I have come to the decision that I need to read more Leverage fics where Eliot goes on a rampage and just absolutely obliterates a bunch of people for taking/hurting Parker or Hardison. This could mean him slipping back into Murder Eliot mode, ruthless and calculating and efficient no one who gets in his way is left alive or this could mean him going off script; Nate, Sophie and Parker or hardison (whoever wasn’t taken ofc) try to make a plan and figure it out but when they finally look up to ask Eliot his input he’s just fuckin gone, and they’re all like shit fuck Eliot’s about to kill people, but Eliot only knocks everybody out and comes back in later with whoever was taken/hurt cradled in his arms and he’s just whispering reassurances and comfort to them and maybe he’s injured bc he couldn’t care less about being hurt he just had to get them back and eventually he’ll tend to himself but right now parker/hardison is the priority and besides, he’s always had worse and is well equipped to handle a “little” pain (depending on how much you like whump) and just aidbsbsndjxj
Lots of protective!Eliot and ot3 vibes
Anyway hit me up with links if ya know anything like that pls or maybe I should write smth like this myself
I still think it’s absolutely unconscionable to have Eliot explicitly not be in a relationship with Parker and Hardison in Redemption but I am so so into the idea bounced about in tags between @eliot-wolfgirl-spencer and myself that Eliot was not, in fact, even a little bit lonely and sad that whole time. Why would he be?
He has a nice home with his best friends, the people he loves and trusts more than anything in the world. They live together, they eat together, they bicker and laugh and cry together, they share a space; they fall asleep on the sofa together in front of one of Hardison’s favourite movies, and Parker teaches him all the things she loves to do and teaches him how to be safe, and Hardison works together with him on making a small army of vigilante food trucks, and Eliot cooks all his love for them into three meals a day, ones that pair well with orange soda and cereal, and they see one another in all states of undress and tiredness and sleeplessness and it’s safe, its domestic, its everything he needs and everything he wants, save his own hand or a fling from a bar every so often. It’s never occurred to him to be sad or lonely. He’s perfectly, completely content.
It also, unfortunately, has never occurred to him that he’s basically common-law married to Parker and Hardison.
It’s only when Hardison leaves, and new people start to live with them, new colleagues, a team, family, yeah, but it’s different - it’s only then, when everyone is telling Parker or Bre they’re sorry Hardison is gone, acknowledging you must miss him, that Eliot begins to feel that heartsick, longing, loneliness. It knocks him for six - he dates a cop, man - and he doesn’t realise, because he doesn’t have the language to articulate it and the others don’t know to offer him sympathy, that he’s not yearning for a new relationship. His loneliness isn’t because he’s not dating someone. It’s because for the first time in a decade he doesn’t have that home life. It’s not the wish for something that he never had - it’s the sudden loss of something he didn’t realise he did.
mammon who’s the best at sloppy kisses. have you seated all prettily on his lap while you make out with him. strings of saliva connecting the two you every time you pull away for air. sucking on your bottom lip, sucking on your tongue. pecking your lips from time to time that’s so wet from your mixed spit. he makes sure to explore every inch of your mouth with his tongue and lick up the drool from the corners of your mouth. even licking down to your jaw, to your neck. and after, he looks at you so full of bliss while he tries to stop himself from kissing your puffy lips that’s tired from all the kissing. making out makes him so hard you don’t even need to touch him. grind your hips while you kiss he could come there and then. he’s always so sensitive when it comes to you.
The creed was in the past and Din was freed from his oath to hide his face, except he still hadn’t allowed you to see him helmetless. That’s until a chance encounter in the refresher gives you more than you bargained for.
Request by: Multiple Anons-#31 Wait, did you just call me cute?
A/N:This is post Season 2, so helmetless Din is a rarity but it’s a thing.
Also this is dogshit quality, written horrendously off my phone at work. Please no judgement
Category: Mutual Pining, Angst, Happy ending
Warnings:Swearing, Suggestive Themes, Reader throat punches a half naked Din.
You watched Din carefully from the makeshift chair you’d assembled.
There was a growl of discontent from beneath the helmet and he smacked the bench lightly. “It’s a pile of junk.”
You pretended to inspect your nails as he spun in his chair, acting as though you hadn’t just been staring at him. “So was the Razor Crest.”
There was an indignant pause before a simple, “no.”
You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “You can’t just say no,Din.”
“I can.”
Since the bounty hunter had created his own starfighter with Peli and yourself, you had both run into multiple problems. One of them, and the most prevalent issue, being it only had two seats and there were three of you.
So, the solution was to find another gunship that could carry both the fighter and still have a heavy arsenal to hold it’s own if separated.
You’d so tenderly named the one Din was bagging out: Bolts.
Only because you found a new bolt on the floor every morning from some mystery panelling- you figured it wouldn’t be a mystery anymore if they fell off.
The hunter stood to his feet, gloved fingers rubbing the back of his neck firmly. “I’m sick of working on ships.”
You felt a smile tug at your lips, “that’s why I’mhere.”
“Well,” he waved his free hand lazily at the flashing warning lights, “you fix it then.”
“Oh no, I’ve been busting my ass all day. I’m on break,” you mused, watching him beneath your lashes. “Besides this is prime entertainment.”
He said nothing, choosing to stifle his words rather than take the bait.
There was a soft groan and your ears perked at the sound. The helmet was in his way, he wanted nothing more than to massage the stress from his head.
The creed was in the past, after Din had come to realise it was not a requirement for true Mandalorian’s to hide themselves. He still wore the helmet around you and you’d only managed to catch a glimpse of his side profile when he revealed himself to the Child.
Since then, Din would only ever unmask around his son.
You playfully pulled your fingers over your eyes, “you can take it off. I won’t look.”
The air stilled and Din’s fingers twitched. He slowly moved to face you front on, hands falling by his side.
“It’s not like that anymore,” he murmured so low that you almost didn’t catch it.
You shrugged lightly, although your breath rattled in your chest, “sure.”
It was meant to be comforting, but the word fell sour from your tongue. You couldn’t help it, you had been under his employment for so long that you had thought yourself to be part of this little clan.
You were happy with the boundary he had set previously, it was none of your business and you had no entitlement to his face. But as time went on, his creed had been broken then discarded. Others had the pleasure of seeing him when he deemed necessary, the child could see him whenever he pleased.
You?
You got nothing.
The man you had jumped in front of a blaster for, the man you had gone to war for, the man you had calmed down from fear fuelled nightmares;
That was not enough.
You were not enough.
“You’re upset,” he said gently.
“I’m not upset,” you winked at him, recovering quickly. Standing to your feet, you stretched your arms over your head. “I gotta get back to Bolts before I get fired for being lazy.”
____________
You smacked on the refresher door again to no avail. Had you known the entrance was jammed you wouldn’t have spent so kriffing long on that random ceiling panel.
Your back burned from the awkward positions you’d contorted into throughout the day, the ventilation shafts were large enough to fit into for maintenance. There was no hope of Din squeezing in there so the job automatically fell to you.
Speaking of, the hunter had taken himself and the child for a supply run in town. The least he could have done was warn you about the refresher door, you needed a shower immediately.
You beat against the unrelenting steel once more before resting your forehead against it. The cool of the metal was comforting to your sweaty demeanour- but the positives of the situation ended there.
“Only me,” you complained beneath your breath, “it’s only ever me.”
Everything seemed to always work for the fucking Mandalorian but never the goddamned mechanic.
As if on cue, the refresher door suddenly hissed open. Your body fell straight through the doorway, the support you had been leaning on now non-existent.
A yelp ripped from your mouth as you flailed into the steamy room.
Hot hands burned into your skin, gripping both arms in a slick but firm grip. You dug your heels into the ground to regain balance, supported by the tight hold of the intruder.
Your eyes shot upwards immediately, heart racing between your ribs. Gaze skimming across the tanned, male and very naked chest before you, a whimper of terror fell from your mouth.
Hooded chocolate eyes watched you with the same shock mirrored throughout their expression.
You launched yourself backward before you could think twice and the man’s grip hardened. He wore nothing but a pair of long pants and a towel that quickly fell from it’s place over his shoulder.
“Let go!” Your voice was a desperate cry as you manically tried to shake his hold.
The intruder’s dark hair fell into his eyes as you jostled against him, mouth contorting into a grimace. “It’s okay! It’s okay!”
His voice was a deep rasp and had you not been in a petrified stupor, you would have realised it was familiar.
“Get off me!” The scream was supported by your frenzied fists beating against his chest.
“It’s me! Stop-” the man was cut off by a fluke punch to the throat. He wheezed and his handling became rougher. Herding you into the refresher, he pushed your back against the steel hard enough to knock the breath from you.
You gasped for air, tears spilling from your lashes as he pinned your hands beside your head. Powerful thighs pressed against yours before you could even think about kicking out at him and your arms ached beneath the pressure of his forearms.
There was a stunned silence for a moment, as you tried to regain your breath. Ugly, heaving, rasps from your chest, indicative of your terror. Your eyes were squeezed tightly shut, face turned away in preparation of whatever onslaught was to come.
“It’s me, it’s Din. You’re okay, Mesh'la,” the man’s voice was a rough whisper. He said your name gently, almost as if pleading with you. “You’re okay.”
Your body was shaking terribly, both from the scare of a possible intruder and the words you were confronted with.
“Din?” You said, teary eyes widening. You kept your gaze downcast and although you had just seen his face it felt forbidden to look at him again.
“Yes,” it was a reassuring croon, “yes, it’s me.”
Your shoulders heaved as a relieved sob racked from your chest, “Maker, Din, I thought you were going to- I thought…”
Your hunter eased his grip, releasing the pressure on your body to allow you to breathe. “I know, I’m sorry.”
There’s another silence as you swiped the tears from your eyes and leaned your head back against the steel.
You found the courage to finally look up at him, breath hitching at his proximity. His hands were by his side now, the tell tale twitch of his fingers a symptom of his anxiety.
He was beautiful, genuinely breathtaking. Damp, chocolate hair curling around his brows and his ears, you wondered how he managed that beneath the helmet. He had a strong nose, something you had always pictured, leading towards his slightly parted lips.
Then there was his eyes, deep earthy colours beneath a dark, hooded gaze.
One that was observing you just the same.
You felt heat simmer beneath your skin, rushing to both your face and your core. Is that how we watched you from behind the visor? Your heart raced at the prospect.
He was so fuckingclose.
And half naked.
Immediately that warmth turned to electricity. It sparked down your spine and across your fingers as you forced your eyes to stay up.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you I was home before I got into the refresher,” the words fell from his lips in a breathless ramble. “I couldn’t find you and I thought I’d be quick-”
“You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d kill you right here, Din,” you snapped, anger running rampant through your tone. “I thought you were an intruder here to murderme!”
He winced guiltily, and distantly you were in awe of his expressions. He was so animated, obviously he never learnt to school his expressions and it was evident in every pull of his brows.
“I know, I should have-” he paused, the words choked into silence before he could finish. You waited for him to continue and he tilted his head downward to eye you confusedly. “Wait, did you just call me cute?”
Your mouth dried and butterflies flocked together in your chest. Gulping thickly you raised an eyebrow, “what you’ve never heard that before?”
“No.”
He said it so quickly that he startled himself.
“Well,” you say slyly, ignoring the shake in your voice. “It’s hard to call you cute when you’re covered in beskar. Usually, intimidating is the best descriptor.”
He nodded softly, his brows lifting in agreement. Din watched you carefully for a long moment, appraising how close you both stood. When he made no move to step away, your stomach tightened.
“And now?” He asked gently. “I’m not intimidating without the helmet?”
Ofcourse he was. The hunter was tall and impossibly broad with strong features. He’d still make anyone cower.
But you didn’t say that, you simply shook your head. “Not in the slightest.”
Din snorted and the small smile that graced his lips made your heart trip over. “I don’t know,” he mused playfully, “you looked pretty intimidated a few minutes ago.”
You frowned at him, “I wasn’t intimidated.”
“No?” His tone was sarcastic but his eyes danced with mirth.
“No.”
He pushed off the wall lightly with a smile, leaning to pick the towel up from the floor. Din turned his back, showcasing the litter of scars stretched across hard muscle.
I just tested positive, so I’m officially a covid girlie. ☹️
The hardest part about being a ✨strong independent✨ solo woman is the fact that I’m genuinely beyond miserable and I STILL HAVE TO COOK MY OWN FOOD AND TAKE CARE OF MYSELF.
That is not sexy hot girl vibes. I am a sad girl. Who needs to get off the couch to make soup.
° summary: Set in the Golden Age of Piracy, join Hongjoong and his crew on a quest to find Captain Avery’s hidden treasure as they come across traitors, lies, and a tyrant for a king.
“We want that treasure, and we’ll have it—that’s our point!” - Long John Silver, Treasure Island
The collar buckled around Whumpee’s neck pinched their skin, drawing a hiss of pain from their chapped lips with every little movement. The leather dug into their throat, fastened much tighter than necessary, making their breaths raspy and labored.
They flinched, every muscle in their body tensing as Whumper’s footsteps came to a halt behind them, so close Whumpee could feel their presence.
“What were the rules?”
Whumper’s voice was flat, tone unreadable. They didn’t move, didn’t say anything else. Just stood there, behind their trembling captive.
Whumpee opened their mouth to speak, not daring to turn around. Their voice cracked before they could even get a word out, breaking into a whimper.
“What were the rules?” Whumper repeated, their voice slightly quieter than before, which only seemed to unnerve Whumpee further.
“Nn..not t’ take- take it ‘ff..” Whumpee whispered, their voice bouncing back at them off the walls of the basement.
The collar seemed to pull tighter, itching at their skin.
