wide against your skin. “Jesus Christ, you feel incredible, fuckin’ incredible and that’s just my finger, fuck…”

He worked you harder and you rocked your hips against him, your hands going to your breasts and holding them, squeezing them.

“Holy shit,” he moaned at the sight. “Fuck, need you to come Honey, need you to come for me so I can get inside you, come on baby.” He added another finger and hooked them up into the softest part of your core, making your breath catch in your throat. You started tightening around him, the heat in you growing. “There she is, can feel it, come on Honey, come all over my fingers, you can do it. Come for me, don’t make me beg for it, baby, need you too fuckin’ bad…”

You came, gasping his name when you did, your hold on your breasts relaxing as your whole body throbbed with your release.

“Fuck, there we go,” he worked you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. “Doin’ so good coming on these fingers Honey, getting yourself all ready for my cock. Gonna take such good care of you, baby, promise I will.”

Your body went slack and he smiled and almost devilish smile, sliding his fingers from your body and sucking them clean before he opened his pants and took them off. He climbed between your legs, crawling up your pliant form, kissing a trail up your body until his lips were on yours and you could feel his thick length brushing your dripping core.

“What if I want you to?” You panted, your hands running over his bare back.

“Want me to what?” He asked.

“Beg for it.”

He smiled a little.

“Please Honey,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Please, let me inside you. I’m past fuckin’ want you, baby, I’m past needing you. I swear not havin’ you is gonna fuckin’ kill me. I will beg you all damn night if you want, I’ll beg you all damn year if it’ll make you give yourself to me.”

You laughed softly, your fingers twisting in his hair as you pulled him closer.

“Guess you should fuck me then,” you smiled before you kissed him.

He felt as desperate and needy as he sounded, his thick head catching on your entrance before he pushed into you in one long, firm stroke. You gasped at the stretch of him, feeling every inch of his cock as he opened you to him, the tip of him finding a place inside you that you didn’t think anyone had reached before. You were so exquisitely full it was like your body had been holding space for him your whole life. It was something entirely new, so good you were almost happy the world ended just so you could find a feeling like this. You looked up at him, your eyes wide, wondering if he felt it too.

“Fuck,” he panted, holding himself within you as your body adjusted to taking him, his eyes searching yours. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never… fuck, Honey, I ain’t gonna last long, you feel too good, too goddamn good.”

“Joel,” you breathed. It was all you could think to say, every thought that wasn’t him gone from your head. Your pussy was already starting to tighten around him, just from the feel of his cock inside you. “Fuck, please…”

“You already about to come baby?” He asked as he started to move inside you, slow and heavy at first. You moaned and nodded quickly. He thrust into you, hard and firm. “Fuck, fuck, not gonna last when you come, can I come in you, need to come inside you, fuck Honey I need to come inside you.”

You just nodded again even though you weren’t on birth control and you sure as fuck didn’t know what was happening between the two of you outside of this bed and the fact that you knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. It couldn’t be, not when he felt this good, like he’d been made to fuck you and you’d been made to take him into yourself. You wanted him to leave part of himself inside you, plant it deep so you could feel him there all warm and wet tomorrow.

With your nod, he started fucking you - really fucking you. His cock was so deep when he pushed into you you could feel the thick weight of him pressing up against your skin, like you’d be able to see him inside your body if there was enough space between the two of you to look. He pulled back almost totally, leaving just his head inside your grasping hole before fucking back into you, every stroke hard and desperate and your nails sank into his back as your hips rose up to meet his on every thrust. You never wanted him to leave your body, wanted him to make a home deep inside you so you could always be this full, this complete. His body worked your clit and your pussy got tighter and tighter around him, your head swimming with the pressure of it all, your body so needy it felt like you might burst.

“Want to come with you,” you whimpered. “Please, come for me Joel, I’m so fucking close, want you to come deep inside me, please…”

“Fuck Honey,” his thrusts stuttered and he groaned. “Gonna fill you up so good, leave this pussy so fuckin’ full of me, fill you up again and again…”

He thrust deep, so deep it almost hurt and you felt him start to pulse inside you. Your hands went to his lower back, pressing him impossibly deeper and you cried out as you came around him, your channel milking his cock, throbbing around him until there was nothing left inside him to give to you.

He collapsed on you as you went limp below him and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he panted for breath. He stayed inside you as his cock softened and you could feel him leaking out of you.

“Holy shit,” he said eventually, kissing your throat and then your chin and then your lips. He kissed you deeper as he slid out of you and lap beside you. You hesitated for a moment but he reached over and pulled you on top of him, so your head was on his chest and your legs were nestled between his own. His cock was wet against your skin and you liked it, the reminder that he’d just been inside of you. “Fuck, Honey…”

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. His hand went to your back, tracing up and down your spine.

“Still hate me?” You could hear Joel fucking Miller’s cocky smile on his voice.

“I will if you never fuck me again,” you kissed his chest.

He laughed.

“Don’t gotta worry about that. Even though you still found a way to be a brat during the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had.”

You smirked.

“Would it be the best sex you’ve ever had if I didn’t?”

“Guess not,” he said. “S’it OK if I stay the night? Think we got some shit to talk through but I ain’t got it in me to do it tonight.”

“If you insist,” you teased, pressing yourself a little tighter to him. He held you a little closer. “Night, asshole.”

You said it the way you’d say baby or love. You meant it that way, too.

He laughed a little.

“Night, Brat.”

His voice was soft, like it was when he called you honey. Something told you he meant it that way, too.

#joel miller x female reader #fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #enemies to lovers

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midnightbears · 7 days

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I've been binge-playing Papers, Please for a few weeks now, and I can't stop thinking about a potential plot for a pre-timeline Stan Pines x Reader short story.

There's a character in the game named Jorji Costava, a recurring entrant who repeatedly tries to cross the border, claiming he has "business" in Arstotzka. No matter how many times the inspector denies or even detains him, Jorji remains upbeat and eventually forms a kind of unspoken friendship with the inspector, despite their cold, detached demeanor.

Now, imagine a similar scenario, but instead of Jorji, it's pre-Mystery Shack Stanley Pines (aka Mullet Stan), who's been trying to cross a border (idk how that stuff works sorry) for weeks with no success—all thanks to our MC, a strikingly beautiful yet incredibly stern female inspector. She’s so serious that people often comment how it’s a waste for someone as gorgeous as her to be stuck handling smugglers, drug dealers, and con men, all of whom constantly try (and fail) to deceive her with fake documents.

Stan, being the stubborn grifter he is, keeps coming back with forged papers, fake identities, and every trick he can think of, only to be rejected over and over again by this solemn inspector. Despite the frustration, Stan starts to grow fond of her. There’s something about the way she handles him—firm but never cruel. Even though she always refuses him entry, she never detains him, and sometimes she’ll even give him a quiet warning, telling him to stop wasting his time and just give up. Her serious, almost melancholy expression lingers with him each time.

I can picture Stan with that trademark smirk, saying something like, "Sorry, toots, but this is the only gig I’ve got."

As for where the plot could go? I have no idea man. Maybe a slow-burn as Stan's constant presence starts to chip away her stoic exterior and she is the one to grow fond of him eventually idk. I'd probably add some factors from the game itself, where the inspector runs the risk of losing her job for unwillingly helping criminal organizations for the sake of protecting her family, and then I would start adding the vulnerable scenes with Stan after the world falls upon her shoulders.

Idk!!!! I'd love to brainstorm more if anyone has ideas!

#midnightbears #gravity falls fandom #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls x reader #stan pines x reader #stan pines #stanley pines x reader #gravity falls stanley #stanley pines #young stanley pines #young stan pines #young stan pines x reader #mullet stan #mullet stanley #papers please

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vixenmulder · 3 months

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Jedi don’t have fun!

Summary: Reader and Yord go undercover in a bar, and accidentally distract each other on an important mission

Warnings: alcohol, kissing

—————

The glaring yellow lights from buildings reflected in dirty puddles on the ground, and the smell of cooking food and garbage mixed unpleasantly in the humid air.

Yord and Y/N were making their way through the crowded streets of the city, their hoods pulled low over their faces to maintain their anonymity. It seemed an unusual setting for two Jedi, blending into the bustling nightlife, but their mission required them to be discreet in their pursuit of the drug smuggler they had been tailing for weeks.

The limping figure ahead stopped looked around and then entered a bar, still completely oblivious to the two people that had been following him on his night time excursion. Y/N and Yord didn’t even exchange a glance as they followed him into the bar.

Yord, ever the rule-follower, was uncomfortable in the noisy, chaotic environment of the bar. The sounds of raucous laughter and clinking glasses grated on his nerves amidst the buzz of countless conversations. He preferred the tranquil stillness of the Jedi Temple, where his mind could be at peace. Yet, there was no denying the thrill of the chase and the satisfying closure that came with bringing a smuggler to justice.

In contrast, Y/N seemed to thrive in the chaos. Her carefree smile and quick wit effortlessly charmed those around her, as she ordered a drink from the bar, laughing pleasantly and paying, carefully picking up both drinks. In her civilian clothes she blended in perfectly, while Yord felt stiff and severe compared to her.

As they settled into a quiet corner booth, the shadows played on Yord's face. His demeanor, serious and composed, stood in stark contrast to Y/N's laid-back demeanor. Despite the gravity of their mission, she wore a playful smirk, unfazed by the dangerous endeavor ahead. Her eyes darted around the bar, observant, taking in every movement. The only thing betraying her nonchalant attitude was the occasional flicker of anticipation in her gaze as she locked onto their target across the room.

Yord, unable to shake off his disciplined attitude, meticulously studied the smuggler from afar, noting his every movement. On the other hand, Y/N, with her mischievous eyes, couldn't help but lean towards Yord, whispering comments and observations about the patrons of the bar. Although Yord attempted to maintain his seriousness, he struggled to ignore the warmth of her proximity and the subtle scent of her hair that filled his senses. He mentally berated himself for letting his focus slip, reprimanding himself for allowing such feelings to surface in the middle of their mission.

The drug smuggler, a burly figure with a rugged face marred by a network of scars, sat at the bar, nursing a drink. He was surrounded by a small group of shady-looking individuals, seemingly engaged in idle chatter that potentially masked the exchange of illegal substances. Y/N and Yord watched closely from their booth, their gazes unwavering yet subtle, avoiding drawing any unnecessary attention.

Yord shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the discomfort etched onto his face betraying his thoughts. The noise, the smoke-filled air, and the presence of strangers, all violated the his beloved principles of control and peace. Y/N on the other hand (much to Yord’s annoyance) had begun her favourite stake-out pass time, making up stories.

She was giggling and creating absurd backstories for random bar-goers around them, sometimes finding herself so funny that she whole figure shook violently with restrained laughter. She smiled wildly leaning in to whisper to him again “-that girl that’s with the disgraced priest, I bet she met him at a the circus, and-“

"You really ought to take this seriously," Yord whispers sternly, his gaze flicking between the target and her.

Y/N sighs, a playful glint in her eyes. "Lighten up, Yord. You know I can handle both the case and a few jokes. Multi-tasking, have you heard of it?"

She takes a sip of her drink, amused by his disapproving demeanor. His eyes roll in playful annoyance, but beneath the feigned irritation lies a hint of affection for her carefree nature. Yord sighed, the familiar frustration with Y/N's lighthearted approach surfacing again. "You can't keep getting distracted by every ‘amusing’ person in this bar. We're here for one reason."

“You made me lose my train of thought about the circus…” Y/N pouted clearly not listening and bringing a hand to her chin thinking hard.

Yord gives an exasperated sigh, shifting in his seat. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Her laughter echoes quietly, the sound sending an unexpected airy flutter through his chest.

"You love it, though," she teases, her voice soft. "Admit it."

His stomach does a summersault, and he averts his gaze, busying himself with observing the smuggler once more.

"Focus, please. We're on a mission here, not out for a night of entertainment."

“Speak for yourself!” She smiled and stretched slightly arm brushing up against his own as she does.

Yord exhales, trying and failing to hide a smirk at her response. He feels uncomfortable in his seat, aware of the proximity between them. He wants to scold her further about keeping her mind on the mission, but he knows how little effect his words have on her carefree spirit, and even if she doesn’t act like it she is in fact paying very close attention to the smuggler. He just can’t let her know that she’s right about multitasking.

"You make it difficult to stay focused," he mutters, more to himself than her.

Y/N grins at his comment, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. She leans back in her seat, her arm brushing against his once again in the cramped space. The feel of her body against his sends a jolt of warmth down his spine. He mentally chides himself for reacting, knowing he should maintain his disciplined focus.

"That's part of my charm, my dear," she teases. "I've always had a knack for distracting you."

Y/N's eyes twinkle mischievously as she shifts her focus to the bar. The bartender, a stoic figure with a permanent frown, catches her attention. She giggles under her breath, her mind quickly crafting a humorous backstory for the serious bartender.

"You see that grumpy bartender?" she whispers, nudging Yord.

Yord, trying to keep his focus on the target, can't help but roll his eyes jokingly. "Oh no, not this again."

As Y/N begins to make jokes about the bartender, Yord can't help but shake his head in feigned annoyance. Despite his disapproval, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrays his true feelings.

She leans in, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I bet he's not just mixing drinks. He's got a secret identity. Look at that mustache, definitely a cover up for some serious shameful past."

Y/N grins, undeterred by Yord's lack of response. "Oh come on, you're no fun. Just look at him: the way he moves, the way he interacts with the patrons. He's got layers, I can feel it."

Yord chokes on a laugh then feels frustration ride in his throat, and turn his head quickly to scold Y/N and tell her to knock it off, but when he does he is nose to nose with her, not realizing just how close she had leaned in. Her eyes are wide and startled looking back at him.

Yord is caught off guard by the sudden proximity of her face to his, and he falters his intent to chide her now overshadowed by the closeness of their bodies. His mind is blank when Y/N's gaze flicks to the side, her expression subtly changing.

Her eyes lock onto his and she whispers seriously “Do you trust me?” And even through the surprise of the situation his response was immediate. “Yes.”

Y/N abruptly closes the distance between them. Before he can react, her lips are on his, her hands gently clasping his shoulders, and one sliding up his back to his hair. For a moment, his mind goes completely blank. He's utterly frozen, the world shrinking to the feeling of her against him. His mind races struggling to process the situation.

He might die, he can’t believe this is happening. Is he dead? Her smell is overwhelming, the feeling of her delicately kissing him makes him feel things he’s never felt before. He begins to kiss her back and without him noticing she quickly hops a leg over his and straddles him holding his face with both hands so gently. The feeling of his soft face in her palms shoots electricity into her heart, and she vaguely wonders why she’s never done this sooner.

Heat floods Yord’s body and mindlessly he wraps one arm around her lower back his fingers spreading feeling the fabric covering her warm shoulders. How long have they been here? Hours? Days? Years? He wishes that could be the case.

All too soon, Y/N breaks the kiss, her gaze flicking over his shoulder. As their lips part, Yord's senses are captured by her closeness, the sweet scent of her skin, the warmth of her breath, and the rapid beat of his heart in his chest. She begins to move off of him and startled he realizes that both of his hands are on her waist. His heart feels like it’s breaking as he removes them, but the gravity of what just happened sinks in as she settles back down beside him.

Startled, Yord's eyes widen for a moment before he forces himself to maintain a casual facade. Their faces remain close, as they’re still leaned towards each other but in a way that allows them to keep an eye on the smuggler.

“So …What was that?” He said calmly clenching his jaw and trying to slow his breathing, staring at the smuggler through half lidded eyes.

Y/N can feel a subtle blush creeping up her cheeks, but she tries to play it cool. “The smuggler had been glancing at us, and when you looked away he was staring at us and had started to point, I thought he was figuring out who we were and I had to think fast.”

Yord's mind tries to catch up with the events unfolding around him. His lips still tingle from the unexpected kiss and his thoughts are a jumbled mess. He swallows hard, his mind still preoccupied with the memory of her lips against his. "And the first thing you thought of was to kiss me?" he asks, disbelief coloring his voice.

Despite her normally confident demeanor, Y/N is unexpectedly embarrassed by her impulsive action. Her cheeks flush a light pink, a rare flicker of vulnerability in her gaze.

"Just a quick cover-up," she mutters, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "The smuggler was getting suspicious, and this seemed like the quickest way to blend in."

Yord's heart pounds louder in his chest, his thoughts swirling with conflicted emotions. Her momentary embarrassment only adds to his flustered state.

His heart raced as he absorbed her words. Despite the logical explanation, his mind is filled with the lingering feel of her lips on his, the warmth of her body against his, and the overwhelming closeness between them.

He manages to find his voice, still slightly shaken. "You could have just told me," he mutters gruffly. "There were other ways to blend in.”

Y/N gives a sheepish shrug, her cheeks still flushed from embarrassment. "This seemed like the most direct approach," she replies feebly, avoiding his gaze.

Yord can't help but notice how uncharacteristically flustered she is, her usual confidence seemingly shaken by her own impulsive action. He's torn between wanting to chide her further for her recklessness and wanting to pull her closer again.

The tension between them is palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and mixed emotions. He fidgets slightly in his seat, struggling to regain his composure. Her fingers tap along the rim of her drink.

Y/N can feel the weight of his gaze, her heartbeat quickening under his intense stare. She finally meets his eyes, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and something else, something more profound that she can't quite define.

A charged silence hangs between them. Yord can't seem to tear his gaze away from her face, taking in every little detail - the flicker of her lashes, the sheen of her lips, the rising and falling of her chest. His heart hammers in his ears, drowning out the sound of the bustling bar.

Y/N, equally captivated, can feel the tension mounting between them, the air practically crackling with electricity. She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry.

Yord grapples with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. A part of him longs to pull her closer, to feel the warmth of her body against his again, but another part of him wants to maintain his disciplined demeanor. He studies her face, his gaze roaming over her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, and the subtle flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.

A long moment hangs in the air, filled with unspoken words and electric tension. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice gruff. "You always have to make things complicated, don't you?"

Y/N opens her mouth to respond, but before she can utter a word, Yord's gaze snaps away from her, focusing again on the smuggler. His expression darkens, his mind shifting back to the mission, his confession would have to wait.

A newcomer has approached the smuggler, engaging him in hushed whispers. Yord and Y/N share a quick glance, silently communicating the need to maintain their cover and listen in.

“Looks like the smuggler's contact arrived."

They watch closely as the two men exchange some small items, their voices too low to be heard above the noise of the bar. The conversation that was just just exchanged between the two Jedi, dropped for now, but far from forgotten.

#the acolyte #yord the acolyte #yord fandar #x reader #reader insert #kiss #fluff #yord #acolyte #star wars #Jedi #Yord x reader #Yord Fandar X reader

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stinkysam · 2 months

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Serge “Frenchie” - Hands games.

Warning : drug and alcohol consumption, violence (?)

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “I was listening to the song "I'm so crazy for you" by Rebzyyx and I was thinking about Frenchie in that context or like in the sense of, Match my Freak. So you could you write a fluffy/angsty bit with Frenchie and male reader being the most unhinged, diabolical couple on the team?” - anon

Reader : gender neutral (you/yours)

A/N : i know so nothing about drugs I didn't even know the short name for cocaine smh, so please, if I'm wrong, close your eyes. Ignore it. See nothing, say nothing.

It's not that they hate you, it's just that they're not particularly excited about working with you two.

You make them uncomfortable by being a tad bit too comfortable around them.

Except Kimiko who seems unfazed by it all, as long as you two are happy, she's fine with anything. And Butcher, who's too tired to properly care.

Hughie tries to be open, only to often find himself smiling awkwardly as you and Frenchie are tongue deep in eachother’s throat, hands wandering everywhere, not caring about the people around.

Kimiko approaches him with a smile, tapping his shoulder before showing him her phone.

“👀 Time to get out 🍆💦🍑” Is written on the screen. Hughie stammer a bit.

“Th- They're doing it here ? Ri- Like right now ?” He asks and she nods, pulling him with her out of the room.

The amount of time Hughie or the others almost saw you or Frenchie naked is astronomical.

When you had to hide at the back of some shop with a group of smugglers doing their thing, you'd leave your makeshift bed and stay in boxers, ignoring Hughie's pleas to put some clothes on even during urgent meetings.

“What are these two still doing naked, eh ?” Butcher asked, stopping his explanations, just noticing the two of you rolling a joint, chatting together in boxers as if you had no worries in the world. You two frowned in confusion.

Naked ?

“It's summer.” You replied simply with a shrug.

“J’ai mes chaussettes. I'm not naked.” Frenchie added, raising his right foot up.

“Yeah me too.” You nodded. “I'm all for walking barefoot blah blah blah but the floor here is so unsanitary. So socks stay on.” You sighed, a bit too focused and upset about the unclean floor.

“So… uh, you said you had a plan ?” Hughie said hesitantly, returning the attention back on Butcher.

You couldn't do that in the new hiding spot. Though it wasn't really hidden as it was the Flatiron Building.

M.M explained what the color of every post-it meant, and which trash cans were for what before insisting on behalf of unnamed people -everyone- that all of you must remain fully clothed, at any time.

That didn't stop you from making out on the desks. Or fucking on the couch when it was just the two of you.

M.M thought it was common decency to not fuck on it. But apparently, he was wrong, and told you two to stop it.

That didn't stop you. But as a precaution he never sat on that couch ever again.

You two had a game. The slightly weird kind.

You'd slap him across his face, gently, and he had to slap you back slightly harder. In return, you'd have to do it back harder as well, and so on and so forth.

You two never went too far, never hurting the other, but you had to admit that sometimes, a slap can leave you a bit shocked.

He had started it. It was barely a slap, but you moved your head to the side dramatically before doing the same to him. Slowly it escalated, both growing more competitive and not wanting to be the last one slapped.

You were waiting, slightly grimacing, bracing yourself for the impact. You bit your lips as you watched Frenchie focus, approaching his hand from your cheek a few times before slapping it a bit stronger than anticipated.

You both gasped, surprised, your cheek tingling and burning as well as his hand. He grabs you and pulls you closer, kissing your reddening cheek.

“I'm so sorry, mon cœur.” He laughed.

“Oh putain.” You turned to him, your eyes burning with revenge as you chuckled. “Alors toi…”

“No, no, no, no, I stop here.” He quickly said, taking a step back. He knew you'd always want revenge, one way or another.

“Oh no, you started it, which means it's my turn, then we end it.” You wiggled your fingers, ready to throw your hand at him.

He began to walk backwards, still facing you. You grabbed his shirt to stop him but he kept pulling back, laughing.

“No, no, no, I'm out.”

“You can't.” You said in a sing-song voice.

“A kiss then !” He tried, his hands joined together in a praying manner. You sighed, thinking about it.

“Okay. A kiss. But I'll get my revenge. Sleep with both eyes open.”

Annie was looking at you with a frown, eyes squinted and mouth slightly agape as she tried to understand why you would play such violent games. At least it ended with a kiss ?

You had tried it with Hughie once but he's so afraid to hurt you that he never slaps too hard.

Kimiko gets really competitive though she's really stressed about hurting you or Frenchie. And M.M didn't even let you explain the rules, he was already saying ‘no’.

You never tried with Butcher, for obvious reasons.

That's also when you gained the habit of slapping each other's ass when passing by. It was cute and simple when it was only that.

But one day, one of you -you- slapped the other -him- a bit harder than usual, sparkling a competition to slap each other's ass harder each time. And now, it was a recurring thing.

Everyone was silent and focused at their respective desk, Butcher was God knows where, Hughie was working with Newman and Annie was at the Vought tower

You stood up to throw your can of beer in the trash. You had the misfortune to pass next to Frenchie’s desk.

His hand went behind him to then slap your ass as hard as he could.

“Ah !” You jumped as you both gasped loudly.

“What the fuck !” You turned around, looking at him with wide eyes. “I could've dropped my can !”

“I think I felt your ass bones !” He said, shaking his hand, grimacing. “Ah, sa mère.”

“Et toi, tu m'as explosé le cul !” You hissed,

“Titre.” He said with a smile, still holding his stinging hand. You grimaced at him before walking away, raising your middle finger at him.

M.M tried to ignore you two, focusing on sorting his papers. Still, a disapproving sigh left his lips.

“They're in love 🥰” Kimiko typed on her phone to show him, who looked at you two, flipping each other repeatedly, then back at her before rolling his eyes. Kimiko typed quickly again on her phone.

“Weren't you and Monique like that ?”

M.M scoffed.

“Why-” He started, before lowering his voice. “Why would I ever slap Monique's ass like that ?” Hoping you two wouldn't hear.

Tough luck, you both heard.

“Because she has a nice ass ?” You and Frenchie said in unisson.

“We're civilized adults.” He replied, focusing back on his papers.

“She has a flat ass.” You said quietly with a sad face, pouting, your index sliding on your cheek to imitate a single tear falling.

“You don't wanna go down that path.” M.M said very seriously, warning you.

“I was joking. I'm sure she has a nice ass.”

“[Name].”

You nodded, understanding his last warning before throwing the can in the trash and returning back to your desk, passing by Frenchie's who raised his hand once more. You jumped to the side, hands in front of you in defense.

“No, don't you dare ! That's my turn !” You whispers-yelled.

“You're passing by, that's the rule mon cœur.” He shook his head, and stood up.

“Jeux de mains, jeux de vilains !” You quickly said as you darted away, Frenchie close behind you.

“Bunch of teenagers…” M.M whispered, shaking his head.

That's when Butcher entered the room, you and Frenchie immediately stopped running to turn around and walk back to your desks, trying not to laugh. You profited being behind him to slap his ass with all your strength.

The sound of the slapping was quickly followed by Frenchie's gasp, trying to stay discret, hands on his ass as he cursed at you quietly.

“Putain de…” He turned around pointing at you menacingly. He'll get you back. You sent him a flying kiss.

Butcher closed his eyes, he was already tired of your shit and it hasn't even been 5 seconds.

As much as you love Frenchie, and him you, you two bring out the worst habits of each other.

You both claim one of you is always sober or clean to look after the one who isn't.

Which is totally false.

It's just that one if you will pretend -badly- to not be stoned or drunk.

Both shushing each other loudly and giggling at a team meeting to form a serious last minute plan while you're drunk off your ass and Frenchie so high he sees cartoon characters version of you.

Hughie had to pull you apart to calm you two so Butcher doesn't commit a crime. But even then you're both signing -partially nonsense- to each other before slowly turning it into a mime game. Yeah, they're not going to get anything from you two today.

You really can't listen to orders when you're together, you're like two teenagers, it's horrible. Which can often put you two in danger at times.

You realize it when sober. How close you were from death and how bad your habits are. How irresponsible you can both act.

Multiple times you tried to stop drinking or doing hard and soft drugs.

But you always failed, unable to say ‘no’ to another drink at any minor inconvenience or ‘no’ to Frenchie when he went for a joint or some crack.

Kimiko tries to help, but she can't do anything when you aren't with her and she can't really help unless you really want her to, but you're not at that stage yet.

She fears one of you, if not the two of you will become a slave to these bad habits that are taking a lot of your life already.

She wrote to you two about it and neither of you knew what to answer. You knew she was right, you didn't know how to stop, when to draw the line, and being with the boys sure didn't help.

Traduction - Translation :

J'ai mes chaussettes. - I have my socks.

Oh, putain. - Oh, fuck.

Alors toi… - You…

Ah, sa mère. - Ah, motherfucker.

Et toi, tu m’as explosé le cul ! - And you, you've exploded my ass.

Titre. - Title (a that's what she said joke / title of my sextape)

Jeux de mains, jeux de vilains. - Hands games, nasty games.

Putain de… - Fucking…

#male reader #m!reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys tv #the boys x male reader #frenchie #frenchie imagine #frenchie the boys #frenchie x male reader

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