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slurrmp · 2 years

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unrequited ✰ 13th doctor x reader. part one.

a/n: based on this little prompt i wrote back during the new years special. have fun with the angst because that apparently is all i can do now. also two fics in the span of at least six weeks? ahahahahahahaha, i just up and vanished again - really hope my writing funk disappears soon but like ... wygd. so this is part one, because i assignments i need to do and i just wanted to get this out there after a solid four month hiatus.

Have you ever had a crush on someone but you knew that it was almost impossible for you to do anything about it? Every time you saw them, those stupid, awful butterflies would form in the pit of your stomach and would proceed to fly all over the place and you felt like you would throw up? That your body would gravitate towards them without you even realising it, that everything they did you wanted to do as well? Well - that’s how you felt about the Doctor. You strongly knew you shouldn’t because of the whole being an alien and a gajillion years old thing but it was just one big fucking mess.

To say the least.

However, your little human heart couldn’t help it. Your human emotions would always get the better of you. Something the Master had relentlessly teased you about because he saw it before YOU even did. How that rat of a Time Lord saw it always confused you - he had said that it was in your eyes, but the man lied on a good day, so you never wanted to take his word for it. But - you had ended up trying your best to keep your emotions off your face after that. Though, that wasn’t even the most depressing part of the story. Your eyes would always lock on to her frame as she entered a room, watch as she’d float around the console. Your heart would speed up when she would explain plans with her hands and monologue about universes and tell stories (especially about that time she was struck by lightening having fun with Benjamin Franklin.)

To be quite frank with yourself, you were disgusted by the way she made you feel. You had never really been big on having a partner. Never really wanted to be in a relationship - you liked being by yourself too much, hanging out with your family and friends and then coming home at the end of the night to peace and quiet - sleeping in a big bed only shared by your pet. Some would consider that sad, but you always knew that you preferred your own company to that of anyone else's. But traveling with the Doctor for more than a couple of months now, that all seemed to have changed. Your outlook on life had drastically shifted gear, considering the fact that you could probably DIE on these certain adventures - that anytime you stepped FOOT out of the TARDIS, your life was in the Doctor’s hands. You ended up making a will after the first near death experience with the Doctor you ever had.

She made you feel like you could do anything, that you were invincible, that you couldn’t be hurt or touched - that you were under her protection. Then came the touches, the hugs, the hanging off you when telling a story. Holding hands and sharing clothes, being used as a human notepad. It was a really really bad crush (even as much as you tried to fool yourself). You had thought about telling her countless times but it never seemed like the right moment. The way she would look at you when you asked to speak to her but that all changed when Yaz entered the picture.

Yaz would always come and ruin it.

You loved Yaz, you promised you really did - it was the green eyed little alien that lived in the back of your head that made you hate to see her. They would always partner up when you were on a new planet. They would always be the first to have a moment. They would always be the ones to stay up late having tea and talking about the day.

It sucked. Majorly.

You would mumbled under your breath and just stay at the back of the pack. Graham and Ryan hardly noticed - they were too busy with their own lives to worry about yours. It was a shame that the Master was the only one to notice - that was until Dan came along. That’s when everything drastically changed.

“You should tell her you know.” His voice had caused you to jump. You had been standing in the doorway to the console room - head peeking around the corner, watching the Doctor talk to Yaz about something. They were barely a foot apart, heads pressed together almost - looking down at the console.

“Jesus Daniel.” You complained hand coming to rest over your heart. His eyes narrowed at the name, he still hadn’t told you if that was his real name or not (you had been trying to guess his birth name for the last couple of weeks), but a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, before his own arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m just saying...” Your FULL name fell from his lips and a whine escaped your own. “You’re going to lose your chance.” head tilted in the direction of the console room.

“I never had a chance.” Came the pitiful reply. Dan’s eyes narrowed again. He hadn’t been with the three of you for very long, but in the short spam of time, he had witnessed your TERRIBLE pining. Your longing looks and awful stuttering whenever you got too flustered. The older man snorted before patting you on the back.

“You never know.” He pulled away stepping over the threshold of the console room with a wink, before he turned around and made his way up the stairs. You would as Yaz beamed at him and then drastically started retelling the story the Doctor had just told her. A groan left you, as you fell forward onto the wall once more, your head banging against it for a couple of seconds. Pulling away, you peeked around once more and watched the three of them. Eyes focusing on the Doctor. Her eyes had never once strayed from Yaz’s face, and that god awful heavy feeling in your chest reappeared. This is why you never did romance, never did love - never made yourself openly available to over people. You always ended up getting hurt.

“Where’s...” Yaz lingered off as her dark eyes spotted you just down the stairs. Her smile reappeared (you hated that she made you feel ... comfortable) and the Doctor turned around, her own smile plastered over her pale skin. Then it disappeared and that heavy feeling got heavier.

Oh god, don’t notice.

You thought to yourself, Yaz had waved you up, calling your name followed by “You’ll never bloody believe what this thing does” and you had no choice but to comply. Hands twisted with each other, your eyes now avoiding the Doctor’s, as you came to stand next to Yaz - you forced a smile.

-x-

The planet was cold. Your face had scrunched up at the sudden blast of freezing air once the TARDIS doors opened. You stood just inside the time machine, arms wrapped around your stomach and your chin buried into the fabric of your scarf. You really didn’t want to go out there - you just wanted to go back to bed. Cry about your sorrows and watch Love Actually. Mmm maybe not, that - it might make you feel worse.

The Doctor on the other hand had been ecstatic. Started to blab about the last time she had been on a planet completely frozen, something to do with the Ood and a giant brain. Yaz and Dan however, held almost the same exact facial expression as you - they weren’t too keen about this weather, but Yaz was the first companion off the ship. Of course she bloody was. Your eyes focused on the back of her head, trying to ignore the fact that the Doctor had grasped onto the other woman’s hand immediately and they were off down the hill. Dan looked back at you with a sympathetic look.

“Come on, love, it won’t be that bad.” He tried to comfort you. “You can partner up with me?” Bless him, he really was trying to distract you. So you gave a soft smile, only nodding your head in the direction of the others. You’d follow after - but Dan gave a look as if he didn’t believe you. Eventually when the others had started to notice that you weren’t following them they stopped. Dan still focused on your face. “Oh love...” He sighed before a hand squeezed your bicep. A choked laugh left you, shaking your head quickly you ducked to look at the floor.

“You’re going to make me cry, Daniel.” You muttered.

“Oi, you two!” The Doctor shouted back at you and Dan. Lifting your head slightly, you could see her looking back, while her hand which was still in Yaz’s, was extended. “You can’t just stay in the TARDIS all day!” You let your gaze fall back on Dan. The both of you just stood there for a couple of seconds, before he sighed and let you go.

“Don’t take too long,” He said before he stepped out fully into the cold. “She’ll start to wonder where you’ve gone.”

“Promise,” You mumbled. “Just - need to get some gloves.” You lied. Dan sighed before he turned around and trailed after the others. Taking a deep breath in, you buried your hands into the pockets of your massive jacket. “I hate this,” You mumbled, turning around you came to a sudden jolt when right in front of you was a coat rack, but instead of coats, there were a pair of gloves. A soft smile spread across yours lips, you looked up at the ceiling of the TARDIS. “Thanks old girl.” Grabbing the gloves, you slipped them on before you turned around again and followed after the others - wrapping your scarf and jacket closer to your body.

You took your spot at the back of the group - the three of them all walked in a line, that was until the Doctor had noticed. “What are you doing back there?” The question almost made you jump, looking up, the Doctor had stopped - turned around and gave you a pointed look. Your name fell from her lips, before she leaned forward, grabbed a hold of your hand and pulled you next to her. “No one is to walk at the back.” She gave you a pointed look and you couldn’t help the blush that rushed to your cheeks - you were glad that it was a SNOW planet, can just blame the weather for that one. You fell into step with her.

Her hand was about the same size as yours, which made holding it easy. Looking down at your hands, fingers laced between yours. “Don’t want to lose anyone.” The Doctor finished her voice sounding so close to your ear.

How could you tell this crush of yours to fuck off.

Because this was ... terrible.

#the doctor x reader #13th doctor x reader #thirteen x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #doctor who #* & KIWI WRITES.#h-hi.#please don't forget about me...#have this ..#what even was that ending anyway...#part one of ...

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moved2usagiiboo · 3 years

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Chapter 5

Y/n has always been a faceless girl, faceless as in she will never do or be anything significant. She had decided to be nothing more than a shadow and stay out of everyone's way and have a peaceful first year of college. How will she handle the one and only Ran Haitani who seems to be obsessed with her?

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⚠️ WARNING⚠️ this series will be labeled as NSFW, therefore no minors can interact. There will also be slight bullying, mentions of death and murder (possibly very descriptive), drugs, underaged drinking (everyone is over 18+), manipulation, kidnapping, and yandere tendencies. Please be warned and proceed with caution.

Ran sighed as he glanced at his phone once more, he found himself looking at your messages over and over to see if you replied. It’s been two days and you haven’t said anything back, he wonders if you come to hate him now. Granted he did do some things that would justify it, but at least you could warn him before ignoring his messages.

It pisses him off, with a grit of his teeth as he looks at the “unseen” messages he had left you he feels a pit of rage fill his stomach, along with another unfamiliar feeling that resides in him. He wonders what it is.

“P—Please don’t kill me! I have a family!” A voice screamed as he kneeled onto the ground in a dirty warehouse. The man was in his underwear with his face beaten and bruised. “Please! I’ll do anything!” He yelled once more, his head found the ground as he begged for his life.

“Then give us what you owe, then you live.” A gruff voice spoke before taking a long draw of his cigarette.

“You’re a real dumbass y’know, thinking you can escape without paying us.” Another voice spoke, a higher pitch than the previous one but still deep. A cock of a gun could be heard and the man whimpered. He began to babble, saying anything he could to safe his life.

“Y-You want your money? Okay, okay! Just give me a month!” He looked up to see displeasure in the mens’ faces, he retracted, “N-no! A week! I’ll pay you back, I promise!” His voice was filled with fear as he tried to appease the men.

“Yap, yap, yap.” Ran spoke up, “That’s all you fucking do.” He spat, he put his phone into his pocket before reaching over to a stack of crates. He grabbed a weapon, his trusty baton.

“If you could’ve paid us back, you would’ve. Fuckin’ pig.” His arm swung back before his baton came into contact with the man’s face.

“You wouldn’t have ran in the first place.” Another swing of his baton.

“Don’t fucking use your family as an excuse when you tried to leave them here and make an escape!” He gruffed out with another hit to the man’s face.

“P—Please, my son…” The man spoke, Ran shut him up quickly with a kick that sent him backwards.

“Kill him.” Ran turned back to a man with pink hair, a devious smirk appeared on the pink man’s face as he walked up.

“Please! It’s his birthday, I’m begging you—” The man yelled through a hoarse voice.

“Happy birthday to him.” With that three gun shots went off and there was no more whining coming from the man.

“Fucking idiot.” Ran spat, he looked at his phone once more only to see there were no new notifications.

“What’s up with you today?” The man with the deeper voice spoke as he began to light another cigarette.

“Nothin’, just stressed.” Ran simply replied, “You guys got clean up?” He asked only for them to nod. With a soft wave of his hand Ran was on his way.

He didn't bother to change his clothes that had was splattered with blood as he walks around campus, both hands in his pockets as he looked high and low to see if he could find, you. He checked lectures, libraries, computer labs, and still nothing. He sighed, seems as if you disappeared right off the face of planet earth. He felt a mirage coming on as he fought with himself.

If he couldn’t find you, then he knew who could.

“The fuck am I doing?” He chuckled in defeat as he leaned against a wall, both eyes closed as he lose himself in thought.

What was he doing? Why was he looking for you as if his life depended on it, you weren’t anything special after all. Yet, he feels a twinge in his heart when he thinks about you.

His thoughts are interrupted when a awfully familiar high pitched voice began to ring his ears. One eye pierced open to see high heels, his eye then traveled upwards to see a red mini skirt and white hoodie that read “Daddy’s girl” on it.

“Ran, I didn’t think I’d see you today!” She said with excitement.

He looked at the girl with both eyes open now, seems like she knows him. Oh yeah, red head girl. What’s her name again?

“Yeah, didn’t think I’d be here.” He replies with little emotion in his voice.

“Are you busy?” She tilted her head to the side with a smile, she was pretty, but she wasn’t you.

He doesn’t know how he ended up walking the streets of Tokyo with her arm interlocked with his.

Whatever, he needed a distraction anyway. As she brought him to different stores and rambled about things he couldn’t remember he always checked his phone, at least once every ten minutes. Just to see.

He soon realized his obsession when they sat down in a local Café and she asked him, “Why do you keep checking your phone, talking to another girl? I’ll get jealous y’know.” She said as a joke but Ran could tell she meant it.

“Of course not, waiting for my brother to reply.” As the waitress came to take their order he found himself looking at the window, the sun was being hid by the clouds much like the day you both walked together. The clouds were moving slowly and the glare from the sun barely peered through.

His eyes widened as he saw a familiar sight, it was you.

You were walking on the sidewalk across from the Café, you looked down at your phone with squinted eyes then looked at your surroundings in confusion.

“Found you.” Ran couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face when he saw you. So helpless and adorable. It’s be rude of him to not come say hello and help you out, after all, he’s a gentleman.

♡Taglist (open!)♡ @beidouluvr @konigasaki @axlongchamp @rinrinfoxy @snowyseungs @yeehawnana @q-the-rockaholic

Ppst~ This story belongs to me, please don't post anywhere else without permission first. That's illegal ⚖️ Reposts are okay!

Sorry for the short chapter! I wrote this while fighting off the sleep demon, I won ofc ✊🏿🥱 Next one will be a lot longer <3 swear on Ran's baton 🤧

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #fluff #tokyo revengers crack #ran haitani smut #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x y/n #ran smut #ran haitani #tokyo revengers series #dull #dull series

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kalee60 · 3 years

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If it inspires you... maybe you could write an established relationship Steve and Bucky where they are completely in sync when it comes to the battle field and the kitchen but there’s one place they are like fumbling idiots. I don’t know where. No hard feelings if this sparks no ideas lol 😂💖💖💖

Oh Kay - this wonderful prompt you gifted me could have gone in so many different directions. And it most definitely inspired me to write something...

But it's neither a clever take on your words or a twisted storyline, therefore I have no apologies and I went the obvious route when filling your idea 😂 (why does my brain always try and get these boys naked?)

So this turned into something a little longer (of course), a little more ridiculous than anticipated, and features some very well intentioned Avengers and two idiots helplessly inept in love...

The fic made it to almost 5.5k and is also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - 'Sex Magic' and rated E for explicit sexual content 😉 so proceed below with caution...

Oh it's also the first time I've ever tried established relationship... hopefully I've pulled it off!

Steve was happy.

He finally had a home to call his own, a brilliant team of coworkers, a place in the future and he had Bucky Barnes. After more years than Steve could count, Bucky and he had finally found themselves on the same page - different century, but on even ground. They’d kissed in the heat of the moment after a brutal mission, stated their affections clearly and decided after a breathless confession - to give forever a go.

Having been on the battlefield together for years, Bucky at his six and always there for Steve when he needed, and Steve, having had Bucky’s back no matter the situation (or trouble it got him into) - meant they had a solid base to grow from. And as soon as Sam took over the mantle of Cap, Steve was free to be himself for once, and although Nomad made appearances on the odd occasion, he and Bucky still fought flawlessly together, seamlessly, almost at one in their movements.

It was magical.

But not only were they in sync when under pressure and danger, that same energy continued into their modest but homely kitchen in their brownstone as they unlearned that boiling was the only way to prepare food. They wove around each other, hot pans and knives flashing in a dance as intricate as fighting while they spun about the kitchen, preparing dish after dish, including sweet treats for themselves and cat treats for Alpine.

Bucky and Steve were essentially one unit, an extension of the other in every aspect of their lives - except one…

They’d shared their first kiss, a declaration of intent less than a month earlier on the battlefield in the midst of chaos, and Steve had never felt sweeter lips against his. But it wasn't just the kiss that floored him, it was the all-consuming knowledge that Bucky was his, would always be his, that they were made for each other - that's what made it a perfect moment.

Afterwards, when they'd arrived home tired from the week-long operation, 'congratulations' and 'about times' ringing in their ears, they sat on the sofa staring at the other until Steve leant in, cupping Bucky’s cheek and slowly pressed forward. Bucky having the same idea, lurched up and they smacked heads hard enough to see stars. Chuckling with small smiles, they tried again, with Steve accidentally biting Bucky's tongue, and the third was a kiss so awkward and sloppy, it made Steve feel like a thirteen year old practising on the back of his hand again.

Steve wasn’t sure how he'd got it so wrong.

Bucky had laughed it off at the time, asking Steve if he wanted to watch TV, and with nothing left to do, he agreed. For two overly large war-torn men, they fit wonderfully; wrapping limbs around the other, holding tight like they'd never let go again. It was soothing, comfortable - right. And as Steve pressed soft lips to the crown of Bucky's hair while a documentary played in the background, he wondered why their attempt at kissing when alone, without an audience hadn’t worked.

Steve could only put it down to nerves.

Bucky was his best friend after all, he was the only one who remembered and knew Steve, knew everything about him in fact, there were no secrets - except for the almost one hundred year pining between them. The awkwardness had to be because of a change in dynamics, they were now more, they wanted more, and were so nervous and scared to adapt to something new, it had become an issue of self-confidence.

It would get better.

It had to.

The next morning when Bucky left for a briefing, he placed a kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth, and when Steve jerked his head to the side to capture Bucky's lips, he somehow managed to press his teeth into the soft pink flesh, tasting blood. Bucky pulled back with a huff of laughter and licked his lips to capture the red stain before leaving with a wink and a goodbye. Steve flushed red, the heat on his cheeks burning enough that he jumped up and organised an impromptu run with Sam to escape the memory. The whole time Steve lamented to a cackling Sam, that he'd somehow forgotten how to kiss.

Sam was a dick.

It had officially been three weeks, three full weeks of 'dating' and even though their actual dates were wonderful, full of laughter and fun and exploration, it was when they crawled into bed next to the other that suddenly every kiss, every touch was fraught with danger and peril. And maybe it was because they were both supersoldiers, both familiar and unfamiliar with some of their strengths, they'd overlooked they were still prone to the usual calamities that befell non-serumed folk, they just bounced back quicker.

So when Bucky ground down hard enough it bent Steve's dick practically in two - well, it wasn't pleasant, and took over an hour for the tears to stop streaming, all while he yelled to a panicked Bucky there was no way he was calling Dr Cho over it and that it would heal.

It healed, but Steve winced each time he went to the bathroom for the following two days.

The love bite Steve sucked into Bucky's upper thigh on the way to taste his gorgeous dick for the first time, erupted into a blood blister almost immediately and Bucky instinctually jerked away, kneeing Steve in the temple.

He only saw stars for two minutes, but the mood died in a flurry of apologies while the mark on Bucky's skin disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

By Steve's count, they'd tried a total of ten times to initiate sex, to make each other feel good, and every single time something had happened to thwart their attempts.

Steve wondered if the universe was trying to tell them they were not supposed to get physical. That they were destined to be best friends without any benefits.

But Steve wouldn't give up without a fight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You can stop laughing now,” Steve said with a sigh, taking a sip of his espresso while trying to ignore the spluttering of his other best friend.

“Oh I know, but I can’t. You kicked Bucky in the hip so hard it somehow threw his body out of alignment and he was walking with a limp for two days. And not the type of limp you want.” Sam was practically heaving in mirth by that stage.

“Why did I come to you for advice? I'm leaving.”

"No, no don't. I'm glad you came to me. But Barnes? I understand your reaction because I'd kick him so he couldn’t walk for days too - but obviously under different circumstances,” Sam added when Steve scowled at his words.

"I don't get it though," Steve complained with an exaggerated shrug. "We sync so well everywhere else. Christ, we even snuggle in such a natural way, that neither of us have had a real nightmare in a month. We are more than ready for the next step. Sam, you have no idea how much we want to take it - but the minute we try to get… intimate - it falls flat."

Sam took a long sip of his iced coffee, thick cream bobbing over the surface as he tilted the glass up. Steve winced at how sweet it had to taste, but he said nothing, remained quiet, knowing that Sam would have some advice at least.

"Maybe it's the way you say intimate? I'm joking, jeez Steve, don't give me your disappointed face. Look, I think you should set the mood, you know - music, candlelight, silk sheets and no distractions. Maybe some aromatic oils too, do the whole, 'I think you're sexy and I want you' gesture - make it obvious you find him desirable.”

“Aromatic oils?”

Sam smirked and waggled his eyebrows, “for a special massage of course.”

Steve flushed at the thought of having Bucky’s naked skin and hardened muscles under his hands, sliding and slipping as he loosened him up, ready to make Bucky fall apart, make him languid and hazy with want. Sam coughed and Steve realised he was letting his imagination run too wild, especially in front of company.

“You know what? I think I chose wisely for my replacement.” Steve grinned as Sam ducked his head, a pleased look gracing his features. “Thanks, Sam. I’m sure it’s a timing thing, we just need to make it sexy.”

Sam clapped his back, and with a wide toothy grin and a wink, said in a low deep voice, “you’re an overachiever Steve - you’ve got this.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve in fact, did not have it.

Maybe his first mistake was to massage Bucky on the sofa, not in their bed. He used too much oil and when Steve raised himself up, eager to flip Bucky over and finally take his hard dick in hand, the vinyl fabric in conjunction with Bucky’s skin was soaked and slippery. Steve found himself sliding and flailing uncontrollably, right off the sofa to smack his face into the coffee table, the mood disappearing in a peal of Bucky’s laughter. Steve couldn't even blame him, it would have looked a sight.

After a long hot shower where Steve contemplated his choice in friends and their terrible advice, Bucky and he sat on a freshly cleaned sofa and watched Animal Planet while eating Thai. They ended up cuddling under Bucky's weighted blanket, falling asleep entwined, and just before Steve blacked out, he wondered if maybe Sam wasn’t the right choice for Cap after all. His plan stunk.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You do know I’m not that kind of Doctor, right?” Bruce reiterated for the third time, and Steve shrugged in response.

“I know. But at this stage it’s worth a shot. So Doc, any advice for me?”

Bruce sat back on the lone stool in his lab, hand cupping his chin as he thought. At least Bruce appeared to be more contemplative than Sam had been. “Have you tried to romance him? Take Bucky out for a nice dinner, partake in some Asgardian wine to loosen things up, before dancing, showing him that you're a gentleman - prove to Bucky how special he is to you. In my limited experience, the rest will flow from there with no problems.”

Steve nodded along as Bruce spoke, holding Bucky against his body as they danced across the floor wouldn’t be too different from fighting together, and they were in perfect harmony while out in the field. Bruce’s idea made perfect sense to Steve, had more of a familiar feel from Bucky and his early life, before the war than what Sam’s had. Sam's suggestion centered on the physical between Steve and Bucky, whereas Bruce was suggesting something subtle, emotional.

“You know what Bruce? Thank you, I think it might just work.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It did not work.

Halfway through their fifth dance as their bodies started to meld together, barely moving on the dancefloor, holding each other's gaze as they whispered words of desire to each, Steve leant forward, their lips barely touching. And as Steve took in a breath, feeling Bucky’s returning exhale on his lips, the back wall blew out in an explosion, Bucky headbutting Steve in surprise, and suddenly they had Hydra operatives swarming them. Steve, as he took out three hostiles with his shield, wondered if he should talk to Dr Cho about the effects of concussion and if he could suffer them, due to his head seemingly taking the brunt of recent mishaps.

Bucky and Steve fell into tandem together, their natural ability to fight kicking in, keeping the other safe. It was much more natural than dancing and Steve sighed, knowing romantic nights out might not be the right course of action for them.

It took three days of intense fighting to take down the Hydra faction, and afterwards they were both too tired to speak more than a sentence, and fell into a deep sleep curled around the other immediately.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve ignored Tony's unsolicited advice to take Bucky to a ski chalet and teach him how to toboggan, knowing freezing conditions and a small metal tube wouldn't be the best way to loosen them both up to get frisky. Plus Steve was still trying to work out how Tony even knew Steve had asked other people for advice about sex? Maybe JARVIS was spying again, though the AI had promised Steve he wouldn't.

But what was worse, was Peter Parker, at barely even twenty years of age coming to Steve, red faced and stammering, saying that he thought Steve should take Bucky to laser tag and the arcade to have some old fashioned fun.

Steve at that point was at his wits end, so he tried Peter's plan. When Steve was confronted with all the bright, colourful and confusing machines, he almost gave up. Actual 'old-fashioned' and Peter's idea of it, were poles apart. Though, Steve found he was really good at Tetris and Bucky excelled at zombie shooting games. But it was when playing laser tag it all fell over, Bucky and Steve getting too competitive, and a tad physical, which ended up with them being kicked out and banned, after having to apologise to a bunch of wide-eyed yet excited fifteen year olds.

Bucky's exclamations that there wasn't that much blood, fell on the deaf ears of the twenty year old manager who reprimanded them, saying that at their age they should know better.

It did not induce a night of passion afterwards. Although, Bucky purchased a console online and a bunch of zombie games that evening, including a bundle that included Tetris, so it wasn't a complete bust.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“So basically what you’re saying is that nothing has worked? You’ve been tiptoeing around each other for what? Almost two months now?” At Steve’s nod, Nat grinned, crouching down and did a handspring, legs wrapping around his neck, pulling him to the floor. “The way you are with each other, I honestly would have guessed you’d been screwing for years. If I didn't know you better.”

“That’s not helpful. I’m serious. We have a real issue.” Steve looked up from his twisted position directly into her green eyes and sighed, she loosened her legs and Steve ran a hand over his face and stayed on the ground. “What if we’re just not meant to be?”

Nat’s expression softened as much as it ever did, meaning her left eyebrow turned down for less than a second before reasserting itself into a perfectly sardonic position.

“Okay, my advice for what it’s worth, and just note that I’m extremely offended that you didn’t come to me first, I mean Sam - come on. But let it happen naturally, organically. Just like it took you a hundred years to own up to your feelings, wait until it feels right to have sex.”

Steve groaned, and stood up, “I’m not waiting another hundred years, Nat.”

“Jesus, Rogers. Fine. Go see Wanda then.”

“Wanda?”

“Use that big brain of yours, not the small one. She’s a witch, I’m sure she can help you out.”

Steve knew the surprise on his face wasn’t feigned. He’d not actually thought Wanda could do spells or the like, but the more he thought about Nat’s words, the more it appealed. Could some magical interference help them?

“Thanks, Nat - I’ll definitely think about it.”

In the space of him finishing his words and a smile forming - Steve was on his back again, Nat’s thighs wrapped around his neck as she squeezed with intent.

“You’ll see that I was right.”

~*~*~*~*~

That night when Steve tried to let things happen naturally, organically as Nat had suggested, Steve slid a hand up Bucky’s side, light as a feather, only for Bucky to squirm in laughter and throw his head backwards, smashing into Steve’s poor battered nose - which broke. It healed within seconds, but blood spurted out in a gush, coating the back of Bucky’s hair and neck. It took an hour to clean up.

~*~*~*~*~

He went and saw Wanda the next day.

~*~*~*~*~

“Well, I’m one lucky girl, first a visit and latte from James this morning and now you this afternoon with a pastry.” Wanda took a bite of the flaky dessert, one Steve knew was her favourite. “Alright Steve what can I do for you today?”

Steve’s immediate reaction was to ask why Bucky had been there, but knew that the two of them had a strong connection, Wanda helping Bucky through some of the residual trauma with her powers, and then their fast bond over Alpine - Bucky’s terror of a stray cat that took up residence in their apartment. Or took over would be more apt.

“I… err, I need your help with something... delicate.”

Wanda gave Steve the smallest smile, a knowing look in her eyes and Steve lost his train of thought for a moment, not sure he really needed another Avenger to know about his intimacy issue with Bucky. He almost chickened out, but Wanda leaned forward and grasped his forearm.

“It’s okay, Steve - you can tell me, ask me anything.”

Sighing heavily, Steve steeled himself, he was out of options.

“Alright -” Steve laid out plainly what had been happening, the awkwardness, the injuries, the sheer unluckiness they’d suffered each time they’d attempted to move their relationship forwards physically.

“And you came to me for...?”

“Help, I guess,” Steve said and looked at Wanda pleadingly, “Can you? I mean, with a potion or a spell or something of the like?”

Wanda slumped back in her chair, mouth opening to speak, but nothing came out, she remained silent. After a minute, she swallowed audibly then looked up at the roof, and if Steve didn’t know better, he would have thought she was rolling her eyes at him. Yet he knew that wouldn’t be the case, Wanda was polite to him, always had been, they were a team. Friends. Only Nat would take those liberties with him.

“Alright,” Wanda finally spoke and stood up, walking over to her kitchen cupboards, pulling out jars and bottles holding different liquids. And before Steve knew it, he was holding a small glass vial filled with a substance that smelt like vodka, but had rosemary and a slice of orange and a few other items bobbing around inside.

“What’s this?”

“Well you asked for a potion, didn’t you?”

“Really? I actually didn’t think you’d -”

“- Do you want the sex magic or not?”

Steve grasped the tiny bottle in his hand, careful not to crush it in his huge meaty hands.

“I do,” he said quickly and stood, pulling her into a warm hug, which she returned readily.

“Just take half an hour before you want to… well, you know.”

“Thanks, Wanda, you were my last hope.”

And as he walked out the room, Wanda called out after him, “you’ll be fine Steve. I know this will work for you.”

~*~*~*~*~

It worked.

Bucky was on his knees, mouth wrapped around Steve’s thick dick, swallowing and licking like his life depended on it. And Steve, well, he couldn’t articulate, could only stare down into those familiar grey-blue eyes that gazed at Steve like he was a conquering god, stare at the way saliva dripped down Bucky’s chin as he drew in as much of Steve’s hardness as possible, Bucky’s plush lips stretched taut until they’d lost most of their colour.

It was the most glorious sight of Steve’s entire life.

He didn’t want to think about Wanda in that moment, but he was eternally grateful to her. Bucky had disappeared into the bathroom about half an hour earlier - leaving enough time for Steve to drink the potion in one go, and before he knew it, almost half an hour to the dot, they launched at the other. For once there were no injuries, awkwardness, or pain - just hungry kisses, curious hands and moaning. A lot of moaning and grinding.

Then Bucky dropped to his knees, yanking impatiently at Steve’s pants until they all but ripped off, and sucked him down in the same breath.

Throwing his head back, Steve looked to the ceiling, fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair as Bucky hummed and gasped around his dick, sucking loudly, slurping and choking at times. But Steve couldn’t keep his eyes away for long. Bucky was too compelling, too perfect.

“God, you have no idea how you look right now do you, on your knees, mouth full of me?” Steve husked and involuntarily pumped his hips a few times. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered shut as he listened to Steve’s words, not complaining about the added pressure. “Born to take me, weren't you, Doll?”

Bucky practically squirmed on the spot, moaning and whimpering and Steve realised through the haze and bliss of what Bucky’s clever tongue was doing to him, that Bucky clearly had a thing for pet names.

“Do you want this large dick inside of you sweetheart? Do you want to sit on it? Take it deep into your body, let you take control and ride me until you come?” Steve should have been taken aback by his words, about where his filthy mind was taking them. But he was running his mouth, not thinking, letting what felt good flow off his tongue. And Bucky - he loved it.

Popping his mouth off the end of Steve’s dick, tongue immediately lathing up and down the shaft so as to always have a point of contact, he moaned loudly, wantonly. “God yes, Stevie - want you to fill me up, stretch me, want to feel you for days after, I want you to own me…”

Steve growled possessively, his fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair, pulling back so Bucky was jerked away from his dick, Bucky whining at the loss. Oh christ - that jar of sex magic needed to be marketed - it was phenominal. Steve had never felt so in control of a situation, so ready for anything, not scared, just willing to make Bucky feel good. “I want that too, baby, want everyone to know you’re mine.”

Yanking Bucky upwards, Steve devoured his mouth in a kiss, completely surprised that the potion had worked so well. Not only were they finally on the same page, they were doing it with no shame, telling each other exactly what they wanted and when, pleasuring with sensations and not overthinking, and the teasing - it was natural, it felt right. And Steve knew he was forever in Wanda's debt for the gift of her magic.

“I want to watch you prepare yourself, gorgeous. Want to see your fingers sliding in and out of your tight hole - a hole I’m going to own from tonight onwards.”

“Jesus, Steve, you’re killin’ me here.”

“Not quite yet, I’m not. Give me an hour and we’ll circle back to that.”

“Don’t speak to me like a rookie learning the ropes.” Bucky grumbled.

Steve smiled, “But aren't you?”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

Steve swallowed the rest of his retort when Bucky stripped naked to crawl up on their bed, spinning around to lay amongst the pillows, spreading his legs wide like he couldn’t wait to be railed. And Steve was unable to tear his gaze away from Bucky’s hole, his gorgeous and perfect entrance, one that would be puffy and leaking before the night was out - the superficial damage caused by Steve and no one else. A tight sensation welled in Steve’s gut, lurching when Bucky grabbed the lube, pouring liberally before starting to finger himself.

That was the point where Steve knew he'd made a grave mistake.

He wasn’t going to be able to watch Bucky open himself up, Steve was too wound up, too impatient and also too much of a control freak. He needed to ensure Bucky did a good enough job, knowing his girth alone was more than most people were used to. So when Bucky was two fingers in, sweat beading, eyes never leaving Steve’s face, Steve jerked forward and climbed up on the bed, positioning himself between Bucky’s legs. He lubed up his fingers to test the tightness himself, Bucky’s eyes opening in shock at the probing.

“Steve…” he stammered, “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

Bucky sighed out a breath, relaxing into the intrusion as Steve pressed a finger in next to Bucky’s, and Steve shut his eyes, groaning; Bucky was so tight and hot, perfectly wrapped around Steve’s finger. Steve knew he was going to lose himself in Bucky’s body, was going to transcend, never be the same again and he couldn’t wait.

Steve ensured Bucky was a writhing panting mess before he even contemplated sliding into his tight heat. No matter how much Bucky asked for it, no matter the pleading, the begging (of which Bucky did so prettily, especially with the beginnings of frustrated tears in his eyes), Steve wanted their first time to be free of pain and injury, and by god was he going to deliver.

When he deemed Bucky ready, who pouted back to declare he was, hours ago, it only confirmed a surly Bucky was absolutely gorgeous to Steve, and Steve pulled him down the bed, spreading Bucky’s legs wide. Bucky sank back, allowing himself to be positioned, holding Steve’s gaze hotly as Steve pressed the tip of his dick against the loosened muscle of Bucky’s ass.

The first testing push felt like Steve was going to split Bucky in two - there was no way he would fit. But Bucky grabbed Steve violently by the back of the head, holding him tight in his superhuman strength.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop - not now.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve said placating, “just don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Bucky replied adamantly, and Steve still wasn’t sure until Bucky husked out, “Trust me.”

And Steve did. He trusted Bucky more than anyone else in the world, the universe, and so he continued to press past the tight muscle and...

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He wasn’t expecting Bucky to feel so good, so tight, so perfect. Steve kept pushing, further and further, almost endlessly until he had to pull out an inch to gain more leverage, and the whole time he did this, the whole time he tested and pressed forward again, Steve watched Bucky’s face, looking for signs of discomfort. He saw none.

Bucky was slack-jawed as he stared into Steve’s eyes in a completely blissful state, and pride welled up inside of Steve, he was making Bucky look like that, giving Bucky what he wanted, desired. Steve and no one else.

It was both heady and compelling.

When Steve could push no further and was fully seated within Bucky’s body, he took a breath, then another, and although his instinct was telling him to thrust, take, pound, he didn’t. He’d promised Bucky something.

Grabbing Bucky’s waist, he spun them quickly; Bucky yelping suddenly at the change in position, and looking a little dazed, he ended up straddling Steve, thighs stretched taut over Steve’s large frame.

“Ride me baby.” Steve said simply, and Bucky melted, falling forward to kiss Steve’s lips passionately. Steve held Bucky close as a tongue snaked into his mouth, lips frantic and hot on his, so Steve jerked up into Bucky’s body, reminding Bucky of what he was supposed to be doing, earning him a gasp directly into his mouth.

Sitting up, Bucky pressed his hands against Steve’s stomach for leverage, and tested his breadth of movement, wiggling side to side before he started to move in earnest. Soon Bucky was bouncing on Steve, pulling up and slamming down, taking the pleasure he wanted for himself, and Steve, he lay back and watched the love of his life take every inch he could, and adored it.

After a while, sweat started to pour down Bucky’s temples, his eyes squeezed shut tightly in concentration as he speared himself again and again on Steve’s hardness, wringing pleasure out of every pore, and Steve knew Bucky was close - could tell by the shortening breaths. Licking his palm, Steve reached forward to grip Bucky’s gorgeously rigid dick as it bobbed freely before him, mesmerizing in its movements.

Bucky snapped his eyes open, capturing Steve in his intense gaze, a pleading spark in them, and what Bucky was asking for, Steve wasn’t sure - so he grasped harder and began to stroke. He was methodical, brutal, unrelatening and soon Bucky was clenching around him as come erupted from his dick, coating Steve’s stomach in sticky stripes, and Steve was desperate to taste. So he did.

Trailing a finger through the mess while Bucky caught his breath, Steve relished Bucky holding him deep within his body, clenching and twitching around him as Steve slid one wet and come soaked finger between his lips, moaning at the unique and tangy taste. It was pure Bucky. His essence, and Steve was addicted already.

“Oh Buck, I’m going to suck you so good one day. You’re the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”

Bucky nodded his head in return, sated and hazy, his breathing returning to some semblance of control, and with a refractory period only superserum enhanced soldiers experienced, Bucky’s dick started to fill again, not quickly, but enough Steve knew from experience that the sensitivity would have abated enough to touch - to continue.

“My turn,” Steve growled, spinning them back over, crushing Bucky into the bed under his weight.

Steve didn’t wait for a response, just immediately pounded hard into Bucky’s limp, open and languid body. And at odds with the rest of his self, Bucky’s dick hardened against Steve’s stomach with every stroke, but Steve had become lost in the sensations, in how good it felt to be encased in Bucky’s heat, his warmth, of finally being closer than ever before for the first time and he couldn’t think straight.

Grabbing Bucky’s chin in one hand, Steve pressed their mouths together, panting into Bucky’s as he whispered words of love tempered with a stream of filth that had Bucky’s eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Thrusting harder again and putting all his strength behind it, able to without hurting Bucky, Steve went into a frenzy as Bucky writhed and moaned underneath him, nonsense words falling from his throat. Steve held on as long as he could, but it was too much, had taken too long to finally be inside of Bucky, and with a litany of ‘oh god’s’ Steve came deep inside of his lover, his friend, his forever and basked in the moment, knowing it was all thanks to a little potion bottle.

As he caught his breath, inhaling Bucky’s scent, smiling down and kissing his lips reverently, Bucky looked up at him grey-blue eyes full of wonder and happiness.

Their smiles couldn’t be any larger.

Maybe magic wasn’t so bad after all.

~*~*~*~*~

“Judging by the way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other this morning at the team breakfast, I assume you gave Steve and Bucky some help and advice?” Nat asked Wanda as they sat in a wine bar downtown that night on their weekly catch up.

Wanda smirked, holding her glass up in a cheers to Nat. “Yep, Bucky came to me yesterday morning and Steve in the afternoon. Both seeking the exact same help.”

“And did your ‘sex magic’ work?”

“Of course it did - I used my best Vodka.” Wanda affronted that Nat would even question her, knowing the redhead was really teasing.

“What about the spell you used?”

“Well, I wriggled my nose for theatrics, added a sprig of dried rosemary that was stuck to the back of my fridge, and made my hand glow for a second. Some of my finest acting work I think.”

“Those boys just needed some inner confidence - I knew it would work.”

“Of course you did.”

“Damn straight. Tequila shots here please!”’ Nat yelled to the barman who looked way too eager to assist, even though the bar was packed. Nat left a hefty tip when their drinks landed before them less than a minute later, and picking up the glasses she handed one to Wanda. Wanda knew she was going to regret their night the next day.

Clinking their glasses, Nat declared, “to sex magic and dumb idiots in love.”

“And to us for being excellent enablers and smarter than the lot of them.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

Wanda woke up the next morning wishing she could infuse potions, if she was able to, then her headache might not be so epic. She hid under the covers for the rest of the day.

Romanoff was a bad influence.

#stucky #mywriting #established relationship #mishaps and injuries #attempting to have sex #multiple times #they sync everywhere except when trying to get sexy #well meaning Avengers #bad advice #clumsy Steve and Bucky #idiots in love #prompt fill #Kay this was fun to write ❤️ thank you for the idea!!#Wanda has magic.... doesn't she??#canon divergence #kalee answers

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aitarose · 3 years

Text

YELLOW DAISIES (A. MIYA) pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

synopsis: atsumu miya, japan’s most entitled player, the person that strangers resented for unprecedented boasting and confidence—a facade as there was only one person who knew the real him.

word count: 1.6k

genre: established relationship, fluff, time skip

warnings: slight angst, asshole!atsumu?, hospital, mentions of death

notes: i’m only on episode two of season four so i’ve literally never heard this man speak a word, but i wrote this for some reason asjdfkl

↳ DIRECTORY

He was revolutionary—that was what flashed in bright lights in the media, magazines, and news when the name Miya Atsumu came into the picture. It was an honorable title, one that he’d earned from his years of experience, years of effort to become the best player he could possibly be.

Fans of the game couldn’t help but admire his ambition, his confidence when it came to setting—when it came to being on the court. There was nowhere else he seemed to fit, no where else that deemed worthy of a man like him.

He was simply made to play volleyball, he was put on the planet to coordinate the team and help lead them to their respective victories. The drive he had was envious, admirable even to professionals that were years ahead of him in experience.

But there was a catch, just as there always seemed to be a catch when things appear too perfect or other-worldly, as Miya Atsumu was considered the most egocentric man in all of Japan.

Yes, his talent was astonishing and his looks trumped some of the most handsome men in the world, but he was a complete and utter narcissist to the public eye. A complete asshole in all senses of empathy.

He was perhaps an enigma. A man that no one person could quite figure out. A total mystery to everyone but those close to him—to everyone but his twin-brother and the few teammates that he considered friends.

And it wasn’t that the public wanted to hate him, they wanted nothing more than to find a redeeming quality, something that would save his reputation—the ignorant reputation that he’d somehow managed to build himself over the course of his professional career.

Tabloids constantly had new headlines to publish, weekly reports on whatever star-born attitude Atsumu had acted on in public, during games, or even in the safety of the team’s after parties—parties that he’d rarely be found at.

The most common hate train would be the look he’d give the camera every time he so much as scored a point mid-match. The cocky, full of himself gaze to the viewers watching at home, as if to say that he was the real King of the Court.

Holding up his hands in the shape of a heart, Atsumu would smile with a smug grin, teeth flashing white and sticking his tongue out dramatically. He’d hold the position for a few seconds, making sure that the camera got a good take of his face, before returning to the adrenaline rush of the game.

It was as if he became an even better player after his boastful routine, focusing on the game as if it was life or death, as if he would be ruined if they were to lose a single point—frightening the other team with one glance, one look forcing them to crumble underneath their own dead weight.

With his rare intimidating attitude, the Black Jackals had little to nothing to worry about when it came to their setter. He was reliable, always there to pick up the slack when all odds seemed to be against them—when the books refused to read in their favor.

And his teammates absolutely loved him, they knew him better than nearly anyone other than Osamu. When microphones and interviewers shoved misguided questions in their faces, they’d always defend him, as they were more than just players on the same side of the court—they were practically brothers.

So, when it’d be time to stay after the game to greet the fans, give them kisses on the cheek while the camera cemented their meeting in history, his friends paid no mind to how quickly Atsumu would rush out of the building. They’d pay no attention to how he’d refuse to entertain his fans, only stopping for one girl—one girl who’d offered him a bouquet of bright yellow daisies.

“Thank you.” He’d mutter, nodding his head at the young girl before stalking off, ignoring how she fawned over the beauty of his facial features, obsessing over the way he’d just so much as acknowledged her existence.

Pulling out of the stadium’s parking lot was always a big hassle, with the media and paparazzi awaiting his exit, video cameras taping his every move and step he took. There was zero privacy for him, every one of his secrets always seeming to be on film.

But Atsumu didn’t care, he didn’t mind running over a few parking cones, forcing the photographers to jump out of his car’s way, back onto the sidewalk where they belonged. He had absolutely no disregard for their safety according to the new’s titles.

As well as no respect to traffic laws. Speeding limits was a thing of the past in his mind, always going about twenty miles over, whether that was on a highway or neighborhood street. His life ran on double time, needing to be in a rush, a rush away from his duties.

His sports car headed north on the daily, never straying from its path, in pursuit of the same destination every day—every time he had the chance to escape the responsibilities of being a world-known athlete.

And though the world liked to act as if they knew everything about him, as if he was an open book whose chapters were updated every week, no one knew why Atsumu would spend so much time at the international hospital. Why he’d enter the building in the evenings and leave at dawn.

Even today, after the loss of a championship match, he wore the brightest smile on his face while holding a massive bouquet of yellow daisies—the flower that’d always accompany him through the blank grey walls of the healing center.

The grin would stay plastered, the expression reading ingenuity as he’d walk through the automatic doors, taking a final glance back to make sure that no one had followed him, before letting the facade crumble—before he let it dissolve into a somber frown.

“Looking beautiful as always.” Atsumu laughed, waltzing up to the front desk, greeting his favorite worker as she rolled her eyes, passing him the check in sheet with a pointed look. “How’s my girl doing?”

The woman behind the counter took a deep breath, inspecting his signature to ensure that he hadn’t signed in the wrong place, before looking up to respond to his question—the same question that he asked her every day.

“Waiting for you.” She said, gesturing that everything was alright and he could proceed to the dual elevators that carried him to the top floor, the floor in which permanent residents stayed. “She’s up there waiting, just like she always is.”

Blowing the clerk a joking kiss, Atsumu carried on, holding the bouquet with a death grip, picking at the flowers to make sure that they looked their absolute best—that they deserved to be held in his favorite girl’s hands.

Standing in the elevator, his heart dropped at each ding. It was a sound that he had never gotten used to, one that haunted him as he slept, taunting him as if to say that the minutes were counting down—the minutes losing their value, the minutes he had left with her decreasing.

Despite how much he loathed the noise, how he wished he could shut it all off, make time stop just so he could have an infinite amount of moments by her side—he knew that life would come to the point in which he’d hear that sound one last time. A point in which he’d leave the building and never have a reason to return.

As he approached the room he knew all too well, Atsumu brought his hand up to a light knock on the door, giving her a little heads up that he was there, that he didn’t forget about her even though he’d maintained his constant routine for months now.

“Is that the famous Miya Atsumu I hear?” Y/N’s melodious voice called out, knowing all too well that her beloved boyfriend had arrived to harass her. Her already enlarged heart grew bigger at the sight of his brown eyes and golden hair that she’d always try to spot on the court.

While the world admired him for his physical beauty, she knew him for the beauty inside. The beauty that she was so blessed to see, the real personality that was reserved for her and her alone—not even Osamu had seen him so gentle, so caring.

“Yer favorites,” he held out the bouquet to her in a regal manner, presenting it as if she were a queen and it was her crown. His dramatics sent her into a fit of giggles, accepting the flowers with a scoff as he rose up to press a soft kiss on her awaiting lips.

“I saw you.” She whispered, pulling him down to meet her smile once more, relishing in the feeling of their love connecting. It was a feeling that she was addicted to, one that she longed for whenever he was away. “I saw you and the stupid little heart that you flash me on television.”

Atsumu helped her move over on the hospital bed, making enough room for him to lay down beside her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his head resting on top of hers. “Stupid? You sound like the rest of ‘em.”

“No one would be calling it stupid if they knew what it meant.” He pinched her cheeks, puckering her lips to a pout and kissing her over and over again. “If they knew I only do it because I want my girl to be proud of me.”

He sighed, holding her as if she would disappear if he let go, his fear of losing her of greater importance than any public opinion or false story. His fears being valid and reasonable as neither of them knew how much time they had left—how much time they had left to be totally and completely in love.

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lizzyisdreamy · 3 years

Text

Goin’ on a date with Sung Jin Woo :)

In which our favorite S-Rank hunter takes you on a date, but with a little plot twist thrown in as well *Reader is gender-neutral as well* Word Count: 1.6k (yeah, i kinda got carried away, oops)

You remembered. How pretty the day was, as the sun cast gentle rays of warmth and the wind blew slightly as you made your way to the library to do your homework.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. He’d wait outside, leaning against the wall just around the corner from the entrance, in the shadows. Not that it bothered you; your study sessions always ended in the late afternoon, so it was a given that he’d wait where the sun wouldn’t bother him. Everyday, save for Saturdays and Sundays, he’d walk you home from the library. To others, it might’ve been an odd sight.

Sung Jin Woo? The S-Rank turned National Level hunter? Walking a simple college student such as yourself home? Everyday? It was almost too good to be true.

But it was true, and even if it was odd at first, you’d grown used to it.

And you remembered how when you’d reached your doorstep, he’d reached a tentative hand out and placed it on your shoulder, halting you before you could disappear into your house. And while looking away, trying to hide the very obvious blush on his face, had asked to take you out on a date.

Of course you were shocked, because Holy shit, I’m getting asked out on a date by Korea’s 10th S-Rank hunter and may or not just possibly be the most attractive man on the planet.

He accidentally took your silence as a “No” and before he could disappear, you shouted out an almost too eager “Yes!” before composing yourself and saying with a breathless smile, “I’d love to go on a date with you, Sung.”

“Jin Woo,” he corrected, before he really did disappear in that odd way of his, and a shadow soldier of his appeared in front of you. You shrugged at him? It looked like a him. And he shrugged at you.

Fast forward a week, and you stood in front of your mirror, checking your outfit for what had to be the 10th time in nearly 2 minutes. Sung, no, Jin Woo, had said he’d text you when he was at your house, and it was beginning to near 7.

“What if he was just messing with me? What if he just said it to get me all excited and he’s gonna bring his friends too just to embarrass me? Maybe I should just cancel, because there’s no way a guy like him is interested in me-” You ramble, and before you can reach your phone, your best friend had moved herself from her spot on the bed to grip your arms.

“Hey, babes, relax. I doubt he would do that, and based on how you make him to be when he walks you home, he’s genuinely interested in you. Now look at me. Deep breath in,” you follow her lead, taking in a lungful of air. “-Deep breath out. There you go. You look great OK?” As if on cue, your phone pings, indicating you had received a message. “That’s probably him. Now get your ass outside, and blow him away, you hear me?”

With new determination, you nodded and after taking another deep breath, swung open the door-

-And your heart just about skips 10 whole beats before it decides to start functioning again. There he stood, dressed both nicely in some black slacks, a white button-up shirt with a jacket as well, all complete with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands.

And so, your date began.

“You uh, you look nice,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes roamed over you. “I uh, I remember you saying you liked (favorite flowers) so I figured I’d get you some...” he mumbles, shyly holding out the bouquet. You giggle at his bashfulness, reaching out to take them from him.

“They’re beautiful, thank you. I’ll go put them in a vase, then we’ll go.”

And then, you’re walking away from your apartment and into town, where he proceeds to buy you little trinkets that catch your eye from the open market that the two of you just so happen to pass by.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going, by the way,” you say, turning your head slightly to meet the eyes of your date. He laughs at your statement, before placing his hands over your eyes.

You feel him lean over behind you, hear him as he whispers in your ear, his breath sending goosebumps racing across your skin as it brushes a strand of your hair ever so slightly. “Do you trust me?” You can only nod in response, because wow. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t even realize what kind of effect that had on you. He chuckles lowly, and you feel a little more heated than before.

He keeps his hands over your eyes as a bit of coldness envelopes you, before it’s intensified. You shudder at the sudden change in temperature; had he used that weird way of traveling he had? Right, shadow exchange.

“We’ll be here a while, hope you don’t mind.”

He finally lets you have your sight back and holy shit.

“Where-” Your breath comes out in puffs, and you smile at it. “Where are we?” You shiver a bit, seeing as you had obviously not dressed for the conditions set.

“Sweden, sunshine.” The nickname comes so easily to him that he doesn’t even realize it, but oh, oh you do. Your face burns furiously, and you quickly turn your head to look up at the swirling sky.

No, it’s literally swirling. It’s your first time seeing something so beautiful. There’s streaks of color that writhe around in hues of green, pink, purple, and blue. “I’ve never seen the northern lights. I promised myself that one day, sometime after college, I’d get out of Korea and travel. My first stop would’ve been someplace where I could make a fire and watch these all night.”

“Then let’s do that right now.”

“What?”

He conjures some warm-looking coats, another glimpse into the unimaginable spectacle of power he possesses. You take it gratefully, before continuing to stare upwards in awe. Some movement catches your eye, and you look downwards, realizing that a forest roams below you, covered in a blanket of fog.

A sharp snap catches your attention, and you see Jin-Woo has just finished creating a fireplace, and has set a blanket on the ground for the two of you to sit on. He jerks his head, and you come to sit by his side, and another blanket is placed over both of your legs.

“I hope you uh, you know, like it.”

“Are you kidding me?” You turn to him with the most excited eyes and the widest smile he’s ever seen on you, and his heart begins to thump erratically. “This,” you lean down to rest your head on his shoulder. “Single handedly, exceeds my expectations for my first date.”

His eyes shoot over to you, snuggling into his shoulder, before his brows furrow in confusion. “First date? I’m your first date?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, my priorities were always school and grades, guess I never really indulged in dating. Not that I didn’t want to, I just, how do I say this? Never really put myself out there.” He immediately moves his arm, and your eyes widen when you think he may be rejecting you. At least until he puts his arm around your waist and pulls you close into his side.

“Then I’m thankful for that. I hope I’ve made it memorable.” You laugh now, placing a hand on his knee. His breath hitches in his throat from the contact, but he forces himself to refocus as you look back up at him.

“Memorable? You dummy, this is like, more, than memorable. I can’t even begin to explain it.” You smile again, and he doesn’t say anything. Just continues to stare at you, a small blush beginning to appear on his skin. “Has anyone ever told you that you look really pretty?”

The words are mumbled, and if the two of you were just an inch more apart, he might’ve missed it. “I thought it was tradition for the guy to compliment his date, not the other way around…” He smells like caramel, you think. “Eh, who cares about tradition anyways,” you retaliate.

He leans forward slowly, until your noses are just barely brushing. Just a little closer, and you’d be kissing him. His hand comes forward to rest on your cheek, and you lean into it, closing your eyes momentarily. “Is this ok?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “More than ok.”

Slowly, he places his lips on yours, sweetly, softly. Thank the gods that your friend said no to wearing regular lipstick, and instead gave you some tinted cherry chapstick. Jin-Woo can taste the slight taste of cherry, and the thought has him giddy. You pull away, grinning softly.

His lips were so soft.

“That…” you trail off, resting your forehead against his. “That was perfect.” Your eyes dance with unbridled happiness, along with the light from above. Jin-Woo can’t help but agree as he leans in once more.

~~~

Sung Jin-Woo feels bad.

So much so that Jin-Ho notices. A part of him tells him that it’s ok, because with Monarchs and Rulers pitted against him, he’ll need an ally, especially one that can make a difference.

But he just can’t help looking at the big banner in front of him, placed by the system. It feels like it’s mocking him. Mocking him for what he’s done, and how he’s played you.

He likes you, he truly does. You’re a sweet, charming, college student with an easy going attitude that grounds him. He doesn’t want to hurt you, at all. Compared to him, you’re an angel. But you can’t hide who you are, what you are, from him.

Not in the slightest bit.

[Quest: Befriend and gain the trust of the Monarch of Peace has begun.]

#solo leveling #sung jin woo #one-shot #reader insert #fluff #angst if you squint #got carried away #simp #brain go brrrr #pls enjoy this #monarchs #rulers #no idea what to tag this

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

10 tattoos/piercing, Danbrey, sfw, please!

Here you go! I based Dani's design on an arowana because I liked the color.

“Remember, non-scented soap, nice to meet you, byeee!” Aubrey waves to her client as they head down the boardwalk. She has thirty minutes until her next appointment, so it’s time to stretch her legs and check the little ‘doggy cam” she set up on Dr. Harris Bonkers cage to make sure the giant rabbit hasn’t finally managed to chew his way through the bars.

“Hi doctor” She coos into the phone. One white ear pivots towards the camera, but the bunny remains otherwise unmoved.

She leans on the railing, Pacfic sparkling like a postcard before her.

“Excuse me?”

“YEEEEP!” She jumps back, not expecting a woman to pop out of the water, let alone pop out and talk to her.

“Oops, sorry.” The other woman smiles, golden hair fanning out around her. There are two types of blondes in Long Beach; the ones hoping to be the next influencer sensation and the kind who are excited to tell you about GOOP and crystals.

Whichever kind this woman is, she’s the most gorgeous girl Aubrey’s ever seen.

“Um, can I help you?”

“Yeah! Can you tattoo me? A piercing would be okay too, but I really like how pretty the tattoos are.”

“Thanks. Um, you’re gonna need an appointment.” She pulls out her phone again, since it’s synced to the calendar Joseph makes them all keep, “lemme see....I have a big slot of time on Friday afternoon.”

The girl cocks her head, “That’s two days from now, right?”

“Yep.We can start at one if that works for you?”

“Sure, see you then!” She waves and then disappears under the water. A few moments later, a shimmering golden tail breaks the swell, seeming to wave once before submerging. Aubrey blinks, switches back to the bun cam.

“How do I tell Joseph I have to move my stuff outside to tattoo a mermaid?”

Dr. Harris Bonkers snuffles, but offers no further commentary.

------------------------------------------------------------

“Joseph, for the last time, you are not gonna hang around just to ask my client questions while I’m trying to work.”

“I don’t plan to, but we need to make sure everything, and I mean everything, is as sterile as we can manage. Doing this outside gives me hives as it is.” Joseph finishes setting up the pop-tent, the kind sun-phobic families take to the beach.

“C’mon, people gave each other traditional tattoos out in the open for centuries. It should be fine.”

Joseph makes an unsure noise, but leaves her in peace all the same. Before long a golden tail flashes out of the water as the mermaid swims towards the beach, the closest spot to the pier where they could actually set the tent and generator up. It’s right on the tide line, Duck having used his almanac to tell them whether Aubrey would be chasing the tide or fleeing from it if the appointment turns out to be long.

“Um, hi again.” She waves.

“Hello!” The mermaid slides up into the surf. When she sits up, Aubrey turns pink.

“Uh, do you, uh, want a swimsuit or something?” Her voice is embarrassingly high.

The mermaid looks down, then at Aubrey studiously looking elsewhere, and laughs, “Oh, right, I forgot humans don’t like it when we’re bare-chested.”

“I mean it’s not that we don’t like it-” Aubrey mumbles.

“Be right back.” She pushes back into the sea, returning a minute later wearing a bright green bikini top, “is that better?”

“Yep!” She replies too quickly, “Sorry, I, um, I’ve never worked on a mermaid before, kinda figured you guys wore seashells or sea stars or something?”

“You...you realize where that would put the seastar mouths, right?” The mermaid scoots up onto the beach, tail in the water and back on the inflatable recliner they borrowed from Kirbys apartment.

“Ooohouch, you’re right, fuck, sorry.” She grabs her flash binder, brought in case the mermaid didn’t have a design in mind.

The mermaid glances over her shoulder, smiling, “You’re cute when you blush.”

She maintains her professionalism, but only just, as the mermaid chooses her preferred design; a brightly colored swirl of planets and stars. For a newbie, she barely seems to register the needle, focused instead on studying Aubrey’s face and hands as she works. She learns that her name is Dani, that she’s one of several merfolk living near the pier, and that she’s observed Aubrey and her handiwork courtesy of a rock and a pair of salvaged binoculars.

“Oooh” Dani wiggles her tail happily when she sees the finished product, “it’s perfect, thank you so much Aubrey.”

“Glad you like it-oh, okay.” She stiffens as Dani rubs their cheeks together twice before pulling back.

“I’m supposed to keep it clean right?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how well saran wrap will hold up to sea water.”

A formerly empty Rose bottle thunks onto the sand. Dani grabs it, popping the make-shift cork off with her teeth.

“Ooh, Indrid sent me a special covering to keep it safe. And these must be for you.” She holds out two pearls.”

“Thanks” She’s more interested in watching the kissable lips covering razor sharp than the gems the mermaid gives her.

“Can I see you again?” Dani is halfway back in the water.

“Whenever you want. You’re a great client; you, um, you’re really nice to touch. Wait, um, I mean you take it really welllARGH, um, yes please come back.” Aubrey replies, tucking the second most valuable thing on the beach into her pocket and continuing to blush well after Dani has returned to the waves.

--------------------------------------------------------

“AHFUCK!”

“Sorry!” Dani gives a sheepish wave to Duck before turning to Aubrey, who got used to her popping out of the water five times ago, “are you free tomorrow?”

“Sure” even if she isn’t, she’ll happily reschedule another client for Dani’s sake, “do want to pick something from my flash?”

“Nope, this time Indrid designed something. It’s about the same size as this” she holds up the watercolor hermit crab on her right arm, “see you then?”

“Of course.” Aubrey waves goodbye, blows a kiss when Dani is out of sight.

She forgot Duck was still here.

“You got it bad, Lady Flame.”

“Shush, I saw you chatting to Indrid by the coffee shop yesterday.”

“....you can’t prove anythin.”

She holds up her phone, smirking, “Oh yes I can.”

--------------------------------------------

“Aubrey!”

She looks up, wondering who’s calling her name on the deserted beach. She brings Dr. Harris Bonkers down here on a leash late at night for enrichment for him and a break from the summer heat for her.

“Aubrey, over here!” Dani leaps through the surf until she;s only able to slide, “I thought it was you. Ohhhhhh” she squeals, “this must be Dr. Harris Bonkers. Hello cutie pie, aren’t you just so lovelyOH, oh he feels like an otter.” She rubs the rabbits head, causing him to creep towards the water, “you’re the second cutest thing on this beach, doctor.” She winks at Aubrey, then sits up, “can I introduce him to Ferdinand?”

Aubrey nods, excited to finally meet Dani’s pet; she only his name, but she’s expecting a seal, or maybe a crab.

What she gets is an octopus. The cephalopod winds a tentacle around her arm, investigating her.

“Aww, he likes you.” Dani sets the octopus down in shallow water, where it proceeds to stretch multiple limbs out to poke Dr. Harris Bonkers.

“Guess they’re having a playdate?” Dani scoots closer, resting her head on Aubrey’s shoulder.

Aubrey sets a hand on her tail, running her fingers up and down the scales as the mermaid sighs happily.

“As long as he doesn’t carry Dr. Harris Bonkers into the tidepools, they can hang out as long as you like.”

----------------------------------------------------------

“Dani? How many tattoos are you planning to get?” Aubrey looks up from where she’s outlining an octopus on Dani’s side.

“I haven’t decided yet. It’s really common for mers to have lots of piercings and tattoos. That’s why Indrid can leave Duck so many expensive tokens; he’s the most in-demand tattoo artist on the coast.”

“Neat! Wait-” she sits up, shutting off the gun, “your friend is a tattoo artist, but you kept coming here?”

“Yes.” Dani is still, save for the end of her tail, which vibrates nervously.

“Why?”

“Um, well, I, I really liked your style. Then I really liked you, and I wanted to keep seeing you…”

“Holy crap, do you keep getting tattoos because you think that’s the only way you’re able to see me?”

“Uhhuh.” Dani is bright pink from her cheeks to her waist as Aubrey scrambles to sit in front of her, “I mean, when you want to date someone, you’re only allowed to see them at their work until they say they want to date you too. Even us meeting on the beach a few weeks ago was pushing it, and I didn’t want you thinking I was pushy.”

“....Huh?”

“Do humans not have that rule?” Dani’s honey-colored eyes widen.

“Nope. It’s actually kinda rude to ask people out at work, because they can’t get away BUT” she hurriedly sets the gun aside, “but I make exceptions for super cute wonderful mermaids.”

“Oh. In that case-” Dani knocks her backwards with her tail and climbs atop her, kissing her so hard she wonders if you can die from a really good make-out session. When the salty kiss ends the mermaid continues peppering her face with kisses and flicking her tongue along her neck.

“Dani I, I’m loving all of this but if you mess up my ink I’m gonna be as annoyed as I can possibly be with a gorgeous mermaid feeling me up.”

“Crap, you’re right.” Dani sits back up, glancing at the half-done tattoo, "I really don't want to ruin your work. Desperate need to see you aside, I do love your style." She folds her hands back into her lap and readjusts onto the inflatable chair.

Aubrey crawls forward, kissing her sweetly, "Once we're done and you're all wrapped up, wanna join me on the beach for a little, um, late night picnic."

A teasing kiss, first to her nose and then to her lips, "I'd love to."

#danbrey #aubrey little/dani #taz amnesty #mermay #mermay fills

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excelsi-or · 3 years

Text

your type (pt. 1)

Hello friends! I have retuuuuurned. I decided we’d go with the ‘dating you because of a date’ trope story (mostly because I’ve suddenly started OVERHAULING the shit out of the other story I’d proposed to you). It’s a decent-lengthen fic, a little more story-based than snapshot like my past two series.

w.c. 2.6k (LOL, enjoy the set up. We hit the ground running pretty quick after this one.)

pt. 2

note 1: I’ve tried to make all the characters/idols in this one, so if you see a name and recognize it, yeah, it’s probably the idol you’re thinking of. I haven’t done this in my last two fics because I usually prefer not to, but I needed so many side characters to bring this story to life and I doubted you guys would be interested in me creating a bunch of random names and people you didn’t know.

note 2: I don’t ship any of the idols that are ‘together’ in this fic or wind up ‘together’ in this fic.

When love is a game on a university campus, the question is always how many people can you get into your bed?

Her girls are all about this game. Between studying for exams, hobbies, volunteering and hanging out; they are swiping left and right, going on dates, meeting new boys on campus that they’ve never interacted with before.

To be systematic about it—because these are science majors—they’ve been working through varying departments. And they’ve left a specific department for their last year at school: the music department. For two reasons.

1) The hottest boys come out of the music department.

2) The fuck boys come from the music department.

If her girls are all about meeting and bedding various men, the boys in the music department are playing the same game. And she has heard various stories about girls trying to change these music department fuck boys.

She’s dabbled in the dating scene, but has quickly learned that the boys on campus just tend not to be her cup of tea.

“Party at Jackson’s tonight,” Jihyo tells her as she slips into the seat across from her at their dining room table.

“And who are you chasing after tonight?” she asks simply, erasing the subscript 2 she’d put down next to her carbon.

“Do you know Choi Seungcheol?”

She snorts. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“We’ve been flirting a little.”

Before she can respond properly, the answer to her chemistry question suddenly comes to her. She grumbles under her breath as she proceeds to erase half a page of work. “Did you go for your testing this morning?”

“Still clean,” Jihyo hums. The woman takes the chemistry homework distraction and uses it to her advantage. “How was that boy you met last week?”

“Eh.” She slowly starts over. “He was whatever. Little too handsy, little too spitty. Kinda boring.”

Jihyo laughs. “I still don’t think you’re giving these boys a chance.”

“Boy’s gotta meet my standard or fuck off,” she chuckles. She tosses her pencil into her notebook and closes it. She props her chin in her hands. “I’m guessing since you’re going to distract me from homework until I say I’m going to get ready that you have someone you want me to meet tonight.”

Jihyo shrugs. “No promises, but Cheol did say to bring my friends tonight so we can play card games at Jackson’s tonight.”

She gets to her feet. “We can do that at someone’s house and not at Jackson’s party.” She heads to her bedroom. “But fine. I’m always down to beat new people at cards.”

Having dabbled in a few music classes, she does actually recognize a few of Seungcheol’s friends. Seungkwan and Hansol come as a pair and don’t date around as much as the others do, likely why she’d taken a liking to them. When Jihyo drags her through the crowd at Jackson’s front door and into the living room, those two boys tackle her first.

She winds up on Hansol’s knee, his hand at her waist to balance her there. “How are you? We haven’t seen you since theory class.”

“I’ve been in the research lab,” she laughs. “You said you’d come visit me.”

“Not all of us are graduating, noona,” Seungkwan argues. “You’re done this year, but we have two years left.”

She ruffles his hair. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Have you met everyone else before?” Seungkwan asks when one of his friends returns with a few beers in his hands.

“Briefly.” She shakes her head when Hansol offers the beer.

Proper introductions are made, and conversation is easy. Jihyo is already in Seungcheol’s lap. His hand strokes her bare legs, likely ‘warming’ them. That excuse always makes her laugh.

Momo walks into the room, a little tipsy already, and scans the room. When the taller woman’s eyes land on her, she breaks out into a smile. “I need you to meet someone.” Without a response, Momo grabs her hand and lifts her off Hansol’s knee, pulling her back through the house.

“You good?” she asks Momo once they’re out of the room and entangled in the sea of people.

Suddenly, Momo stops them before an older looking man who looks incredible uncomfortable to be surrounded by university students.

She stares up at this man and looks between him and Momo. “Who is this?”

“My boyfriend, Heechul.”

Her eyes widen. Momo had been going on about some older man she’d met at a café nearby. And Momo has been asking her to meet Heechul for a while, mostly for approval. Her girls think since she’s picky that she knows how to judge good men. She can’t confirm or deny that.

She holds a hand out. “Nice to MEET YOU!” She has to start yelling, because the music has picked up now that the party’s in full swing.

“Oppa was just dropping Sana and me off and Jihyo said that you were going to be here!” Momo gives her a little push towards Heechul. “Talk to him!”

She tilts her head. “Where are you going?”

“To find Sana and Jihyo!”

Momo pecks Heechul on the cheek and tells him that someone will call to be picked up.

Once his girlfriend wanders off, Heechul looks down at her. She motions towards the door. The man seems confused as to why a little girl is bossing him around, but he leads the way out of the house.

She stands on the front porch, leaning against the beam near the steps. “How old are you?”

“36.”

She almost chokes on her tongue. That is a very apparent 13-year age difference. “Right. Momo said you met in a café.”

“I spilled my drink on her by accident.” Heechul seems hesitant to say more. He leans up and squints at her. “Who are you again?”

“My name doesn’t matter, but I know I have some weight as to whether you and Momo continue to date.” She tilts her head. “Why Momo?”

“Why not Momo? She’s gorgeous, sweet, adorable.”

“What is Momo studying?”

“Something in science, but she’s a dancer at heart.”

She mulls that thought over in her mind. “And what do you do?”

The name is technical, which suggests that his job isn’t CEO. But it sounds stable.

“Kids?”

“None.”

“Married?”

“Never.”

She nods her head and then smiles sweetly. “Nice to meet you.”

Heechul doesn’t call after her like the other boys tend to do when she abruptly ends her weird interview, which reflects his age. But she knows he’s definitely confused by the way he lingers in the walkway.

Inside, her ears need to readjust to the volume. She weaves her way back through the house, the bass trying to alter her heartbeat in her chest. Just as she’s about to join her friends in the living room, she gets stopped by Jeon Jungkook. They’d dated for nearly a year during her second year of university. He’s dating his roommate now, but they’re still close. Jungkook picks her up around the waist and spins her.

“I haven’t seen you in ages! Why does it feel like you disappeared off the face of the planet?” Jungkook demands.

“I’m in hiding!”

“Hiding?”

“Don’t want you to suddenly fall back in love with me and leave Taehyung!” she teases. “Where is he anyway?”

Jungkook pecks her cheek. “Somewhere here! I had to drag him out from under his chemistry thesis!” Kim Taehyung wound up joining the chemistry graduate program at the university. His brain is legendary in the chemistry department.

“Tell him I say hi!”

“Where you going?”

She points to the living room over his shoulder. Jungkook’s brows rise, impressed. When they used to come to parties, they’d spend most of the time in whatever game room existed. Many of the houses they visited owned a pool table, and if people weren’t having sex on it, she, Jungkook, and a few of their friends would play rounds of pool until everyone else was too drunk to shoot straight.

“Aren’t Mingyu and his friends in there?”

She rolls her eyes, a smirk on her face. “Wish me luck!”

Jungkook laughs. “You don’t need it! Those guys would be insane to tangle with you!” He gives her a quick kiss on the forehead and pats her lower back. “I would know!”

They promise to meet up for a late lunch the following day after he’s nursed his hangover, and she rejoins her friends in the living room. Momo drags her to the floor. “What did you think of Heechulie?”

She gauges Momo’s expression. Her eyes are out of focus, which suggests intoxication thus suggesting more emotional responses. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

“Yo.” She looks over at Hansol’s voice and catches the Coke can he tosses at her. The boys all ‘oh’ loudly, and she furrows her brow at the overreaction.

Suddenly, someone is leaning towards her and whispering, “He promised that one of you would be sober.”

She turns and finds herself face-to-face with Mingyu. “Okay…”

“It makes Stress a little more challenging,” Mingyu clarifies.

Stress is a speed-based card game, one that Jihyo had taught her last week. Now that she knows the boys love to play it, she understands where Jihyo learned it. When the woman had taught it to her, Jihyo had said, “I can’t wait until you get to play them!”

It had been such an odd comment at the time, but now that there’s a Stress tourney happening in the living room with 8 decks of cards, she gets it.

And here she is, after three rounds of Stress with various people, sat across from a man she only met properly about ten minutes ago: Jihoon. He’s flushed in the face from the heat of the party, the alcohol, or the anxiety of all the people who have been cycling through the room to watch.

“How drunk are you?” she asks as she shuffles.

Jihoon tips his head both ways. “I’ve had two.”

“Shots? Or beers?”

“Shots.”

She nods her head as she begins dealing.

“Noona, it’s not fair!” Chan whines, leaning into her. They’d played each other in the first round, and even with her going slow, she’d still won. “You’re not as drunk as us.”

Gently, she eases him into Seokmin. “I don’t drink. You guys wanted to play, so we’re playing.” She catches Jihoon’s gaze. “Do you care?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Nah. Easy win regardless.”

Jihyo’s laugh is short and loud to prove a point. “Even if you were sober, Jihoon, she’d smoke you.”

Jihoon gives his head another shake as Seungcheol shouts go.

And she wins.

She has to squirm out of all the grabby hands that try to toss her into the air in victory. “I’ll be back.” She gets up and starts towards the kitchen. She feels someone following her and finds Jihoon there.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” he states.

She doesn’t question it. It is a house party. Guys she doesn’t know will try anything. She ducks around arms and around hands that try to grab her when they call out to her in greeting. She, however, pounces on Min Yoongi who is standing in the kitchen talking with someone.

“Hey kid,” Yoongi says once he gets over the surprise. “Haven’t seen you in eons.”

She digs around in one of the coolers for a Coke. Her drink had spilled four minutes into the tournament when Seokmin had lost and flailed his arms around, promptly knocking her drink off the table. “Jungkookie and I are going for lunch tomorrow. You should come if you aren’t busy.”

Yoongi hums. “Sure, kid.” He glances at someone over shoulder. “I can move some stuff around.”

She gives his arm a squeeze before venturing back through the mass of humans. When someone bumps into her, causing her to topple backwards, she falls back into Jihoon. His cool hands and broad chest keep her steady and guide her back to the living room. He releases her and returns to his spot at the opposite end of the room.

A beer she hadn’t noticed Jihoon take is passed off to Jeonghan. The boys all have someone in their lap or someone trying to get into it, and a few of her girls have disappeared.

She glances at the clock. Jihyo catches her doing this. “You can go,” Jihyo mouths.

She juts her chin their direction. “You going home with Cheol?” she mouths back.

Jihyo glances down at Seungcheol who is talking to Joshua, and then meets her eye again with a nod.

Immediately, she gets to her feet again and begins saying her goodbyes.

“You heading out?” Jihoon asks from his spot on the floor next to two girls and Wonwoo.

“Yeah. Music’s making my head pound.” She squeezes Wonwoo’s outstretched hand and runs a hand through Seungkwan’s hair as she passes.

Once again, when she glances over her shoulder, she finds Jihoon behind her.

“What?”

“Walking you home.” He’s already grabbing his jacket from the overstuffed hall closet. Some people’s jackets have landed on the floor.

She smirks. “You don’t have to do that.”

“You’re gonna walk home alone at night?” He shrugs his jacket on.

“You’re tipsy,” she snorts. “You should stay here.” She slips past him to find her own coat. It’s tangled in the back. Jihoon nudges her out of the way to grab it. He helps her into it.

“Are you going to say goodbye to say bye to Jackson first?” he asks.

“I don’t actually know him.” She zips up her coat and meets his eye. “You go say bye.”

“Come on.” Jihoon motions with his head for her to follow.

“No, I’m good.”

Jihoon somehow knows that if he leaves her for a second, she’ll be out the door without him. “Let’s go then.”

She doesn’t question him. As they walk back to her apartment, she pops open the Coke can still in her hand. “Just so you know, the walk is twenty minutes.”

“You were going to walk twenty minutes on your own?” Jihoon demands.

She glances over at him. “I didn’t realize you were so chivalrous.”

“And I didn’t realize you were an idiot.”

She snorts. “The walk’s well-lit and I find it’s more comfortable than taking the bus or a taxi.”

“Any walk is nice until it’s not.”

Instead, this walk is almost awkward. With anyone else, it definitely would have been. They say next to nothing the entire twenty minutes, though he does sip the soft drink when offered. At her lobby door, she turns and smiles. “It was nice to meet you. Thanks for walking me home.”

Jihoon studies her for a while. She wonders if this is one of his moves. She’s heard of Jihoon’s reputation through the grapevine. And if this is one of his moves, does this really get the ladies going?

Eventually, the scrutinizing goes on for so long that she slowly backs towards the door to go inside.

“Do you want to go for breakfast?” he calls after her.

“Breakfast?”

“I heard you say you were busy at lunch. How about breakfast?” Jihoon asks.

She glances over her shoulder as she unlocks the door. She lets herself into the apartment and stands half in and half out. “Sure. Goodnight.”

“What? You’re not going to give me a number to call you? You could just say no.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Not as drunk as I thought. 9 AM here then.”

His brow furrows. “You want me to pick you up?”

She glances up towards the lights above the doorway that name her building. “You know where I live. 9 AM.”

Jihoon nods. “Okay.”

pt. 2

#woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi #Lee Jihoon #lee jihoon scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #Seventeen #svt

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aliaslua · 4 years

Text

Living with the Turtles (headcanons)

Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo x Reader

Summary: A secret mission that only the four brothers could accomplish requires them to become your personal bodyguards. How would each one of them react to sharing a house with you?

Category: Platonic relationship, domestic fluff, deep friendship.

WARNINGS: None c:

A/N: This actually could be a whole fic (maybe someday) but honestly I was just feeling very into domestic turtles today so I decided to post this. Let me know what you think!

You can also read it in AO3! <3

Leonardo

The order was clear, you needed to be hidden. To fade, become invisible. After a team of outlaw scientists from the old Sacks' company discovered that you DNA carried a sequence of molecules that was thought had disappeared from the human species many decades ago - the only sequence that could serve as a basis for creating new mutagens - your blood became the most precious material in the planet and you, the most wanted person in the world. The Federal Program for Assistance to Threatened Victims and Witnesses had no option but to hide you in the only place where you would be safe 24 hours a day, seven days a week: the old train station where New York's newest heroes lived.

How will each of them react to the brutal change of sharing their house with a stranger?

When Chief of police Vincent set up an urgent meeting with the Hamato brothers to make a request and warned that the fate of the world depended on it, Leo prepared to receive a mission that would involved discipline, discretion and unmatched fighting skills but when he realized they would have to spend the next few months being bodyguard to a human, his confidence immediately morphed into pure nervousness.

He is a true gentleman and is desperate to be the best host possible. Before you arrived, he ordered the whole family to clean the Lair with a military streak and himself inspected every room. He and Donatello built a private room for you using some of the shoji screens from the meditation room and he provided a bed and headboard.

He's absolutely nervous the day you arrive. You are their first official guest and he will do everything to make your stay perfect. Because of that, your first interactions with him is a little awkward. He doesn't allow you to collaborate in any domestic activity and spends the first two weeks asking if you need anything ("No," You always answer "I am very comfortable, thank you.").

After a few days getting to know you better and seeing your determination to participate in the routine of the house, he finally manages to relax a little and takes this opportunity to share some house tasks with you. Despite that, he continues to treat you like royalty: pulling chairs, opening doors, covering you with a blanket at night and carrying you to your bed whenever you sleep on the couch -and then he ensures that the house is quiet, so you can rest. Nothing will interrupt your sleep, your peace, your security, your stay will be perfect, he will do anything to make you feel at home.

Living with Leonardo is a bit like being a soldier in a barracks, but without all the shouting. From Monday to Monday you have a schedule and after you finally manage to convince him to teach you a little self-defense, the training is hard and disciplined. Unlike the barracks, however, Leonardo is very comprehensive with your physical and mental limitations and it's more than willing to adapt your training depending on what you need most on the day. Weary? Deep meditation. Muscle pain? Yoga. Feeling unmotivated? Cardio.

Then when you finally get to know each other better, after a few weeks living together, Leonardo is like a mentor to you. He always has excellent advice and is always available to listen to you, regardless of how repetitive or superficial your problems are.

Leonardo's cooking skills are truly awful. It was during dinner, in fact, that you really started bonding. The pasta was slimy and bland and the sauce tasted like old ketchup: You had to intervene. Only when he saw how well you cooked - and wow that's a pretty good knife control! - he realized that you not only had a lot to learn, but a lot to teach. You have taken on the responsibility of teaching him how to cook the basics ever since and you will never forget his face when he first tasted missoshiro.

You're both obsessed with Chinese fighting movies. Every wednesday you watch a movie together and no matter how hard you try, you can't convince him that "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" is better than "House of Flying Daggers".

Of all the brothers, he is the one who gets used to your presence faster (even before Mikey) and his generosity is essential to make you feel welcome.

Raphael

It is not even possible to define with words the intensity of the fight that Raphael and Leonardo had when he told them that he had accepted the mission of hiding the human carrier. Once again Leonardo had made a decision without consulting the whole team but more important than that: Raphael was going to have to share the house with someone he didn't know and there was nothing in the world that made him more angry - and nervous - than that.

Deep down, Raph was more anxious than angry. Knowing that he was going to share his only intimate and personal space - his house - with someone he didn't know made him feel super vulnerable, exposed. In fact, he was scared. He feared the possible looks of dread, disgust, repulsion. He knew that few things in the world could hurt more than a look of hatred and he was not at all comfortable with the reality that he might have to LIVE with someone who found him disgusting.

But when you arrived, the looks didn't come. You looked nervous, but not scared, let alone disgusted. As the days went by, Raphael realized that the only feeling you had before arriving at Lair was gratitude and after he actually understood that in fact he made you feel safe, the warmth in his chest was enough for him to forgive your invasion.

Sometimes you are just as scary to Raphael as he is for most humans. That day when he caught you alone in the kitchen taking the cookie sheet out of the oven, he realized that. You are so… small, so fragile and soft. He feels that if he breathes too hard or too close to you he will dismantle you, like a house of cards. It's also impressive to him how much noise such a small creature can make. God! Are your shoes made of iron? How can biting into toast be that loud? Even your breathing seems loud to him. But it is not your fault, you always answer, it's not like you're a trained ninja.

Raphael is the last one to be comfortable with your presence but when that day finally comes and he admits he likes it when you are around, he also decides that you are one of them now and for you he ride or die. Silently he swears eternal loyalty to you and from that day on, rest assured, you don't need to be afraid of anything anymore.

Because of this, Raph becomes strangely jealousy and possessive. You are now his best friend and he needs to know if everyone around you is good enough, well-intentioned enough and ensuring your joy and well being are now part of the mission. It's a little overwhelming at first but when you adjust the intensity it's wonderful to have someone who takes such good care of you.

His affection is always returned. You love his company and think it's funny how such a big man can be so soft. And soft he is, since what you most have in common is the appreciation for period romances. You love watching all the adaptation films from Jane Austen's books and maybe he cried at the end of Reason and Sensitivity - he will deny it until the end - but your favorite activity for you to do together is when you read to him while he works out. You are like a personal audiobook and he will never stop making fun of you for crying while reading Mr. Wentworth's letters.

Despite the affection, he is really a tease. He doesn't miss a single chance to remind you how small you look to him and nicknames like Tiny Temper and Shortstop are recurring. You always repay it whenever you can but ultimately you know that he doesn't mean bad.

Donatello

Donatello thinks that the idea of protecting the source of the conflict is brilliant, it seems much more rational to avoid a war before it happens and proceed a mission with a more discreet and strategic course of action than to appeal to physical strength and weapons. That said, he hates having someone else around as much as Raphael. Unlike him, however, Donatello is not afraid of rejection, he is... Uncomfortable. Privacy is a right that he considers essential and imagining that he may receive someone who is intrusive in his own home makes his head hurt.

Therefore, he receives you with extreme coldness. He helps with the organizing of their home and your personal space, of course, he doesn't want you to feel unwelcome, but it's essential for him to draw the line between mission and personal life and he wants to make that very clear. His room is off limits, the computer area is off limits and specially the laboratory is off limits.

But he soon realizes that his coldness is unnecessary and maybe even a little rude since you seem excellent at respecting personal limits and spaces. He was prepared to spend a long time refusing to answer invasive and indiscreet questions, but you seemed to have a genuine and respectful interest. In the end, he found your polite curiosity very charming.

After that, he showed you the lab on his own and was even happier when you got interested but didn't touch anything. He finally had someone around with the same enthusiasm for science as he and he even started doing research based on your doubts. Enjoy, he's a great teacher.

But what you most like to do together is to sit on the huge couch in the living room with a cup of coffee and talk for hours on complex matters. Ethics, morals, economic and social configurations, what is the fate of the world? Why are we here? You certainly do not have the same theoretical background to refute him, but he loves your interest and loves to hear your subjective takes. A debate partner is everything he always dreamed of.

It's also a relief for him to be able to open up to someone other than his own brothers and he likes to hear the solutions you would give to his dilemmas from the perspective of a person who has lived a life so different from his. He also loves to watch you, but he will never admit it: Humans are fascinating, and he finds your ways and habits very funny.

Before you arrived he did a thorough research to understand what vitamins, minerals and supplements you would need to take while out of sunlight and with restricted access to various foods, so you also got you a personal doctor and nutritionist.

Michelangelo

The first week living with Michelangelo were almost unbearable. It may be fair to say that he was the only one among the brothers really pleased with your arrival and it was good to be warmly welcomed by at least one of them, but Mikey's excitement was a little overwhelming. He spent all day filling you with praise, flirting, asking about your life and life on the surface and it felt like he talked so much that he sucked all the air out of the room.

Knowing that your relationship could nor go on like that, in the second week of your stay you sat him on the couch and asked him to chill out just a little. You explained that for you it was super important to know that one of them was happy with your arrival and that you knew that he wanted to do everything to make your stay the best possible but for that he didn't need to treat you like a creature from another world, perfect and sovereign, you just wanted to be treated like ... an equal. That was more than enough. Michelangelo ceased to be a dedicated servant and became a great friend.

You couldn't ask for anything else in the world. Mikey was the perfect friend for a situation that could be unbearable without an icebreaker. He's fun, lovable and after you had that conversation, extremely relaxed and comfortable around you. His loyalty is unquestionable and every day he shows affection without hesitation.

He loves spending all the time he can with you and has volunteered to become your personal teacher of the art of graffiti. Leonardo can't know, but you are responsible for the new tags on the subway cars and on the doors of abandoned houses. Mikey loves to watch you do your hair and help you choose the clothes you are going to wear that day and you find it funny how that dynamic makes it look like he is playing house for the first time.

You made homemade pizza once and he asked you to marry him, a request to which you answered yes, of course. He made you a ring from the pizza crust and you drank soda with your arms crossed just like in weddings.

The most sensitive of the brothers. He always know when you're not feeling good and always has the right answer to make you feel better (that is, burrito blanket and reality shows).

#bayverse tmnt #tmnt 2016 #michelangelo #leonardo tmnt #raphael tmnt #tmnt imagine #donatello tmnt

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Slips of the Mind (The Mask of Death Series)

Colonel Wullf Yularen would like to say he was comfortable with his position within the Empire. He would like to say that he was proud of the transition he’d made from the Republic era, into the new era of dictatorship; maintaining his rank as one of the military figureheads. In a Galaxy torn apart by civil war, with a rising number of small factions joining the Rebel Alliance to revolt, he would like to say his job was as secure as they come. With no end in sight - although that wasn’t for the Empire’s lack of trying, as they doubled down on their efforts to persecute and eliminate the competition - he looked forward to a stable future, with a stable income, and a stable hand to play.

From admiral, to colonel, little had changed. But even he had his limits, and though he had once fought for the Republic naval forces - teamed up with the most reckless of Jedi generals - the man he had been paired with to overview the latest reports from the Imperial Security Bureau made even him feel tense and uncomfortable.

As he followed through, he almost regretted the choice. Initially, he had been sent to relay information to Grand Moff Tarkin. It was the usual debriefing, catching up in person every six weeks. In between, there’d be transmissions and holomessages. Initially, Grand Admiral Thrawn had been dispatched to join. Key word was initially. Instead of the semi regular procedure, Tarkin had been called off to oversee director Krennic’s progress on the beginnings of the 'secret weapon of the Empire; The Death Star. Thrawn had been delayed, foiled by a baited trap laid by rebel forces. Hence, when Yularen made his case to the Emperor himself; the most powerful man in the Galaxy had asked him not to worry, and assured him that he would be adequately received. There was a standin he may relay his findings to. Yularen had hoped that the cryptic, musing tone the Emperor used meant nothing. Still, he had already suspected whom he would have the pleasure of dealing with before the hydraulic doors slid open.

He wasn’t wrong.

He heard the even, rhythmic breathing cycle of a periodic respirator before he saw the man. Back turned towards him, Darth Vader stood with his hands folded behind his back; peering out through the floor length viewport of an office in what had once been the Galactic Senate. He appeared to be eyeing the setting sun, as it crawled lazily along the horizon; the coruscanti cityscape and its towering buildings mere shadows set against its dying orange rays. Keeping his head held high, Yularen entered and approached the freshly revised holoprojector planted in the middle of the room. Eyeing first Vader’s looming figure, the light reflected in the polished durasteel of his domed helmet, Yularen opted to trigger the fanning shades. The room would need to be darker, at least this close to twilight. He knew Vader was already aware of his presence, even as the shades began to unfold, covering the vast viewport inch by inch.

“Colonel Yularen,” said Vader promptly, his deep voice rumbling as he finally turned to look at the other man.

“Lord Vader,” Yularen greeted in turn, with a curt nod of acknowledgement. “I regret the circumstances demanding your attendance. I know this is well beyond your disposition.”

“Indeed. however, it occurs to me that little can be done to alter the issue at the moment. As such, we may proceed. I have been informed that you carry news of great interest to the Empire. I shall see to it that they are adequately conveyed - granted that I deem them worthy of such note.”

Yularen pursed his lips into a thin line, but offered another nod.

He’d always been unnerved in Vader’s presence. Sure, the times they found themselves forced to cooperate had been few and far between. But there was an uncanny quality to Vader, one Yularen had never sensed with another being. He remembered the days of the Clone Wars, commanding vast star fleets in direct battle. He remembered powerful Jedi knights, remembered the mystical, near whimsical aura they seemed to surround themselves with. Perhaps it was inherent to their nature, perhaps it was just their way of carrying themselves. He had seen the Force work in impossible ways; this unseen power, the root of the Jedi’s ancient religion. It was genuine, as real as the air he breathed. He had even spent an uncomfortable amount of time in the presence of a Sith Lord. Count Dooku had once been restrained on his vessel, albeit briefly, in holding before his separatist forces - led by the dreaded cyborg General Grievous - had come to his aid. Dooku’s veneer, his cold yet sophisticated flair, had been unsettling. There had been a chill in the air, much like a crisp, early autumn morning. One where dew became thin layers of frost, and ice crystals bloomed along branches and vegetation. Reminiscent of the freezing temperatures of Orto Plutonia, or Hoth, or Ilum.

Vader possessed the same icy cold quality, the same ability to suck any warmth out of every room he entered - but much amplified. The first time, Yularen had been surprised to find his fingertips numb when he left a meeting where Vader had been in attendance. Exactly how much of this imposing aura the man had direct control over, Yularen couldn’t say, but it seemed to vary from time to time.

Sometimes, there would be no more than the odd shiver running up your spine, as a sudden icy breeze wisps past your neck. Other times, it would be so cold, you’d find it difficult to stand still or keep your teeth from clattering. This evening, Vader appeared to be planted somewhere firmly between the two. No extreme frostbite, but enough to lessen what should have been welcoming, gentle rays of the sinking sun. Their mellow, golden lure disappeared behind the durasteel shades and the room was submerged in a gray, dim darkness before Yularen promptly accessed the map function and tapped in the adequate coordinates. The blue, wobbling glow almost felt reassuring when trapped in such a confined space with Vader.

“Jedha. I remain unintrigued,” said Vader, approaching slowly with heavy strides.

He came up beside Yularen, his large dark clad frame taking to the darkness like a duck to water. The blinking lights of his chest- and belt-boxes seemed almost hypnotic, alternating between bright greens and reds. Yularen glanced at the man’s face; the mask covering it never giving a scrap of emotion away. Stoic, frozen in a perpetual mockery of death. It resembled a skull, more than anything else; angled, black, stylized. Its gaping eyeholes fixated on the miniature holoimage of the planet overview in front of them.

“Actually, I was relying on you to fill me in on the importance of this particular planet. As I have been informed, we are intending to mine Jedha, but I have yet to learn what for. It appears indepth records regarding its history are… obscured. Ancient, yes, but I must admit I have never ventured close to its orbits,” Yularen began and cleared his throat, knowing that there was no better way to subdue the cynical beast that was Darth Vader; than to offer him an opening to share his own knowledge.

Many of Yularen’s fellow high ranking officers viewed Vader as a brute, a monster, and a mercenary. Little more than the hitman the Emperor dispatched when all else failed, when all semblances of negotiation fell through. Yularen knew better. He knew Vader was clever, he knew that Vader had the skill necessary to preplan and carry out complex schemes. While others may underestimate the man - especially those who had never existed in Vader’s presence - Yularen had a hunch for looking out for himself, and watching his own back. Stroking Vader’s ego would at least offer him free brownie points, much like they had done when he worked the same tactics on general Skywalker years ago.

“Neither have I, but I have… obtained the knowledge required to comprehend its importance to the Emperor’s machinations. Jedha is the root of a sect, dedicated to worshipping the Force. They revere it as their God, and while they follow the same false dogma that once belonged to the Jedi; they are insignificant. They are being closely monitored, for their bending of the law. I have been predisposed to interfere, should they alter their nature of compliance.”

“So they pose no threat?”

Vader nodded, as much as his helmet allowed him as he shifted to fold his arms defiantly across his broad chest. Yularen had always found that particular habit of Vader’s irked him, it took him back in time to the olden days. It made him ponder what may have happened to Skywalker, once the Jedi purge was begun. Once the Jedi were declared traitors of the Empire. Somewhere, his subconscious already knew the answer, and he refused to accept it. Much as he understood the consequences, Yularen had grown somewhat fond of that rowdy, unorthodox Jedi. Skywalker, who had a tendency to mimic the near exact same pose Vader was now holding. Back straight, arms folded, head held high. A small part of Yularen, would hope that he had somehow fled. That he had seen the error of his ways.

But that hope was futile, and best kept hidden.

“Perhaps in the future they might, but at the moment, no. The capital is a cesspool of misguided religious doctrines. The most prevalent cult practices non-violence, and they will succumb. If the Force wills it so, they will yield.”

“We’re not hunting Force wielders then, I take it,” Yularen hummed, keeping Vader in his peripheral at all times as he zoomed in; the aurebesh stats of what was only referred to as The Holy City greeting him.

“We are not. What we are hunting is their resources. These pitiful souls have long ago erected a temple to appease their skewed view of the Force. We are to exploit, and mine their deposit of kyber crystals - the true foundations of their reverence.”

Yularen scowled, skimming through the vitals of the planet. Breathable oxygen atmosphere, frosty climate with permanent winters. Feeling the hairs at the back of his neck rise, he ignored the tendrils of sharp, icy needles that seemed to radiate from Vader’s direction. The brunt of their assault focused on his right shoulder; wrenching themselves like unseen hooks underneath his skin. Impossible to shake off, or ignore. Like icicles, buried within his own flesh.

This was more like it, more like the near painful sensation of spending any time in Vader’s close proximity Yularen was used to. This was why he had dreaded the encounter.

“I presume this is to be our resolution, to replenish our resolve once Illum runs dry," he muttered, mostly to make a mental note to himself.

“Precisely.”

Yularen had had his suspicions, and was glad to see them confirmed. He knew he would have been debriefed on the status of Jedha and its importance to the Empire eventually, but he preferred to be one step ahead. He suspected Vader knew as much, and was humoring him by granting him this little tidbit of classified information. At least something good had come of their forced reunion.

“But, as I recall, I was not summoned here to educate you. You have a report for me, is that not so?” Vader continued after a short pause.

“Of course, my lord. My reasons for bringing Jedha up harken from the issue that we have detected unreported activity in the star systems surrounding the planet. We suspect rebel forces are attempting to establish a subdivision in the area,” Yularen was quick to explain, unwilling to keep Vader waiting and wear on his infamously thin patience.

“And what gives you these suspicions, Colonel? I suggest you provide me with reliable sources for your concerns.”

As Yularen had expected, Vader’s disinterest in the situation shone through. Vader had always come off as someone who saw himself as above pesky politics, but the Rebel Alliance had become an underground threat to be reckoned with. Much as Yularen suspected it must be more entertaining for someone of Vader’s prowess to hunt down befitting foes, he was required to scare the offshoots into submission by the Emperor’s orders. Neither of them could complain about the task offered to them.

“We have intercepted encrypted transmissions, and as such have been granted permission to dispatch a secondary garnison of stormtroopers to scout out the situation on spot.”

“If all this has already been accomplished, I fail to see how it relates to me,” Vader said, and despite the tinny, somewhat metallic tone to his voice; it came off as close to a scoff as Yularen figured Vader could manage.

Another thing Yularen had grown accustomed to while waging war aside general Skywalker - that had turned out to be a benefit when dealing with Vader - was Skywalker’s impatience, his adventurous spirit, and his unwillingness to carry diplomatic or political conversations. They’d got along well, once Yularen learnt not to try to draw Skywalker into discussing subjects he either didn’t understand, or simply thought he was too intelligent to have to deconstruct. And Skywalker was no idiot, he had been quick witted and skilled, but if there were negotiations to be had - Yularen would be relieved whenever general Kenobi was brought along to play the part on dual missions.

Now, there was no Kenobi to ease a disinterested party back into the discussion.

“Pardon me, Lord Vader, but that is what a debriefing requires. I am certain you are as aware of this as I am,” he pointed out, the scowl still dug into his brow.

“Perhaps, but it is not my duty to register these accomplishments,” Vader shot back, and he shifted to meet Yularen’s gaze head on.

“It’s not optimal, no, but we’ll have to make do. However, you are correct in that it is not a direct necessity.”

Yularen almost smirked at his own idea, and a part of him wished he had come up with this excuse before the inevitable meeting.

“Are you suggesting breaking protocol?”

Yularen quirked an eyebrow at that, and instead of the usual wave of apprehension Vader would instill him with; he could swear he detected an amused curiosity. Shrugging, the mental image of Skywalker smirking at his suggestion that they bypass customs just this once flashing before his inner vision, he cautiously let his guard down and scrolled through a couple of planets and systems he had reports on. He knew they would be of little to no interest to Vader, so he might as well skip them. He would need to write a digital predisposed copy of the overhaul at a later date anyhow. While Tarkin or Thrawn may have been thrilled to discuss tactics and strategies - Yularen figured there was no point in wasting either his or Vader's time on trivial drabble. He stopped when he located the one instance that may still peek some interest in his companion.

“Not quite. Simply bypassing irrelevant data. I believe this, however, may be of use to your likes, my lord,” he finally answered, and dared a hint of a coy smile before settling back into his more rigid, professional demeanor.

“Explain,” was all Vader said, but he had visibly shifted to a more attentive posture, albeit with his arms still folded to make a point.

“I will assume you know Waruuk for its… unsavory reputation. Run by crime syndicates, spice cartels, smuggling rings, slave traders - you name it, they have it.”

“I reckon you have a valid reason for bringing a planet built on scum up.”

Yularen felt the ire simmering from Vader but was intent on not shying away, pulling up the stats and indexes for the planet in question. He let Vader eye them for a moment, and as he had anticipated, the temperature of the room began to rapidly decline. From a cool, almost neutral environment; he now found himself in a hostile, freezing embrace. Its nature was oppressive, its artificial chill seeping into the colonel’s bones.

“Vos,” Vader spat, and Yularen almost flinched at the unfiltered disgust bleeding through what was for all intents and purposes a monotone voice.

Force wielder, possible Jedi. Male. Physical attributes in line with primary target, Jedi Master Quinlan Vos. Records incomplete, further investigation required; a tiny sidescreen note proclaimed, one Yularen had set aside from his own files. He had never intended to show it directly to Thrawn or Tarkin, unless actively questioned about it. What he had intended, was to transcribe it to Vader.

“Yes. I cannot be completely certain, but there have been recorded sightings of a supposed Jedi in these parts. I presume it would have reached your ears eventually, but I happen to know you prefer to have the news broken to you in person.”

Vader peered at him again, and Yularen found pride in the flat facial expression he managed to maintain as he was being meticulously studied. The gaze felt burdensome, but instead of the usual dismissive air to it; it came off as grateful, in a distant, wary sort of manner. That, too, reminded Yularen of general Skywalker.

Skywalker, who was barely more than a teenager when put in command. Skywalker, who was brash, and unable to adequately give or take compliments. He’d come into his own, as the war waged on. But those first few months, there had been several incidents of heated arguments and stubborn headbutting. With time, Skywalker had grown to respect Yularen’s advices, and his suggestions. In turn, Yularen had learnt to respect Skywalker compassion, and wit. They’d become a proper team.

Briefly, Yularen wondered whether Vader would hunt down Skywalker with a similar vigor to other Jedi, was he to learn the man had lived.

“You are correct. Others would be wise to follow your lead in their approach,” Vader simply stated in what was probably as close to a compliment as the man could muster, before immediately turning on his heel to head towards the single exit way. “Have the coordinates transmitted to my comlink. I shall investigate this Jedi traitor’s whereabouts in person.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Yularen replied, but Vader was already long gone, stalking down the corridor at an impressive walk speed; black cape billowing behind him and guard troopers scrambling out of the way.

Without thought, Yularen picked up his personal comlink device and brought up the adequate files Vader had requested from his private notebook. On autopilot, he dialled the five digit signal by muscle memory and pressed transmit. Then he froze, the colour draining from his face as he stared in wide eyed horror at the error he had committed. He became acutely aware of the fact that he had never sent Vader direct private messages before; and so, he didn’t know the man’s wavelength. He felt his stomach lurching, the sinking sensation in his chest. He must have been too distracted by the memories of the bright eyed young Jedi he'd once called friend, realizing too late that the number he’d typed belonged to general Skywalker. It buffered, but could not be cancelled. Instead of being dismissed, it went through with a chirping beep of approval.

But that was not the reason for the cold sweat breaking out along Yularen’s creeping hairline, his racing heartbeat, or the taste of bile rising at the back of his throat.

The encrypted transmission sent to Skywalker’s wavelength was successfully received.

The receiver was computed as Darth Vader’s private comlink unit.

*****

This one is perhaps not as scary as the others, but I think the impact still hits home. I wanted to write the dynamic between Vader and Yularen, and have been wanting to do so for a long time. Thus, I figured Yularen would be reminded of Anakin in Vader's presence, but not quite put it all together until... well, see for yourself.

Hope you enjoy, I had tons of fun with the lore and artistic liberty in this installment, if nothing else!

(Yes, the end may be a bit... I dunno, but I really wanted to have that conclusion in there, and it may be a bit forced, but I like it anyway. Sue me!)

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/70242900

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buckyodinson · 4 years

Text

A Clan of Three (Mandalorian x fem!Reader)

This is dedicated to @tlittlet (hope you don’t mind me tagging you in this) - I saw your post saying:

‘I wish I could read a mando x reader where the reader is all shy but passionate and mando craving for touch. But like, I know I can write it but I don’t want to write it, I want to read it, do you know what I mean? 😫’ and I kinda ran away with it?

A/N: This is the first thing I’ve written in about a year and a half so it may be a little rusty, and it’s based vaguely on the post mentioned above. I just love Mando a lot right now, and this is the first time in a long time I’ve actually felt compelled to write something, so I hope some people out there can enjoy this, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Feedback is appreciated!!

Word count: 2.6k

There was a lot left unspoken on the Razor Crest as of late. You’d been travelling with Din and the Child for just over a year now, and barriers had slowly broken down in that time. A lot had been shared between the two of you, but a lot had been kept under wraps on both sides, through fear of rejection. You loved both Din and the Child with every fibre of your being, and it tore you apart trying not to just lay all your cards on the table, but you were terrified the gamble was too risky.

You would often be left on the Crest while Din fetched his latest bounty, staying to watch over the Child and keep him out of harms way. You felt a true maternal instinct, and while watching over the Child while he slept or played with whatever he could get his hands on in the cockpit, your thoughts would drift to the signet on Din’s pauldron - a clan of two - and how desperately you wished to be a clan of three.

You loved Din. You knew as much. You knew from very early on, after a few weeks of settling into life with the pair of them on the Crest, you knew this was a life you could get used to. And you thanked the Maker that you could spend at least part of your life travelling the galaxy with two who you truly and genuinely loved. You wanted to let him know how you felt, but you knew The Way. And you knew you couldn’t put Din in a situation like that - partly because you didn’t want to disrespect the life he swore to uphold when he swore The Creed, and partly because you were terrified he didn’t feel the same, and he’d drop you off at the next system to avoid the awkwardness that would likely ensue.

So you kept quiet. You would often lie awake at night, thinking of endless scenarios of what life would be like if he knew. If he felt the same. If he took his helmet off, abandoning his bounty hunting life to settle down on a planet somewhere in the outer rim, just the three of you. A clan of three. There goes that thought again, and just as quickly as it enters your mind, it’s snatched away when you scold yourself for getting carried away. You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, and you know it, but you’re too far gone to care.

Unbeknownst to you, Din would also often lie awake in the safe confines of his quarters, with his helmet removed, wondering how the soft touch of your hands would feel on his face. How your lips would fit against his. How perfect your body would slot into his as you laid together, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. These ephemeral thoughts calmed him after a long day, but they also brought pangs of sadness, knowing that they were only his imagination. She’d never feel the same. After all, how could she? All she’s ever known is the cold, unforgiving glare of Beskar. She’s never seen the longing on his face when she’s idly hanging up a small decoration she bought at a market, his mind racing at the thought of a domestic life with her. Nor had she seen the soft smile he can’t seem to shake when he catches her playing or chatting away with the Child.

He craved her touch. He’s only felt it in fleeting moments. Usually when one of them is badly injured after a particularly nasty run-in with a bounty. On many occasions, he’s been badly hit with a blaster in places he can’t patch up himself, and she silently reaches for the med-kit and beckons for him to sit with her. She removes his Beskar so softly, as if it isn’t one of the toughest materials around, and it makes his heart ache. She works mostly in silence, other than to ask him if it’s okay to lift his undershirt. She always asks. She doesn’t have to, and she knows, he’s told her so many times. But still she does. And that longing creeps into his entire body every time, knowing she truly respects his way of life.

When she works, her delicate hands clean the injury with feather-light touches, using a bacta spray to help with further healing, before applying a bandage. Even these light touches cause shivers to run up Din’s spine, and he knows it’s a ridiculous reaction to have, given the circumstances, but nobody has ever been so gentle with him. Nobody has ever taken the time to make sure he is okay. Once, he was so exhausted from a fight with a bounty that ended badly, that after he’d taken all his armour off, dropped it to the floor, and let you tend to his wounds, he’d fallen asleep where he’d been sat, in the hull of the ship. When he woke, he found a blanket draped over him, and all his armour was neatly arranged on the nearby shelves, seemingly having been polished. He was speechless. It was such a sweet gesture on your behalf, he didn’t know how to react. He wished he knew how to thank you for all you did for him. But he just didn’t know how.

When you helped with his injuries, you never failed to notice the almost imperceptible hitches in his breath, and small sighs he let out as you worked. You never questioned them, but they made you wonder when the last time he was ever touched by another person. If he had been touched by another person since he swore the Creed, and vowed to live his life shielded from the world.

The day came when things left unspoken finally bubbled to the surface. Din had been out looking for a bounty, and had been gone for several days. You grew worried very quickly, as even the toughest of jobs brought him back to the Crest within a day or two. But it was four days since you’d last seen or heard from him. The Child was beginning to grow restless, being cooped up in the ship. You spent most of your time pacing the cockpit, trying to contact him, to no avail. You knew it was dangerous to leave the ship, and leave the Child unattended, so you had to settle for staying in the Crest and praying to the Maker that you’d see him emerge from the tree-line any minute.

You slept very lightly while Din was away, any and every noise rousing you, hoping it was the ramp lowering, and Din coming back. After five days of nothing, you finally heard that familiar hiss of the ramp to the Crest opening, and you all but sprinted from your cot to the ramp. You were ecstatic that he had returned, but also terrified at what state he may be in. You were right to feel this way, because once the ramp lowered and you caught a glimpse at him, you knew he was in trouble. He was leaning heavily on his left leg, and you ran down the ramp before he all but collapsed into your arms. You made quick work of dragging him into the ship and closing the ramp door.

You set him on the floor and made quick work of removing his armour, disregarding your usual tentative movements. The more armour you removed, the more blood and grime you noticed on his underclothes, and the sight made you gasp.

You spoke softly but with a sense of urgency, “Din… I’m going to take your underclothes off. Is that okay?”

You received no reply.

“Din? Can you hear me?” You tried again, but to no avail. You reached one hand under his neck to support it while you reached your other under his jaw, and could still feel a strong pulse, which calmed your nerves ever so slightly. But upon pulling your hand other hand back to rest his head on the ground, you noticed your hand was covered in blood. You began to really panic now, not knowing how to proceed with the situation. He needed serious medical attention, but you didn’t want to overstep the clear boundaries he lived by.

You knew his safety came first, but you also didn’t want to jeopardise his religion and risk him never being able to put the helmet back on again. So you removed his underclothes and got to work on all the injuries on his body first. His chest rising and falling as you worked comforted you by a fraction, but the lack of sighs and grunts made you acutely aware that his head injury needed treating soon.

You quickly disappeared to your room and ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of your blanket before coming back and dropping onto your knees by Din’s side yet again. You gathered all the materials you needed before securing the fabric around your eyes and tying it in the back of your head. You took a deep breath before reaching for Din’s helmet. You pressed a switch, and heard the hiss as you slowly lifted it from his head and placed it softly on the ground next to you.

You lifted him slightly and stuck a leg out underneath his shoulders, so you could feel the back of his head and assess the injury. You located to wound fairly easily, and while it wasn’t large, it was bleeding a lot, so you applied a bacta spray to it after wiping his hair first. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you ran your hands through his hair. You slowly felt his face using the hand not covered in blood, checking for any smaller injuries that may be there. You found nothing, and rested your hand on his cheek while you sighed, hoping you’d done enough for the meantime. You were shocked when you felt Din’s hand cover yours, and you immediately went to pull your hand away but his grip tightened.

He cleared his throat and croaked out a small “Thank you”. You smiled at his unfiltered voice, the first time you’d ever heard it. And while it was barely there, and scratchy, after all he’d been through, it was still him, and you couldn’t help but feel lucky to have heard it in all it’s beauty.

“It’s okay… I could probably do a better job of it, but with the blindfold, there’s only so much I can-“

“Take it off..” he whispered, and you flinched back in shock, not knowing if you heard him correctly.

After a beat of silence, his hand came up to rest on your cheek, mirroring your actions, and he slowly lifted the material covering your eyes. He chuckled and coughed a little when he noticed your eyes screwed shut. He came to rest his hand on your cheek again, the unfamiliar feel of his skin warm against yours, as his thumb moved slowly across your cheekbone. “You can open your eyes, cyar’ika… it’s okay.”

You slowly obliged, and you were completely taken aback by his features. His soft brown eyes looked up at you, and despite the pain that must be coursing through his body, he was smiling at you. You took notice of his curly brown locks, some of which were stuck to his forehead. You brushed them away, before running your fingers down his hooked nose, to rest on his lips, where he lightly kissed your fingertips. Before you knew it, tears were falling from your eyes, and his face contorted into one of concern.

“I’m sorry, Din.” You breathed out as he swiped his thumb under your eye.

“What do you have to be sorry for, mesh’la?” He spoke, his voice a little stronger now.

“The Creed. I’ve seen your face. You can’t go back now. I’m so sorry.” You hung your head, and felt him slowly manoeuvre himself to sit up in front of you.

“What if I don’t want to go back?” He all but whispered, lifting your chin.

You met his gaze again and was frozen in place as he lent towards you and slowly brought your lips to his. You barely had time to react before he pulled away, your lips almost chasing his as he smiled against you.

“I’ve been thinking for a long while now, about you… about us. I get this unfamiliar feeling deep inside me when I think of you. When I see you with the Child. At first I dismissed it, thinking that was just how it felt to finally have a real friend. But then I would get worried sick when I was out looking for bounties... worried about you. Worried that something would happen to you here in the Crest and I’d be none the wiser. Then I realised. It was love.” He fell into silence, and you both sat there for what felt like an eternity, comfortable to just be there with each other, no more words needing to be exchanged.

He finally spoke up again, “I never acted on it, always telling myself ‘This is the way’. Telling myself this is the life I was born to live, it’s not fair to drag you into it. I never thought, for a second, that you could feel the same. But seeing you now, scared that I might be dying, but still blindfolding yourself to respect the Creed… that was all the confirmation I needed. Tell me I’m right?” He pulled away slightly to look in your eyes, and you saw tears brimming in his.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, before leaning in to kiss him back. Your lips touched, and in this kiss, you felt everything that had gone unspoken this past year. You broke apart and whispered against his lips, “I’ve always loved you Din.”

He whispered something back in Mando’a, and while you didn’t understand it, you’re sure you knew what he meant. You leaned back to look at him once more, and as you brushed his hair from his face, he winced slightly. His injuries dawned on you again, and you slowly rose, helping him to his cot. You fetched him a glass of water, something to dull the pain, and something to eat, and out of habit, started to leave, when he grabbed your wrist and silently pleaded with you to stay. He moved to lay on his side and you joined him in his cot, resting your back against his chest. He closed his eyes, and couldn’t quite believe you were here in his cot, laying pressed against him, like he dreamed of not long ago. He remembers a time when he would chastise himself for thinking you would ever feel this way, and yet here you were.

The door to his quarters opened with a hiss and the Child moved slowly over to the bed, looking at the pair of you with his wide eyes. You leaned down to pick him up and place him against your chest, where he promptly fell asleep. Din wrapped his arm around both you and the Child and held you both securely as he drifted off. You stayed awake a little while longer, just laying there smiling to yourself. As sleep finally consumed you, only one thought danced in your mind, you were finally a clan of three.

#the Mandalorian x reader #Mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #dyn jarren x reader #Mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #dyn jarren imagine #Mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #dyn jarren fanfic #mandalorian x fem!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #dyn jarren x fem!reader

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basura2319 · 4 years

Text

Choices

Pairing: Jango Fett x reader

Requested by: literally no one

WC: 1.7k (oops)

Warnings: angst lots of it, relationship problems , takes place before TPM, has references to Jango’s Legends lore (aka the bounty hunter game).

A/N: I’m really doubting posting this fic on here guys...

Jango couldn’t ignore the pit in his stomach any longer as he descended his new ship, Slave I, towards Bespin.

“You live on Bespin?” asked the female Clawdite lounging on the seat next to him.

Jango, of course, didn’t respond to her.

Zam huffed. “Seriously, you were just talking to me five minutes ago. What’d I do now?”

“Be quiet,” grumbled Jango. The clouds of Bespin were dangerous to navigate, rendering him unable to see anything especially now since the sun was setting.

Zam threw an annoyed glance at him before peering at the silhouette of what she assumed was Cloud City. They got closer to the city and a voice muffled through the ship’s com channel.

“Welcome to Cloud City,” greeted a droid. “What is your business here?”

“I need to get to landing bay 40,” replied Jango.

“Do you have an access code for landing bay 40?”

“Yes, I’m patching it through right now.”

He waited anxiously for the droid’s response.

“The code checks out,” the droid droned. “You may proceed.”

Jango sighed inwardly. He hadn’t seen nor contacted you in weeks because of, well, the “special hunt” Tyranus invited him to partake in. He had so much to tell you and was so nervous about it. Nervous about how you would take in the news of moving to Kamino with all the credits he will earn for being the clone template.

He had sent you a message yesterday saying he’d be back, but you didn’t reply. That’s when he felt it. Felt it deep in his chest that you were angry with him, and for a good reason too. It churned his stomach with nerves.

He found your landing bay and landed the ship without any problems. Jango unbuckled his straps before moving over to help Zam.

“Need me to carry you?” Jango asked.

She stood up slowly, wincing at the pain shooting up from her torso. “No, I think I can manage.”

Jango nodded, pressing a button on his wrist to open the ship’s door. He made his way down the ramp, helmet on his hip as his eyes roamed his surroundings for anyone who might be watching them.

“So do you live here or not,” she questioned again, following him to wherever he was going.

“Something like that,” he replied gruffly, closing the ship.

“Huh, I thought you were more of a person who lived planet to planet,” joked Zam, observing the buildings. “Not in one of these fancy housings.” Jango slung her arm over his shoulder so she wouldn’t fall. “Thanks for letting me crash at your place.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jango finally made it to your complex after a few minutes, holding out his key to the door for entry. He entered the room along with Zam, about to call out your name but the words died in his throat.

You were sitting in the living room as if you were waiting for him all this time with a taut expression, watching him enter with a steely gaze.

“Jango—” At the sight of you, Zam snapped her mouth shut, looking between you and Jango. “Um, hi,” she waved awkwardly at you which was a mistake because the movement made her hiss in pain.

Your cold eyes raked over Zam before landing on him.

Jango cleared his throat. “(Y/N), this is Zam Wessel,” he began reluctantly “She’s going to stay in the spare bedroom for couple of days until she’s well enough to go off on her own.”

You didn’t say anything. You just continued to stare at him.

“It’s okay, I can leave tomorrow,” Zam insisted as Jango told her to go down the hall to the door on the right, happy to put as much distance between her and whatever was happening now.

The door to the room shuts and you’re silent. Jango had seen you angry many times before, as couples do when they spend so many years together. But not like this. So unresponsive and so frigid, especially towards him.

“Cyare—”

“Where have you been Jango,” you said steadily, though he could hear the slight tremor in your voice.

“Look,” he said lowly. “Can we talk about this in our room?”

“No,” you whispered harshly, tears beginning to well up in your already red eyes. “We’re gonna talk about this right now.”

You breathed through your nose and bit the inside of your cheek, trying so hard not to break in front of him. What’s the use? You looked like a mess in front of him anyway with your baggy clothes and sunken face.

He sat down next to you placing his helmet on the floor before making a reach for your hand, but you flinched away from his touch. A dull ache settled in Jango’s chest at the action.

“I know I told you that I was leaving for two days—”

“Yeah,” you snarked. “Which turned into weeks of hearing absolutely nothing from you!”

He winced at your words, though it’s true. He didn’t contact you at all during the hunt for Tyranus’ former apprentice.

“I thought something bad happened to you Jango, god!” your voice cracked, finally letting your tears spill. “I tried contacting Roz, but she clearly didn’t want to tell me what was going on.”

Jango looked at you, regret pooling in his stomach at your distress. The distress he caused.

“I tried comming you over and over and you wouldn’t answer.” You wiped your tears with your shirt as Jango watched, wanting to hold you desperately. “I commed Roz again and no answer.”

He tore his gaze from you and sighed softly. “She’s gone (Y/N).”

You sniffed. “What?”

“Roz,” he raked a hand through his dark hard. “She’s dead. A bounty hunter who was after the same bounty Zam and I were after, killed her.”

You stared at him frozen in shock.

“All because she was associated with me,” Jango explained.

“Jango…” you said faintly.

He kneeled to the floor, between your legs as he held your hands in his, kissing them.

“Mesh’la I’m so sorry,” he murmured against your skin. “But understand, I needed to protect you.”

Still on the floor kneeling, he told you everything. About how he was about to go back to you, but then got sidetracked by the Tyranus’ offer. About the hell he and Zam went through to find that bounty. And that karkin di’kut, Montross, who added more fuel to fire by killing Roz for Jango’s whereabouts and almost killed him. The thought of that son of a bantha ever finding out about your existence—Jango didn’t want to entertain that idea.

It was better that he didn’t contact you at all, but seeing your distraught state now made him question his choices. Made him question if making you go through with his sudden disappearance merited millions of credits.

He got to the part about the bounty reward, watching how you absorbed this information with bewilderment.

“Wait,” you cut him off. “They want to use your genetic makeup to make an army?”

“Yeah…”

You stared at him, confused more than ever. “Why, and for whom?”

“For the Republic,” he said plainly. “As for why, my employer didn’t say.”

“How much did this Tyranus person promise to you give?” you probed him.

“Five million credits,” said Jango. “And…an unaltered clone, (Y/N). A son.”

Your breath hitched as you stare at him in shock, unable to form a sentence. A son for you and Jango, your mind flared in awe.

He squeezed your hand. “Come me with to Kamino.”

“Huh?” you mumbled out.

“The cloners—the Kaminoans I mean— want me to stay on Kamino,” Jango thumbed your hand softly. “For the entire process.” He drew your head forward to place his forehead against yours. “What do you say cyare? We can finally settle down, raise our son like we’ve always talked about.”

It was true. You had been with Jango for three years, two of which you had established your relationship. Yes, you had talked about settling down with Jango someday, having kids.You were excited about it because he made you feel happy and most of all loved like no one else did. Though you never knew when that future would happen. If it was ever going to happen.

However, a question still remained at the forefront of your mind. Were you still going to stick around with him while he continues to go off to his bounties, leaving you alone with his son for weeks again and again? Who’s to say he will stop? Even if they give him enough credits so that he wouldn't have to work for the rest of his life.

The cycle never broke with Jango. He could never take a break, always on the move and you’re tired. So tired of it.

“Jango…” you began cautiously. “I…don’t know…”

The hope in his brown eyes vanished.

“You don’t know?” he echoed, his body stiff between your thighs.

You couldn’t look at him. You loved him with all of your being, but if you were being honest with yourself, you don’t know how much more you can take his constant disappearances. How much more you can take waking up to see he’s not there. How much more you can take the constant loneliness. It sounded selfish, sure, but it’s what you felt. You had raised this issue before to him many times, but he still insisted that it was necessary to secure a future with you.

You told yourself in the beginning that you could get used to what his job demanded of him. But now, as you regarded your lover’s face, the face of a man you would give everything for with blurry eyes, you weren’t so sure anymore.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered, hearing the crack in his own voice as he held your face.

Your throat became dry and you felt like your heart was chipping away slowly.

“I need…I need time to think about it,” you answered shakily, moving away from his arms to head for bed.

Jango swallowed thickly, standing up to reach for your forearm.

“I really am sorry (Y/N),” Jango said with sorrowful eyes watching you look at him in hurt. “I know that’s not enough to fix my habits, but I am sorry.”

He let his hand fall to his side, watching you walk away without saying a word, silently begging to the universe that you wouldn’t walk away from him.

You were all he cared for in this vast universe after all.

#jango fett #jango fett x reader #i hate this and i'm scared to share this fic

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obi-wan-kanbonemi · 4 years

Text

Crash

Obi Wan Kenobi x Royal!Reader

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I don’t know why but Obi Wan being with a person of royalty just makes my heart go boom. Sorry for typos

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

You were suppose to be on a peaceful trip back to your home planet after spending many weeks on diplomatic visits to neighboring planets. The reason you would use the word ‘suppose’ was because currently you clutched to the bottom of your seat to keep your butt firmly pressed against the bottom as the cruiser took hit after hit from a separatist spacecraft. Nervously, you looked to the two men that was left to escorting you. Master Jedi Obi Wan Kenobi and his padawan, Anakin Skywalker, were sent to you before you had even departed on your long diplomatic journey through the neighboring planets.

“I’m sorry your highness...but we have no choice, in order to escape we are just going to have to crash into your planet!” Shouted Anakin over the loud blast and over the engines that exhausted themselves to keep running on the little strength they had left.

You on the other hand could only stare at him in horror as the padawan moved quick to begin flicking and presses buttons and switches with a professionalism that you knew you could never attain. Obi Wan Kenobi though was quick to stumble towards you, kneeling his handsome self before you. You would have let your mind run a daydream of you and the handsome Jedi before you if it weren’t for the life or death situation that stared you plain in the face along with Obi Wan’s beautiful, cerulean eyes.

“Don’t worry your highness, my padawan and I are very experienced with these types of situations, you have nothing to worry about!” His voice shouted out to you, but you were too busy staring at your planet speed toward the ship with a ferocity that made your stomach knot up in fear. Though finally your head whipped to look over at him, a bewildered look etched upon your beautiful face, but Obi Wan simply couldn’t let himself indulge in your beauty at this point in time.

“Experienced?!” You shot a hand out to rest it upon the muscular and toned shoulder of Obi Wan as a wave of sickness had passed over you, fear nestled all over your stomach and racing heart. The world was spinning so terribly around you, but you couldn’t even determine if that was because of your fear or if the cruiser really was spinning like that. You had zero time to even figure that out when the cruiser had finally struck land, skidding and crushing against many trees, clearing a huge path behind itself before finally skidding to a final jolt.

“Well...that wasn’t so bad,” announced Obi Wan, arms wrapped tightly around your waist in order to protect you from the crash that all of you had endured. You only rolled you eyes, his arms leaving from their position around you, leaving you feeling cold from his missing touch. You discovered though that it was bad once you had begun to step out of the ship and proceed to fall into the shallow water of the lake that the cruiser had partially landed in.

“Nothing better than wet shoes...” grumbled out Anakin as he landed beside you, Obi Wan soon to follow, also taking it upon himself to begin to gather the long train of your dress as the three of you waded to the bank. And yes, the situation had proven to continue to get worse as the two suns had disappeared under the horizon, lifting moans and groans from the party of three’s lips.

“Anakin, please try to connect to anyone who could retrieve us and also update the counsel as well....at this point they are bound to worry,” Obi Wan ordered to his padawan as he took it upon himself to use his callused hands to begin to squeeze out the water from the bottom of your dress. Anakin was already off a distance, speaking muffled words into his transmitter.

“I’m going to go start a fire before we freeze to death out here,” he said, already seeing your body begin to shudder and it didn’t help the fact that the bottom of your dress hung down around your legs wet with cold water. Your feet instantly began to take long strides to keep up with his longer legs, causing Obi Wan to instantly stop and turn to look at you. “Your highness, it be best if you would stay here with Anakin,” he protested, cerulean eyes piercing yours.

“With all due respect, Obi Wan, after crashing and now standing in soggy shoes, I don’t care, so I am going to go with you...,” you spoke out firmly, gaining a sigh from the other that you knew was laced with frustration as the two of you began to trudge forward into the forestry that surrounded you. Obi Wan’s hands were already picking up sticks and quizzically staring at them, tossing away the ones that would simply not be of use. Silence had slithered its way between the both of you, leaving you with the bubbling sensation to hurriedly blurt something out to the other to break away the silence and to wipe away the creases that bunched up on his forehead in thought.

“So-,” “How-,” the both of you were once again left in a silence again as the both of you had tried to say something. You were also about to continue with what you were going to say, but your tip of your foot came into contact with a tree root that crept across the path, plummeting you to the ground, hand reaching out for Obi Wan as he turned at the noise of your struggle, the sticks dropping to his feet as his arms caught you, cradling you safely against his chest.

Your heart pounded at just the thought of you being pressed against his chest, your body screamed with shivers at actually being against the handsome man’s chest. Only ever in your dreams did you let things like this happen between you and the master jedi, never in real life knowing that he simply couldn’t have you and you couldn’t have him. How could a master jedi even come to feeling the same about you? Oh how you were so wrong though as his own heart pounded within his own toned chest.

If only you knew how he would fight the urges to burst into the rooms you stayed in across the galaxies to kiss you and love you as he stood guarding it throughout the night, how he just wanted to take your hand in his whenever they would brush up against yours when you would accidentally sit too close to him during meetings or when eating and hanging out in the cruiser when traveling from planet to planet with you.

You couldn’t help but look up at him, a bit of shock held within your eyes as you now heard the way his own heart pounded within his chest. At that moment, he knew that you knew, and you knew that he did as well and with that knowledge gained, Obi Wan’s lips came crashing down onto yours, his beard tickle the skin around your lips, neck, shoulder, anything he could to that was in reach. Your hands and his own now clawing at each other’s clothes, the nightly sounds accompanying the gasp and breathes that was tossed out into the chilly air.

“Where are those two...,” Anakin muttered to himself, already having a fire started along with fresh water and food ready. Though this food did beckon for him, he couldn’t help but pace anxiously before it, finger tips messing with his padawan braid as he waited and waited, almost allowing himself to run into the woods but was stopped at voices growing near the makeshift campsite, soon seeing his master and the queen, but his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. The two of you were shyly grinning to each other, bashfully even, both blushing and hair slightly messed up and both seemingly out of breath.

Anakin had even reached up his hands to rub at his eyes in disbelief upon seeing a ghost of a hickey upon your shoulder that was quickly covered up as you reached a hand to tug the dress over your shoulders properly.

“What happened out there! I was worried sick!” Anakin spoke up as Obi Wan tossed down a pile of sticks near the fire, you staring dreamily at Obi Wan.

“Oh we are perfectly fine, any luck connecting to anyone?” He asked as he lowered himself down the ground, already beginning to fix food that he handed over to you along with water.

“They will send a group to retrieve us tomorrow...,” Anakin spoke out, confusion hitting him again as you sat almost curled up into Obi Wan’s side. “Hey, did anything happen out there? You two are acting weird. Not to mention you two look like you went through hell and back,” Anakin said, crossing his arms as he stood before the two of you, which caused that blush to appear on Obi Wan and your own cheeks.

“She tripped! Her foot got stuck in ...a hole in the ground and it took quite a bit to get her out. Isn’t that right your highness?” Obi Wan said, looking to you for back up on his story.

“Oh yes! I did! Master Obi Wan came to my rescue, good thing I wasn’t alone or that I didn’t twist my ankle!” You chided along side Obi Wan, the two of you giggling like two school kids, but all Anakin could do was accept the story of his Jedi Master and sit, beginning to eat and join in on the conversation beside the warm glows of the fire.

But he did think it strange that the two of your slept so close together that night, oh well, guess it was just a hole in the ground.

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

Text

Universal Signs

Chapter 16 / Previous Chapter

A/N: Warnings!!! This chapter contains talk of torture and a mild torture scene involving a knife and the use of being shocked. I wanted to mention it as a warning before hand, though it's not described in massive amounts of details but it is there.

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

How much blood does one have to loose before they die? Tim’s not entirely sure but he's thinks he’s going to find out soon enough. Then again how would he know how much he's lost if he dies of blood loss? Because then he would be dead and not able to calculate how much he’s missing….

What the fuck is wrong with him?

His mind is in scrambles as he sits on the cold stone floor of a small, enclosed cell watching his newest wound sluggishly bleed. He stares as the red liquid pours over his pale skin, leaving a trail behind as it drips onto the floor.

It hurts, he knows that much. There’s a dull throbbing sensation coming from the wound which is a constant reminder of how fresh it is, no more than an hour or maybe two at most.

The newest wound is a deepish slice across his thigh. The Demon’s Head had “accidently” put a little bit too much pressure with the knife he had been ghosting over his skin as he interrogated Tim about his escape and those he had been with since.

It’s not the worst Tim has had to face, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Besides the wound in his leg, the rest of his body is aching. The most recent ‘session’ with Ra’s had him hung from the ceiling by his wrists as the alien circled around him, asking questions, demanding answers, poking and prodding him with different tools in attempts to make him talk.

Being stripped down to nothing but his underwear hadn’t helped but Tim can overlook that compared to everything else that had been happening.

When the prodding and poking hadn’t achieved what the Demon’s Head wanted, he moved to a more physical approach. There had been some slapping, one or two punches and rough manhandling but once again it’s nothing that Tim hadn’t experienced before.

That had been a light session and seeming to be bored of it, Ra’s had his guards throw Tim back into his usual cell and bolted the door once it shut. Tim slumped on the ground, leaning against the wall and hasn’t moved since.

His wound continues to bleed and Tim watches it with morbid curiosity. He knows there’s more to come. Ra’s won’t leave it at just a slice and a few bruises. Tim’s got a vague idea on what he could be expecting in future sessions but he really rather not think about it. Maybe he would bleed out from this wound before that could happen?

Probably not.

An unknown amount of time passes by as Tim sits there. The achiness only grows as he sits on the hard floor but he doesn’t do anything to try and ease the pressure off of his body. His mind drifts in and out, sometimes giving him confusing and completely random thoughts and other times being completely devoid of anything at all.

How were the others? Are they dead or have they somehow managed to survive the attack by the League? How are his family back home? How long has it been since he had been kidnapped and stuck in outer space? Does time work differently in space, perhaps he could have only been away for a couple weeks, or oppositely could he be away for years?

His mind must have given into exhaustion because the next thing Tim knows is that he’s jerking awake, smacking his head against the wall as he does, and finds the cell door opening. As he clears the fogginess from his mind, there’s an exchange of words from outside before a figure is stepping into his cell and the door shuts behind them.

Tim’s instantly alert. He watches as the figure steps further into the cell, allowing him to fully see them for a first time. He's surprised to find a woman standing opposite him, or at least someone who resembles a human female (he’s still completely clueless and in shock when learning about the existence of different species’ and aliens in the universe).

She’s petite with curves, has pale skin, is bold and has sharp facial features. She stands there watching him for a moment, studying everything about him just as Tim does in return. While he’s nearly naked, she’s fully clothed in what is the League of Assassins black uniform. After a moment he notices that she’s carrying a small case in her hand and Tim feels himself tense up at what that could mean.

The woman strides forwards silently and Tim could only watch her warily, he flinches when she comes to a stop at his side and then proceeds to sit on the floor next to his wounded leg. Feeling apprehensive, Tim tries to shuffle away from her, creating a space between them. “What are you-”

His question is cut off when she simply reaches out and grabs his leg to effortlessly drag the limb back towards her and holds it down with an arm while the other rifles through the case she had brought with her. Tim yelps at the touch and protests against the action. “Hey! What the hell? Let me go!”

He reaches over to push her arm off his leg but she bats his hands away and sends him a hard look. Not having much energy to really put up a fight, Tim slumps against the wall in defeat and settles for glaring at her.

To his surprise all she does is clean his wound before bandaging it up afterwards. Other than the occasional hiss of pain from Tim when she puts too much pressure on the cut or when the antiseptic (at least that what he thinks it is) is applied, the two of them are silent throughout the ordeal. Anytime Tim would try to move away, she would slap him, send him a glare before continuing with the administrations.

Once she was done, she packs up her stuff, stands up and heads towards the door, banging on it twice. When it opens up, she slips out of the room and then the door is being slammed shut and bolted. Tim blinks at the sudden disappearance, it’s like she never had been there at all.

What the hell was that about? That's never happened before. He also has never seen that particular assassin before either. What’s Ra’s playing at this time?

Tim once again gets lost in his thoughts and loses track of time, not that he had ever been following it to begin with. For a second time he's jerked awake when the door to his cell opens up and he blinks away blurriness from his vision as three tall assassins dressed in black enter the room. One of them stops at the door while the other two storm forward only stopping when they get to him.

His body is still sore and achy, so when they bend down and grab his arms to force him to his feet, Tim is too weak to fight their restraining holds. All he could do is stumble along with them as they march him out of the cell and down the corridor of the ship towards a room Tim is becoming very familiar with.

The room is empty when they enter and Tim notices how this time there’s a table in the middle of the room rather than a chair or even ropes hanging from the ceiling.

The assassins force him over to the table and Tim does his best to resist their movements. They pay him no mind as one lets go of him so the other could simply pick him up and slam him down onto the hard surface.

The table underneath Tim’s bare skin is metal and cold. It makes him flinch though he doesn’t pay it too much attention because as soon as he's on there the assassins are grabbing his arms and legs and forcing them down against the flat surface, pinning them in place as they tie leather restraints around each limb.

They tie both wrists down along with his ankles, stretching his body out along the cold surface. They strap one restraint across his hips, torso and even his forehead. Once they’re done, Tim is left completely immobile. No matter how hard he struggles, he couldn’t move an inch.

Once they were satisfied he wasn’t going anywhere they leave the room. Tim’s eyes widen and he thrashes again. So he’s being left here, strapped down to a table just to be left all alone? The worst thing is that he can’t even turn his head to survey his surroundings, all he could see is the plain ceiling above him.

Tim didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse but his time alone was short. As the door to the room opens Tim listens intently as an unknown figure enters. He tracks their quiet steps as they walk around the room, then as they stop on the other side for a moment before continuing towards him on the table. He finally gets a look at the owner of the steps when they stop right beside the table and lean over into his eyeline.

Ra’s Al Ghul.

Tim didn’t know if he wanted to shake with fear or roll his eyes in annoyance. It’s certainly is an odd feeling, feeling both scared and exasperated at the same time. In the end he avoids eye contact and stares off centre at the plain ceiling.

“Timothy.” Ra’s says in greeting, his tone is sharp and emotionless. “Have you thought anymore about our previous conversation, what you may be willing to tell me now?”

Tim grits his teeth in anger and stops himself from retorting back. He despises that he now can understand what the Demon’s Head is saying. The universal translator at first was a blessing but now it seems like it’s a curse.

As for what he's implying, then no, Tim hasn’t thought any more about it. Ra’s wants to know more about the others, the team that had picked him up from the planet he crashed on after escaping. He wants to know what their motivations were, why did they help him, what was in it for the leaders they work for. Tim refused to tell him anything, not that there was actually anything to tell to begin with.

Apparently, “there aren’t any alternative motivations involved”, isn’t a satisfying enough answer.

When Tim stays silent Ra’s looks down at him and narrows his eyes. Tim takes in a deep breath and prepares himself for whatever is about to come. His heart is pounding inside his chest and he could feel his body trembling against the table he’s strapped to.

Ra’s disappears from his sight, Tim figures he's gone to the other side to the room to get something. The panic and anxiety inside him only grows at the thought of what he’s about to be forced to endure. What does Ra’s want from him?

“If you really wanted those answers you would have taken the others in as prisoners rather than kill them off.” Tim states, fighting to keep his voice steady as he speaks. “You know there’s no point in asking me, I don’t know the real reasons why they helped other than just because they wanted to.”

There's a moment of silence as Ra’s either thinks about Tim’s words, debates his own answer, or simply because he’s ignoring Tim altogether.

“Y’know, just because I can understand you now, nothing still makes sense.” Tim continues talking. He doesn’t know why he’s sprouting out nonsense, his nerves seem to have removed his filter.

“Is that so?” Ra’s questions him, coming back into his sight. Tim hears him place something on the table down by his thigh. He goes to have a look at it but the strap across his forehead stops him from so.

Instead he replies to Ra’s, letting his mouth run without a thought. “Yup. You still haven’t told me why you kidnapped me of all people. All I’ve heard is that “I’m interesting”, “I’m different”. But why is that? There are over 7 billion people on Earth and you choose little ole me. Why?”

He stares at Ra’s, expecting an answer. Tim doesn’t know where this brave streak is coming from but he genuinely wants the answer. Why him? What had he done to deserve all of this torment and treatment?

Ra’s face hardens as he glares at Tim. His thin lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow in anger. Clearly he isn’t impressed with Tim questioning him, especially in such a blunt way.

After a few beats Ra’s looks away down towards his hip and Tim sees his hand reach over to grab something, when it comes back into his eyeline Tim finds Ra’s now holding a metal rod. It’s curved at the end, is long and thin and at the other end there’s a wire sprouting from it leading to somewhere out of his sight.

Tim feels his stomach drop at the sight, dread now pooling inside of him at what this could be. Maybe bluntly speaking up wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The Demon’s Head looks between Tim, the metal rod and whatever is by his thigh. “You want to know why Timothy? What makes you stand out from the rest of them?” Tim’s unsure if Ra’s actually wants him to answer or if it’s a rhetorical question. In the end it doesn’t matter too much because Ra’s continues in a matter of seconds.

“Well, let me tell you this…”

The rod suddenly makes a crackling sound and lights up and Tim only has time to register those things before a sharp jolt is coursing through his body. Tim yelps at the suddenness of it. His body goes rigid and strains against the straps holding him down. It only lasts a couple seconds but Tim is left heavily breathing by the end of it.

Electrocution. Or something similar to it at least, maybe being shocked is the more appropriate term. Fan-freaking-tastic.

After the initial shock, it takes a moment to realise that Ra’s is once again talking.

“You’re different because you have potential Timothy.” He says causally, as if he wasn’t practically torturing Tim as he talks. He starts wondering around the table Tim is strapped too and Tim tries to keep his eyes on him the best he can. Especially of that rod he’s holding.

“I’ve been watching you for some time.”

Before Tim could respond to that the rod crackles again and Tim clenches his teeth as his body seizes on the table. He trashes to try and get away from it but the straps hold him down firmly. Once the rod is taken away it takes a moment before his body is slumping down against the table again. His heart is hammering inside his ribcage and Tim’s mind is in shatters, unable to think about too many things at once.

He should be better than this but all of the events of the day is seriously catching up with his mind and body, playing into the exhaustion he's now feeling. Getting shocked certainly isn’t helping.

“You differ from your competitors Timothy, despite being young for your kind, you show huge potential, you think differently, taking risks which will result in the best outcome. You’re on your way of becoming one of the most powerful influences on your planet. It’s unfortunate that your brilliant mind is trapped inside this pathetic species.”

This time, when the rod is pressed into his skin, a whimper escapes his lips as his body spasms on the table. His back arches up off the table straining against the restraint across his hip, his hands clench into fists and his legs jerk. Tim’s left panting when the rod is pulled away from his torso.

“But… why me?” Tim pants out trying to control his rapid breathing as well as get his thoughts together at the same time. “There are more powerful people than me, smarter too… older… wiser… it doesn’t make sense…”

“It’s not always about the present Timothy. More like what you’ll be able to achieve in the future Humans are a vile, underdeveloped species, not worth anything if you ask me but nonetheless I decided to invest, play a move no one would see coming. Thinking outside the box, as you humans would say.” Ra’s rattles off as his eyes wonder over Tim’s body. He's moved down by his feet now, almost having done a total three-sixty.

“You intrigued me in many ways Timothy.”

For a fourth time the metal rod is being jabbed into his skin, this time against his calf, and the shock travels right up through him. A pained scream escapes his lips as he thrashes against the torment. If his legs hadn’t been strapped down he would have kicked Ra’s in that stupid head of his by now. His body jerks and spasms as his muscles painfully contract with the forced tension.

He doesn’t know how long this particular shock goes on for but it feels like forever. It goes on long enough that he thinks he's about to pass out from the pain when it finally stops. His body doesn’t immediately get the message as his muscles stay tight for several long moments until he's slumping down on the table, heavily breathing, uncontrollably shaking and feeling more than exhausted.

As he composes himself, the Demon’s Head moves out of his eyeline until he comes back holding a different device in his hand. A knife. The same wickedly sharp knife he happened to have used earlier. Tim barely registers it as he lets his head roll to the side in resignation.

Compared to last time, Ra’s doesn’t hold back, he drags the knife along Tim’s body, letting it ghost over his sensitive skin, before actually digging it in to make the skin spilt. Tim hisses and clenches his eyes shut.

Unlike last time, Ra’s doesn’t stop at one slice. He repeats the motion over different areas on Tim’s body. It’s like he's playing a game. Ghosting it over one area only to cut somewhere completely different with no warnings. It’s also like he's finding what areas make Tim react more than others.

In an unknown amount of time later, Tim is now sporting slices over his arms, shoulders and torso.

“You know Timothy, I do not need to explain my reasons of why I chose you. Just know that I have and know I plan on making it a good investment. Even if it means beating that stubbornness out of you.” Ra’s tells him in that casual tone once again as he rounds the table Tim is still strapped to.

“You happen to be proving how humans are somewhat a capable species despite your lack of development and skill set.”

Tim lets out a pained yell as Ra’s drags the knife across his torso. It glides smoothly across his skin, splitting it apart and forcing blood to seep through it. It stings like hell. That seems to be the final one because the Demon’s Head places the knife down by his hip and stands in Tim’s eyeline. For a moment he doesn’t say anything, his cold eyes rake over Tim’s abused body, taking in every little groove, muscle and blood covered skin before he’s looking at Tim’s face.

All Tim could do was blink tiredly at him. His energy is low and he’s having trouble staying awake. His body is sore, feels super sensitive and heavy, like he wouldn’t be able to move a limb no matter how hard he tried to.

“This is just the start Timothy. Later on you’ll endure the real punishment and truly be shown why you shouldn’t disobey my orders and what happens when you embarrass my empire.”

Tim swallows thickly. He isn’t surprised to find out worse pain is yet to come, but it doesn’t make it easier to accept. He doesn’t know how much more he could take.

Tim must black out because with his next blink he finds himself upright and being held between a couple guards as he’s dragged back through the corridors of the ship. After another blink he finds himself colliding with the ground after being thrown into what is now his cell.

He lies in a heap on the ground for a while until he's able to get the will power to pull himself up and drag his weak body over to the wall.

More time passes and Tim’s next conscious thought comes when something pokes him. Frowning, Tim opens his eyes only to jerk in surprise, letting out a pained hiss with the action, when he finds a person next to him treating his wounds.

It’s the same woman who treated his wounds last time. Tim tiredly looks down at his body to find a majority of it bandaged up. He continues to frown, how long had she been at it before he realised?

He yelps when she presses down on a cut on his arm and tries to jerk his limb out of her hold but she simply slaps him and holds on tightly before continuing with her administrations. Too tired to object further, Tim lets her do what she needs to. If this is the only time he's going to get treated nicely while trapped here then he’ll take it.

His mind once again drifts off, he's only brought back when a sharp stinging sensation erupts from his leg. He hisses and glares at her. Tim would have thought his pain tolerance would be higher than this, then again he’s exhausted and just feels overwhelmed with everything that’s happened recently that it’s probably effecting him in more ways than one.

“I heard that humans were weak but you are really being pathetic.” A dry voice deadpans. Tim blinks as he comprehends the words, realising after a moment it was the women treating his wounds who spoke them.

Tim gasps mockingly. “She speaks!” He gasps for real when she unnecessarily presses against his wound firmly in retaliation. Tim clenches his teeth. “Rude.”

They fall back into silence as she finishes off cleaning the rest of his cuts and as she bandages the worst of them. When she’s finished she pulls back and regards him for a moment before standing up and crossing her arms over her chest.

Tim mindlessly watches her back. The silence between them stretches and not once does her gaze stray away from him. In the end Tim gives up, the tension in the atmosphere is almost suffocating and being as tired as he was, he irritably snaps. “What? Am I supposed to say thank you or something? I can’t imagine you’re here voluntarily.”

She gives him a pointed looked, one which is a mixture of amusement and surprise, as if she hadn’t expected the sass from him, especially in his current state. “I suppose not.” She states in the end, keeping a steady gaze on him. “I happened to be thinking that this is in fact a rather unfortunate circumstance, on your end of course.”

Tim snorts, wincing soon after as his body shifts uncomfortably. “Because I totally chose to be here in this situation. Beaten, bruised and bloody with no idea what’s about to come my way in the future.”

“Your purpose of being here was originally something else.”

Her words get Tim’s attention immediately and his eyes snap to her. “What?”

She shrugs like it’s a bunch of nonsense. “I don’t know what it is, I don’t really care, but yeah boss man had you taken for a different reason. You weren��t supposed to be a slave initially, I think the Demon’s Head got rather enamoured of you and decided to keep you for himself.”

Tim’s mind takes a moment to catch up with what she’s telling him. Ra’s had told him earlier that Tim intrigued him in some ways but hearing it again was rattling. Also finding out that he was originally taken for other reasons is also worrying. If he wasn't supposed be a slave to be paraded around and tortured, then what else is there to be? What else was he needed, wanted, for?

Tim takes a shaky breath and tries to compose himself. It’s been a long, long, mentally draining and exhausting day. He wishes he could just curl up on his bed, wrapped up in his blanket on the softest of bed sheets and sink into his fluffy pillow. However, as life has proven, we can’t always get what we want. Instead he’s stuck in a cell, nearly naked, being tortured and stuck in out of space.

He looks back up at the assassin who dressed his wounds. “Was there anything else or are you going to keep badgering me until my next torture session?”

“Am I what?” She scrunches up her face in confusion. “My work here is done, you’ll see me again when the Demon’s Head allows it.”

Then just like that she turns away from him, heads for the door and bangs on it twice. After a short pause it opens up and she steps out of the cell, the door slams shut with a loud thud and Tim once again finds himself alone in the cold cell.

He blinks at the recently vacated spot, trying to wrap his head around the recent events. The longer this day goes on for the stranger it’s gets. Maybe he's now hallucinating? Having passed into insanity territory? Whatever it is, it’s not like Tim could fight it, he’s exhausted and quite honestly past the point of caring.

Time drifts as Tim sits there alone in his cell. His body having long gone numb and his mind having gone away with the fairies some time ago. He still doesn’t fall asleep though, just finding it difficult to keep his eyes shut without jolting awake from panic a few moments later.

He’s brought out of his daze when the door opens again. Tim’s surprised to find that it’s the same female as before and this time she’s carrying a white bag in her hand. Tim watches as she steps into the cell, his eyes widen when she chucks the bag down by his feet.

“The boss says you’re allowed these items. He also passed a message along saying he’ll go back to treating you better once your punishment is over, once you have paid the price for making us look foolish.”

Then as quick as she came, she left. Tim only breathes as he looks curiously at the bag. It takes a huge amount of effort but he's able to push his body upwards and is able to stretch his hand out to grab the thing. Once it’s in his grasp he falls back with a grunt and takes a moment to breathe before looking through the contents of the bag.

To his surprise and even delight, he finds the bag has a set of plain dark clothing, something that resembles crackers and a water bottle. The clothing is a plain dark grey t-shirt and black sweat pants. Tim struggles putting the clothing on, his abused body protesting at the movement but he has to admit he immediately feels better being covered up.

Once that’s sorted he pays attention to the water and the crackers. The bottle is sealed so Tim opens it up and takes cautious sips, as much as he would like to down the whole thing he doesn’t know when he’ll next be getting another one. Eventually he turns to the crackers and opens the packet, finding them to be plain and begins to nibble on one.

Time passes once again and all Tim does is take his time with the water and makes his way through several crackers. He has no idea what’s in store for him next and he's terrified to find out but he knows he needs to be resilient and not give in. Perhaps like last time he can try to escape again, or maybe the others somehow survived the attack and would come to rescue him.

He doesn’t know what to plan or expect but he knows he needs to keep fighting every step of the way.

#universal signs #Tim Drake #Ra's al Ghul #injured tim #torture #implied torture #fanfiction #humans are space orcs #Young Justice #hurt tim #exhaustion #Poor Tim #he's just having such a wonderful time...

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wkemeup · 5 years

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Guiding Light (12)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 8.2k warnings: angst™, descriptions of a panic attack, cannon violence, references to suicidal ideation 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

Bucky could barely stand on his own feet, vision tunneling as a ringing burned in his eardrums. His breaths were coming in too short, right hand numb as he struggled to keep himself upright. He couldn't understand how this was even possible; how had they done to you what they did to Bucky and no one even noticed it, didn’t even consider that there was something bigger at play, something evil and vile.

All this time he thought you were safe, thought the worst of it was over, but the rug was pulled out from under him and he was falling a thousand miles a minute, plummeting down to the very core of the planet itself and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

How did no one see this coming?

Only Sam took notice from the corner of the room as Bucky’s knees started to buckle, his hand grasping at his chest as his breaths were too shallow, and rushed at him. Sam gripped onto Bucky’s bicep, holding him up against the wall, and quietly instructed him to list five things he could see.

Bucky gritted his teeth, though he played along because it had helped once before, and he didn’t have time to panic like this, couldn’t waste energy losing himself to his mind because you were out there somewhere, alone, and at the mercy of Hydra. So, he listened to Sam and scoured the room for something to ground him.

Light blue trimming on the floor boards. Steve’s arms folded over his chest. Tony’s pacing up and down the small, enclosed room. The sheets of your bed thrown to the edge of the cot in haste. Broken glass lining the floor he hadn’t noticed when he walked in.

He still couldn’t breathe.

“FRIDAY!” Tony shouted as Bucky started mumbling four things he could touch quietly to Sam, “get me a scan of the entire building! I want to know where the hell she is!”

“You got it, boss,” the AI responded.

Bucky felt for the creases in his sweatpants, then to the thin layer of his t-shirt, hands grasping to tug on his hair, and then to grip onto Sam’s forearm. His breaths were starting to come in more even but he was still too dizzy to focus.

“Three things you can hear,” Sam said quietly, eyeing the rest of the team who had yet to notice Bucky’s panic attack. For all the shit he gave Sam, he was a good man and better than he ever gave him credit for to his face. He reminded himself to tell Sam how much he appreciated it that when all this was over.

“You,” Bucky mumbled, concentrating, “footsteps,” nodding to Tony’s relentless pacing, listening carefully for something humming in the background, “and, um, air conditioning.”

Bucky glanced up to find Steve and Tony talking harshly to one another in the corner of the room, trying to determine next steps and clearly being at odds with one another over what to do. Meanwhile, Natasha tended to Dr. Cho, helping ease her onto the chair as she attempted to explain what had happened.

“That voice just came over the speakers and she just froze,” Dr. Cho muttered, shaken, as she glanced between Tony and Steve as they hovered over her, “she started convulsing about halfway through; screaming, crying, begging for me to leave, but then she just… stilled. I’m not sure what that man said but the next thing I know, she was out of the bed and hit me over the head with a vase.”

So that’s why there was broken glass spilled on the floor; flowers and stems thrown haphazardly around the room. Bucky stopped breathing again, the rest of the steps in Sam’s list thrown out of his mind as the image of your eyes as cold and lifeless as his had once been prevented the air from reaching his lungs.

“Two things you can smell,” Sam reminded him quietly enough to not draw attention, “come on, man. We need you here.”

Bucky nodded, following Sam’s instruction and pushing the mental image from his mind. You needed him and whether you were taken to the darkest parts of your consciousness, he’d find his way to you, he’d bring you back. You’d done it for him more times than he could count. He’d do it for you, too.

The fresh flowers now spewed onto the tile floors. Disinfectant soap on the counter.

Sam was about to ask him for the final step in the grounding method when Bucky shoved his way from off the wall, a renewed energy in his veins and determination running through his body. He clenched his hands into fists, turning back to give a single nod to Sam in a silent appreciation.

“FRIDAY!” Tony called impatiently, “I need an update here.”

“I think I found something,” FRIDAY’s voice came through again, “in the east wing. The security cameras haven't been set up there yet so I can’t get an eye on Agent Y/l/n but there’s movement in the area.”

Steve nodded; arms folded over his chest. He glanced to Bucky with remorse clouding in the light blue of his eyes until his friend nodded, giving him the signal that it was okay to proceed. Steve let out a heavy breath, stepping forward and his arms relaxed at his sides.

“Alright, team. Suit up.”

***

Bucky couldn’t stand wasting time he should be searching the compound for you lugging on his Kevlar jacket and changing out of his sweatpants. It felt like a colossal mistake, attending to something so trivial, but it was Sam that pointed out that a knife and a bullet would rip through cotton a lot easier than the thick material of his suit. If he wanted to survive whoever hacked FRIDAY’s system and whatever hell they brought along with them, he needed to take the extra three minutes.

He emerged from his room, trying to ignore the mess of sheets and pillows he’d laid in with you just hours ago, and met Sam at the end of the hall.

“Steve said we’d meet up there. Let’s go,” Bucky grumbled, heading towards the stairs when a hand grabbed onto his wrist, not enough to stop him in his tracks from the pull of it but he sensed the urgency in the grip, the silent plea to wait.

“You need to be prepared for what you might see,” Sam said sternly, though there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. “You haven’t seen yourself when the soldier took over. If that’s what's happening to Y/n right now... you've got to be prepared for that, man. She’s not going to know you and she may try to kill you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, ripping his hand from Sam’s grasp. It was harsher than he meant to but there would be time for apologies later. He knew how it felt when the soldier controlled him and he didn’t need anyone else to tell him what it would be like to see it. There was no preparing for something like that, for seeing the love of your life stripped from thier emotions, their memories, and rendered a weapon for the same organization that tortured them for months.

Sam nodded, needing no further explanation and gestured for Bucky to lead the way.

The run to the east wing was long, longer than he remembered, and impossibly quiet. All he could focus on was the sound of their footsteps echo through the halls as they ran, the panting of Sam’s breaths, and the rustling of his jacket against his left arm. He didn’t let himself think about anything else, couldn’t, because it would consume him whole.

“We’ve got an issue,” Steve’s voice came in through the coms. “I’ve got company on my level.”

“Me, too,” Nat added, her voice low, as if she was hiding from something, “at least six outside my hall.”

“Looks like we’ve got a full-scale invasion on our hands,” Tony chimed in and the whirring of his suit buzzed through the coms as he spoke. “Wilson and Barnes, you’re are on your own for now, I’m afraid.”

“Not a problem,” Sam responded with a smirk, nodding at Bucky confidently. It was his easiest defense mechanism when things got tough, to smile through it and make jokes, because what else did they have if they lost their conviction.

Bucky nodded back, trying to latch onto the aura that Sam exuded.

It only lasted a second before the echo of gunfire rang out in the hallway and Sam ducked just as a bullet flew over his head.

Bucky skidded to a halt with his back pressed against the wall to shield himself from the open hallway where the gunfire had come from. Meanwhile, Sam threw himself towards the assailants down the hall without much of a second thought. Quickly switching into combat mode, Sam yanked the handguns from his holsters and began firing.

Bucky’s hand was inching towards his gun, edging over the corner of the hall, when Sam started waving at him frantically, turning over a cadenza lined against the wall and ducked down behind it to shield from the gunfire in his direction.

“Go!” he shouted as peaked out behind the blockade and fired at the two men. “Go, Barnes! I’ve got this! Find Y/n!”

Bucky watched as Sam charged out from behind the cadenza and disappeared further into the adjoining hall, chasing after the two gunmen, until all he could hear was the distant echo of the gun’s discharge, until he heard nothing but the labored pants of his own breath.

Sam was right. The team was getting picked off one by one from the chaos of Hydra agents infiltrating the base. He was the only one left, the only one who might be able to reach you before it was too late. He didn’t have time to panic and rush after Sam. There was only one priority right now and it was you. Bucky pushed himself off of the wall and sprinted further down the long, empty corridor.

Soon, the furnished halls and room turned to exposed beams and wooden framing, the cool air seeping in through the exposed walls until he came upon the heart of the east wing. He pulled to a stop in the same room he’d spent weeks renovating with Sam. The smell of fresh wood still present in the air, but there was something off. Tools thrown sporadically around the room outside of the box he had left them in, plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling ripped down the middle, and an aura of something sinister enough to get the hair on Bucky’s arm standing on edge.

“It is good to see you again, Soldat,” a voice spoke from behind him, low, familiar. It was the same voice from the speakers that spoke the Russian trigger words. “Let me reintroduce myself. You may call me Cain.”

Bucky turned, slowly, to catch a glimpse of Cain from the corner of his eyes before facing him completely. The scar running down the side of the man’s face was enough for a growl to rip through Bucky’s chest and he yanked the gun from its strap over his thigh and held the barrel aimed between Cain’s eyes. This was the same man who beat you and tortured you and humiliated you on streamed footage for the world to see. Bucky had never felt a rage in his veins quite like this. It was painful. It was all consuming.

Cain held his hands up to the side, almost defensively, laughing, and it made Bucky’s stomach lurch.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he smirked, “not when I’ve got such a fun surprise for you.”

Bucky’s position faltered for just a second, his grip loosening on the gun. His cold, hardened expression fell to one of agony, enough for Cain to notice before he could hide it. The knowing grin that followed only seemed to make the dread churning in Bucky’s stomach worse.

Then, Cain stepped aside, allowing space for something behind him, and Bucky watched with his heart in his throat as you emerged from behind the pillar.

It wasn't the black, skin tight suit, or the bold, red insignia of Hydra’s emblem on your chest that frightened him most, or the muzzle over your mouth, or the dark black paint over your face like a mask. It was the empty, detached look in your eye as you stared at him, looking straight through him like he was made of glass, like he was less than nothing. You were still, body stiff, awaiting orders and it was so familiar, Bucky’s knees nearly gave out.

“Impressive, ain’t she? Conditioned her myself,” Cain taunted, eyeing Bucky’s reaction as he ran a hand up the side of your arm and flipping the hair from your shoulder. He circled your back with the flat of his palm possessively; his touch on you a reminder of who you belonged to. You were unresponsive to your captor’s hands roaming over your body, too locked away in the confines of your mind to care, but Bucky was fuming.

“Get your fucking hands off of her,” he seethed through gritted teeth, his eyes trained on Cain’s hand upon your hip.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Cain stepped behind you and used your body as a shield. His chest was pressed to your back, his hands settled on your shoulders as he leaned around the side of your face. “You gonna shoot me through your girl here?”

Bucky’s head was pulsing, jaw aching from how tight he was grinding his teeth. Cain raked your hair away from your eyes, pushed it aside and licked a stripe up the side of your face. Bucky’s stomach dropped and he tasted blood in his mouth, his grip on his gun faltering as Cain kept his eye the whole time, daring him to do something about it. He didn’t pull away until his tongue trailed from the edge of your jaw to your temple. You didn’t even flinch. You were motionless.

Bucky could see the shine of Cain’s saliva on your skin.

“I’m going to kill you,” Bucky growled, trying to keep his voice even despite the heat boiling inside of him, “I will fucking rip you apart! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you!”

“Not if your girl kills you first,” he shrugged, unfazed. “Listen Soldat, you’ve been a pain in Hydra’s ass for too long. If you’re not going to give up your little fantasy of pretending you’re some kind of hero and come home to Hydra where you belong, then we’re left with no choice but to eliminate you, to punish you for your decent. What better way to do that than with the woman you so pathetically fell in love with? Isn’t that right, эсминец?”

Destroyer.

You only blinked, unmoving, unaffected by the man’s taunts. Bucky kept his focus on you, desperately searching for a trace of the woman he knew you to be hidden somewhere in your eyes, screaming to get out, but it was naïve, foolish of him to even try. Sam had tried to warn him of that. The stories Steve had told him of what it was like trying to get through to him when the winter soldier filtered through the back of his memories. It was near impossible, he’d nearly beaten Steve within an inch of his life, but he did break through. Once.

He had to try.

“Y/n,” Bucky called out, directing his attention solely on you, even as Cain rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

“Y/n’s not home right now, asshole,” Cain scoffed, earning no response from Bucky.

“I need you to snap out of this,” Bucky tried again, recognizing the lace of fear in his voice he had no hope of masking. You were staring right through him, eyes glazed over. Bucky could hardly feel the thunderous pounding in his chest. “Please, I don’t want-- I won’t fight you. Please, baby, just wake up. You don’t have to listen to him. You know who he is. You know what he’s done to you.”

Still, nothing.

He should have expected that, but it didn’t make the sting of your empty stare any less painful.

“Sweetheart, please,” he choked out, the lump in the back of his throat threatening to suffocate him where he stood.

“Pathetic,” Cain grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day the Winter Soldier begged like a fucking love sick school boy. You’ve become nothing but weak since you turned your back on Hydra. We raised you. We gave you your strength, your power, and you dare to throw it all away for some mindless whore with a vigilante complex!?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Bucky spat, eyes still locked on you because the second he looked at that vile man again, he’d lose it completely. He’d empty his entire clip into him and there was no telling what you’d do. It wasn’t a risk he could take, so he stayed focused on you despite the flinch in his body at the mention of Hydra, of the Winter Soldier, the physical recoil of his past life thrown back into his face.

Cain shook his head, a film of disgust upon his features. “Your makers would be sick at the sight of you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw so tight he drew blood against his tongue. His hand was shaking. Copper burned in his mouth. It took every ounce of his strength to stay focused on you.

“Y/n, sweetheart, look at me. I’m not your enemy. You know me.”

Nothing. No flickers of realization or softness breaking through the dense, stone cold expression etched into your muscles. You were empty, a shell, like he had been once. You didn’t know him. You didn’t even know yourself.

A painful split ripped and tore in Bucky’s chest and he was certain his heart had ripped in two.

“We don’t have all day here, so let’s cut to the chase.” Cain leaned into your ear and you shifted your head just slightly, slow calculated movements, waiting for his orders like it was the only thing you knew. It was. “Kill him.”

You nodded and without a blink in your eye, grabbed the handgun from Cain as he extended it to you. There was no time to react as you aimed the barrel in Bucky’s direction and pulled the trigger.

The fire of the release echoed within the room and suddenly white hot burning shot through Bucky’s right thigh. He stumbled back a few paces from the impact, his shoulder painfully colliding with the sharp edge of a wooden pillar, his leg threatening to give out under him.

He clenched his jaw, breathing harshly through gritted teeth as his hand darted down to put pressure on the wound and blood seeped between his fingers, thick and oozing through the torn hole in his suit, in his skin.

When he looked up again, you were already halfway across the room, stalking toward him and all he could see was the lack of remorse in your eye, the unabridged need to finish the mission, to take him out because it was what you were told. It was a look he knew too well.

He'd never even seen you like that when facing your enemies in the field. You were always cautious, calculating, but you still managed to crack jokes by his side as you infiltrated Hydra bases. There was a smile on your face and you eased him by talking about playlists and trips to Brooklyn as if he wasn’t following you through the halls of enemy territory with weapons in your hands.

You were never like this; separate from yourself, cold and compartmentalized, a weapon of your skills alone.

“Y/n! Wait!” Bucky shouted, calling out for you knowing it would be of no use but goddamnit he did it anyway because the idea of you being lost to him, after all you’d been through together, was too much to let himself give up now. He dove between the exposed wooden pillars, just trying to get out of your line of sight for only a second, dragging his right leg behind him to find relief.

Blood dripped down his thigh, leaving red in his wake and soaking through the fabric of his pants. He glanced over his shoulder and you were suddenly behind him, a hand on his bicep gripping tight into the straps of his jacket and you yanked him hard, shoving his body against the nearest wall.

You didn’t usually have strength like this and Bucky couldn’t quite tell if it was the adrenaline, a foreign serum in your veins, or if his own body was weakened by the blood loss or just by the agony of it being you he was supposed to fight.

Dead eyes clouding over any trace of the woman he knew and you moved to slam your fist to his face, but he ducked just in time, sliding out of your grasp. The crash of drywall followed and you shook dust and plasterboard from your fist like it barely hurt.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Bucky panted, holding his ground a few feet from you as you cracked your neck. “Snap out of this!”

You stalked closer, a twitch in your lip and a growl in your chest.

“You’re only prolonging the inevitable, Soldat!” Cain called out, laughing as he leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. A coward who couldn’t be bothered to do anything but watch.

Bucky grunted, grabbing your hand at the wrist as you swung at him again. He held you steady, watching as your eyes narrowed in concentration and you tried to push forward, arm shaking in the attempt. There was nothing behind the hue of your eyes, no love, no longing, no semblance of the light he was so used to. It was only darkness.

“Sweetheart, please,” he begged, only for you to swing your free hand around and collide hard against his jaw. He stumbled back, grabbing at his face from the throbbing in his cheek.

You charged at him again, kicking him in the thigh where blood soaked through fabric and he cried out, the throbbing of the open wound aching through the entirety of his leg and shooting up through his spine.

“Look at me!” Bucky was growing desperate. He was running out of options. “You know me!”

He saw the flash of the gun quicker this time as you raised at him and rushed at you, slamming you hard against the wall and yanking the weapon from your hand, throwing it along the floor out of your reach.

Electric cuffs on the belt of his jacket released and he quickly adhered them to your wrists, leaving them bound against the wall like high intensity magnetics. You struggled against them, grunting and shouting, almost feral, and Bucky took a second to breathe.

Reaching forward, he removed the muzzle from your mouth and flung it aside, hands cupping at the sides of your face, touching the creases in your skin left behind by the sharp plastic. Fingers running soothingly over heated cheeks and you tried to stretch away from his touch like it burned you, like you’d never felt his hands before, like they were a stranger’s.

“Y/n, please, I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky pleaded, trying to catch your eye but you only growled back at him, fighting the restraints as your chest heaved in the exertion. He was gripping your face too tightly now but he was teetering on the edge of desolation, terrified of what could happen, and you wouldn’t even meet his eye. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Bucky. Just look at me. I’m right here.”

“Enough already!” Cain shouted, aiming a device over in Bucky’s direction, something he didn’t recognize.

As high-pitched ringing filled the room, your cuffs immediately released and you fell from the wall, shoving Bucky hard to the ground before you scrambled for the gun. He didn’t have even a second to stand before you were towering over him, gun aimed down at his chest.

This was it, he realized. This was the way he was going to die, staring down the barrel held in the hand of the woman he spent his whole life waiting for, the woman he loved. He’d already heard you say you loved him for the last time, already had his last kiss with you, felt your hands so tenderly upon his skin, saw you smile, heard your voice. It was all over before he even realized it, ripped away by the cruel utterance of Russian words over the speakers.

He wondered if you’d ever forgive yourself.

You released the safety of the gun, the click of it deafening in his ears, and he clenched onto his thigh. Blood oozed between his fingers and he winced at the pain of it as it shot up his leg. Glancing up at you, staring into the cold and empty look in your eye as you strengthened your stance, ready to pull the trigger.

Bucky knew that if he was honest with himself, this fight would always end here.

He wasn’t fighting the way he should, wasn’t using his years of training and decades of combat and missions.

He could have swept your leg and pulled one of the knives hidden in his jacket, could have taken you by surprised and gotten control of the gun in your hand, he could have gained the upper hand and had you on the floor in a matter of seconds, but he couldn’t do any of those things without the risk of punishment from Cain reigning down on you before he could get you to safety or even convince you in this state that he was someone to trust.

He’d known what it was like to be in your position, to have nothing but orders in your mind and a determination that out-ruled everything else. You wouldn’t stop, no matter what he did, and he knew there was only one way to end this.

Cain wouldn’t let you leave here alive without accomplishing your mission. It was the reason they’d taken you in the first place, to break you and wither you down until they could shove the soldier into your head and rip away the woman he so adamantly loved, just so he knew in his last moments, it was you that killed him. Another sick form of torture that Hydra sought to punish him with. He’d always been at the mercy of those vile men, no matter what he did or how long he thought he was free from their grasp.

And they used you to do it.

Bucky made a decision in that moment as you stared down at him through cold, hooded eyes. Chest panting and sweat dripping from his brow, he tried to bring back the memory of your smile, your laugh, the light in your eyes he’d so easily fallen in love with.

The team would find you before Cain escaped. They’d find you and you’d be safe again.

It was all he cared about.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he exhaled, nodding slowly, hand gripping to the painful ache in his thigh. He hand was coated in red. “It’s okay.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused, and you glanced over at Cain for answers and he only shrugged, waving at you to get on with it. You adjusted your positioning, though your finger remained steady on the trigger.

“I know you’ll wake up from this soon,” Bucky continued, taking advantage of the time you gave him before it ran out, “you’ll wake up and remember this but I need you to know that I love you, okay? I need you to know that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and this isn’t your fault.”

You blinked, furrowing your brow.

“You saved me all those years ago. Remember that,” Bucky urged, his voice softer than he intended, coming out in a broken rasp and losing energy fast. He coughed, blood spraying from his lips. “Do you understand me? This isn’t your fault, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.”

“Jesus fuck! This is pathetic!” Cain shouted, storming his way through the open walls and pushing aside half completed insulation. He stood next to you, raised his own gun to your head and releasing the safety with a deafening click. “Do it. Kill him, now!”

“Y/n, it’s okay,” Bucky pleaded, heart lurching at the sight of Cain’s finger inching closer to the trigger, the barrel pressing against your temple. “Sweetheart, it’s alright. You can do it now. I’m okay.”

But you didn’t move. You only stared at him, studying him, and for the smallest, most impossible second, Bucky thought he saw a flash of realization, but he knew it was only his mind playing tricks on him, a false hope he didn’t dare allow for himself.

“What the hell are you waiting for!?” Cain roared, shoving the barrel of the gun hard against your temple enough to force a falter in your position. “Kill him!”

“Y/n, please, it’s okay—”

“Listen to your goddamn boyfriend, princess! He’s fucking asking for it, ain’t he? Kill him!”

Bucky winced, feeling lightheaded from the throbbing in his thigh. He didn’t want to die, not anymore, not after he’d finally found you again and his world shifted into something beautiful and hopeful and filled with light. He didn’t want to die, but he’d give up everything if it meant keeping you safe.

He’d give up his life.

“I love you,” he said to the woman who didn’t know him, words falling out in an exhale as his eyes fluttered closed, just needing to focus on the image in his mind of you, of lying under cool sheets and curling against bare skin, of warm smiles and the soft touch of your lips. He needed it to be the last thing he knew as the darkness took him under.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I love you.”

Bucky settled in, waiting, hands trembling and breaths shaky in his chest.

But the gunshot never came. One minute later. Then two. Still nothing.

Slowly, Bucky opened his eyes again to see you clenching your jaw, nostrils flaring as a rage boiled under the surface. Your hand gripped and clenched at the handle of the gun, eyes flickering down to the barrel as if the very action of its aim repulsed you. There was a war fighting in your head, sweat beading down your temples as breaths came in thick and heavy, chest panting.

The soldier didn’t have emotions like that and Bucky felt his heart start to pick up in pace again as he dared to meet your eye.

Panic, confusion, shame, fury, all rolled into a single moment and a tear slipped down your cheek, blinking away another. Your lips parted, almost in a gasp, and it was like a cloud of smoke broke from the emptiness in your gaze, replaced with a complexity of human emotion all your own.

Bucky’s chest was tight, painful, and he realized he had stopped breathing. He sucked in a harsh breath, shaking on the exhale, as he kept your eye. You remained still, Cain still none the wiser as you had yet you drop your gun, though your finger had strategically moved away from the trigger.

Almost as if in slow motion, you turned to face Cain, prodding the gun away from your temple with the back of your hand until he held it down by his side. You clenched your jaw, eyes darkening over at you looked at him, losing traces of the woman Bucky knew you to be in favor of a vengeance that ran deep in your veins.

“What the fuck are you doing, princess?” Cain seethed, readying to lift the gun at you again but a scream, pained and broken, ripped through your lungs, echoing through the east wing, and you threw yourself at him before he could move.

Bucky propped himself up on his elbows, unable to do much else from the dead weight of his right leg, and watched as you slammed Cain to the ground, throwing his gun far away from his reach as you sent punch after punch against the side of his face until blood splattered along the floor.

But then, Cain kneed you hard in the side, throwing you off of him and managing to get the upper hand. Bucky tried to crawl towards you, desperate to do something, anything to help as you scrambled to your feet, but his body was fading on him, too weak to stand, let alone fight.

Cain laughed, spitting a gob of blood from his lips as he grabbed a hold of your shoulders, throwing you at the nearest pillar and Bucky flinched as he heard the sound of your head against the wood. You were too slow to get up, unsteady as you clung onto the wall with one hand and pressed at your temple with the other. Your vision was doubling and you fell back to the floor.

“You think you can beat me?!” Cain bellowed, arms stretched out to the side, “I am the embodiment of Hydra itself and Hydra cannot be killed!”

In his arrogance, he didn’t notice Bucky’s hand grasp onto the cold metal of the gun that had slipped from your hold in the struggle. He didn’t notice Bucky meet your eye for an impossibly short second before he slid the gun across the floor to you. He didn’t notice your fingers curling around the handle, pointer on the trigger as you released the safety with a short flicker, before it was too late, and without even waiting a beat, you fired a shot straight into Cain’s chest.

He stumbled back; words caught in his throat as he glanced down to red seeping out through his shirt. You pushed yourself to your feet, holding the gun with both hands and fired a second shot just as Cain attempted to lunge at you again. This one brought him to his knees. Then a third shot fired, until Cain collapsed to the floor. Even when he laid upon the ground, unmoving, eyes rolled back, you emptied the entire clip.

“Y/n,” Bucky called, trying to catch your attention over the sound of the gunshots, the ringing in his ears from the close quarter discharge pulsing painfully. You couldn’t hear him, firing round after round, refilling the magazine, watching as Cain’s lifeless body flailed with each shot. You didn’t stop until the weapon was firing blanks.

“Y/n!”

You froze, turning over your shoulder slowly, like you were afraid of what you’d see. Upon laying eyes on Bucky, the gun slipped from your hand, falling to the floor with deafening sound.

You rushed at him, skidding on your knees, hands hovering over his thigh, his chest, his face, so irrevocably afraid to touch him because you’d already caused so much damage but longing for the feel of him, to confirm the beating of his heart under your fingertips and the breath exhaling in warm gusts from his lungs.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Bucky grabbed your shaking hands.

“Oh, God... oh, God, what did I do...”

“I’m okay, love,” Bucky tried to assure you as you threw yourself against his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him and a world of relief filled him. Your whole body shook with every sob as it made its way through your spine and Bucky rubbed his hand soothingly down your back.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, hands clenching around the thick fabric of his jacket, “I’m so sorry, Bucky, I didn’t-- I didn’t know how to—how to stop--”

“I know, sweetheart. Trust me, I know,” Bucky said, kissing your forehead. There was no control when the triggers were activated, no fighting back. It was a feeling Bucky knew too well.

You nodded against his chest, curling up tighter against him and Bucky did his best to run his hand gently along your back. Steve’s voice came in through the coms letting him know that they’d taken care of the last of the stray agents and he quickly mumbled back that he was clear with you but he needed time. The numbness in his leg long forgotten. The serum in his veins would give him the time he needed.

It took a while before you calmed down again, breaths coming back in an even pace, steady exhales warm against his neck, and your grip on him slowly began to ease. There was something on your mind, something you were ruminating about, because he could feel the heaviness behind your breaths and the subtle twitch in your hands. Bucky swallowed, knowing what was coming.

“You were going to let me kill you, weren’t you?”

Your voice was soft, aching, and so quiet Bucky almost didn’t hear it, but it still managed to make his heart skip a beat. He sighed, not knowing what the right answer was, so he landed on the truth.

“Yes.”

Pulling back, you met his eye and he saw a world of pain swimming behind your irises. “How could you—why would you--” you exhaled, trying to steady yourself, “do you still want to die?”

Bucky’s features softened immediately. He didn’t know how you found out about that, about the darkest moments of his life when he let his secret slip to Steve that night in a Hydra base after he’d killed a dozen men. You were smart, though, intuitive beyond measure, so he shouldn’t be surprised you put the pieces together.

“No,” he responded honestly, sincerely, and the answer would have shocked him if someone had asked him a few months prior. “No, sweetheart, I don’t. I’ve got too much worth living for now, but I... I wasn’t going to let him hurt you, Y/n. It wasn’t a death wish, but it was the only thing I could do to make sure you got out of there alive.”

You shook your head, tears sliding down your face. “But what about you? You think I’d just be okay after all that? You think I’d be able to just move on, that I’d be fine, after I-- I killed you?”

“You’d be alive.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed, his hand trailing up the side of your neck and cupping your cheek. You leaned further into his touch, and he brushed his thumb over your cheekbone to capture the tears as they fell. “The one time I was able to break through the conditioning was when I almost killed Steve. I thought... maybe if it came to that, if you were ready to pull the trigger, you might snap out of it like I did.”

“That’s a hell of a bet, Buck.”

Your voice was aching, shaken, and Bucky could hear the lingering heartbreak present behind every word. He knew the gravity of what he was saying, knew he was basically telling you he’d rather you kill him than have to watch you die again, but it was the truth and he was never going to lie to you. Not after all you’d been through.

You collapsed back against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him and Bucky didn’t say anything else. He just held you because it was the best he could do, the most he could offer because he’d been where you are right now. He knew what it was like for something so evil and vile to snake its way into your mind and rip you from your body, to watch yourself commit violent acts and have no control of your hands as you pulled triggers on countless victims. He knew the war going on in your mind and the painstaking guilt of it being him on the end of the barrel, the same way it had once been Steve on the end of his.

It changed you. Broke you.

It broke him, too.

***

You didn’t know how long you laid there with him until he finally called for Steve over the coms, letting him know they he was ready for the team to head to the east wing now that things had settled down. One by one they all filtered into the room and you kept your hold tight on Bucky’s waist, face pressed against his neck.

A short glimpse over your shoulder and you found a deep red gash over Steve’s forehead, cracks and chips in the paint of Tony’s suit, blood trailing down Natasha’s arm from the cut of a knife to her shoulder, and a varying mixture of blood, dirt, and dust covering over most of Sam’s exposed skin.

Steve carefully kneeled down by Cain’s body and checked for a pulse he wouldn’t find. You had emptied nearly two full clips into the man. He’d been dead by the third bullet.

Slowly, the team started to piece together what had happened. The open wound in Bucky’s thigh, the red emblem of the Hydra symbol on your chest and the faint markings of black paint around your eyes, eerily similar to what they made Bucky wear the first time he encountered the team on the highway in D.C. The red in your eyes and the flush in your cheeks and they all knew without asking what the man with the scar down his face made you do.

It was Natasha that carefully pried you away from Bucky. He whispered soothing praises in your ear, reminded you he was okay, that he was right here, and wasn’t going anywhere, and you reluctantly released him from your grasp. You curled up against Nat as Steve and Sam propped Bucky up between them so he could favor his right leg.

You muttered another apology to him as he tried to put pressure on it but recoiled in pain, and he was quick to remind you it wasn’t your fault. Sweet, encouraging, lovely smile on his face and he reminded you again and again, because he meant it with everything in him and if he believed you when you said it to him about the horrible things he’d done under Hydra’s control, he’d find a way to make you believe it too.

Nat led you down the hall behind them to the med bay. She tried to steer you away from the chaos of bodies and SHIELD agents you encountered along the way, but it was no use. There were too many of them. SHIELD agents cuffing the Hydra affiliates they managed to capture alive, cleaning crews coming in to remove the dead bodies and the pools of blood in their wake. Tony urged the rest of you on while he stayed behind to help organize where to send the Hydra agents for custody.

Some of the Hydra agents tried to taunt you as you walked by, sneering at their emblem on your chest and calling you ‘Destroyer’, but Steve had left Bucky in Sam’s hold just long enough to scare the men into keeping their mouths shut as he flung his shield into the wall just above one of the men’s head. It clipped off the ends of his hair as it embedded itself into the wall and the room silence immediately.

Tony rolled his eyes, listing off another task that needed to be taken care of to the damage control staff as he yanked the shield out from the wall.

Steve grumbled under his breath, sending a wink at you, before he swung Bucky’s arm back over his shoulders and continued down the hall. You surprised yourself as a soft smile lifted your chapped lips to see the agent quivering where he sat.

When you made it back to the med bay, Dr. Cho was waiting with a bandage over her head and a kinder smile on her face than you deserved after you’d attacked her less than an hour earlier. Steve and Sam helped Bucky into the bed and she cut a strip up his pant leg to expose the bullet wound on his thigh.

A team of nurses came up behind you and tried to pull you out of the room to examine you themselves but a jolt of panic rushed through you, eyes catching on Bucky and he sat up further on the bed.

“She’s fine here,” he ordered, glancing to Dr. Cho who nodded at the nurses to step back.

“I’ll examine Agent Y/l/n myself once I’ve finished with Sergeant Barnes,” she said and you exhaled a steady breath, leaning into Natasha as she helped usher you to the seat by Bucky’s bed.

Slumping into the chair, Bucky reached down and grabbed a hold of your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips and kissing them tenderly, enough to remind you he was there and to keep your head from spinning in the clouds. You smiled at him though it didn’t reach your eyes, but he understood. It was the most you could manage for now.

Dr. Cho worked silently as she retracted the bullet lodged in his thigh. Bucky did his best to keep his face stoic, to not let you have to see an ounce of pain as Dr. Cho pulled the metal fragments from his leg, but the subtle twitch of his upper lip and the furrow of his brow were enough. You squeezed his hand harder, a silent apology and Bucky turned to you, softening his features quickly and tugged you closer to him. Always so understanding, so forgiving, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A few hours later, after Dr. Cho used some kind of laser to seal Bucky’s wound together and she attended to the minor scars and scraps on your arms, Tony came barreling in with a laptop with Sam and Steve hot on his heels. Natasha sauntered in after them casually and sent you a wink before she collapsed into the chair in the corner of the room.

“So, I found out who the asshole with the scar is,” Tony grunted, propping the laptop up on the edge of the bed. An image of Cain illuminated in the top right corner of the screen and you leaned in closer to Bucky, feeling your heartrate elevate just as the sight of that man.

“Alex Cainning,” Tony started, “was dishonorably discharged from the US Army back in 2010 for a series of physical altercations against his own unit members. Made him an easy recruit for Hydra. Looks like he was a part of the Winter Soldier project for a few years, too.”

You looked to Bucky, wide eyed, to find he was just as surprised. He’d recognized Cain’s voice but he had assumed it was from the videos, not because he’d known him in his past life under Hydra. It would explain his vendetta against Bucky for escaping.

“So, he’s a certified bad guy,” Sam shrugged, rolling his eyes, “he’s dead. What does this matter?”

Tony pursed his lips, sending a scowl in Sam’s direction, before turned back to you and Bucky. “I thought the two people whose lives have been uprooted by this monster might want to know that because of this intel, we tracked down the base he held Y/n at. I’ve got a team of agents heading there as we speak to blow the joint to kingdom come.”

“That includes the machine they used to condition both of you,” Steve added, a hopeful edge of lips curving up at the ends.

Bucky nodded, a wave of relief present on his face and you pressed yourself to his side, arm wrapping over his waist as he pulled you tight against him. Warm and solid and tangible in your hands, you breathed him in, smelling of copper and sweat and lingering florals from your body wash. The never-ending enigma that was Bucky Barnes.

“It’s really over?” he asked cautiously, unsure, because it never had been before.

Tony nodded. “We’ll have to ship Y/n off to Wakanda soon so Shuri can get those words out of her head, but the good news is that she already has the procedure down after spending all that time experimenting on Barnes.”

You laughed into Bucky’s chest, smile obstructed by the thick Kelvar of his vest but he could feel the movement in your back, the vibration in your chest, and it eased him more than anything else. Tony went onto explain the logistics, of how he was readying a jet as they spoke and had already put in a call to T’Challa to let him know you’d be on your way. Shuri was more than excited to have someone else to test her procedure on and while Bucky stiffened at that, you only laughed more.

It was an odd feeling, to have such laughter in your chest and smiles on your faces while you wore a Hydra emblem on your suit and Bucky was held up in a hospital bed from the bullet you’d shot into his leg. But your world was full of chaos and unpredictability and nothing was ever guaranteed. This makeshift family of yours was the only constant in your life, the dynamics between them, the push and pull, the teasing and the heartbreak.

They would hold you together. Even through the worst. They’d pull you back from darkness.

----

ahh one more chapter to go! feedback is always so so appreciated! pls reblog and comment if you enjoyed

tags ❄️ @sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @no-clue-whats-happenin / @capsgrl / @happyeyesandsunshine / @slithredn / @13sunken-ships13 / @thefandomplace / @wxstedhexrt / @jennmurawski13 / @galaxkay / @moonlessnight14/ @kittybritty7 / @pancakefancake / @vitamingrant / @justendlesssummerfeels

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #guiding light

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bonesaldente · 4 years

Text

Caliginous I Darth Maul x reader

Chapter 12: The Desert

read this on ao3

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words: 3200 +

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“I know what you’re thinking, but my master was highly pleased with our work on Cato Neimoidia. And now that Gunray is Viceroy, we can finish one more job for them, to ensure their future cooperation.”

“But two Jedi, not to mention her own guards? It just seems like an awfully risky job.”

“They won’t be expecting me. I’ll catch them off-guard.”

“Wait a minute.” You straighten your posture that was previously slouched over, leaning on the pilot seat’s backrest. “What do you mean ‘expecting you’? We’re gonna take them on together, are we not?”

Maul heaves a sigh and turns to you.

“You said it yourself: Force users don’t fight fair - It would be dangerous for you.”

Your jaw drops.

“So you’re telling me I should stay behind and watch as you face them? Like some kind of helpless damsel?”

“I know you’re far from helpless. But they have an unfair advantage.” He pauses. “Please.”

You didn’t expect him to sound so pleading, so sincere, and the anger in you dies down, leaving room for rationality: He isn’t entirely wrong, and the fact that he obviously worries about you induces a fuzzy feeling in you.

Your scowl turns into a grimace. “I have one condition.”

He looks at you expectantly.

“You have to keep helping me practice with the lightsaber. I want to be able to at least defend myself. Just in case.”

His face relaxes again, obviously not minding the request one bit.

“We’ll have time on Tatooine for that.”

Tatooine. You’ve been on the outer rim planet only once, but one time is one time too many if you are asked.

Wearing heavy equipment makes one try to stray far from desert planets. The kriffing sand makes you slow, gets into your boots and blasters, makes your knives go dull, and it is still found inside your pockets for weeks after.

Needless to say, you are not thrilled to be flying to Tatooine.

“How much time do we have?” You hope it’s not too much. The sooner you get off that rock again, the better.

“A day or two, most likely. Depending on how quickly we’ll be able to locate them.”

You exhale audibly, praying you’ll make quick work of the two Jedi.

“So we- You kill the Jedi. Then what?”

You are slightly displeased still, having been left out of the planning, getting all information on a ‘need to know’ basis.

“We take the Queen of Naboo and bring her to Theed. The Trade Federation wants her to sign a treaty there.”

“Wonderful. Politics,” you mumble, then proceed to rub your temples. “Let me know when we arrive, I’m going to lay down for a while.” The prodding headache from the intrusion to your mind still hasn’t faded and serves as a constant reminder that your thoughts and memories don’t belong to you alone anymore. Weird; Before meeting Darth Sidious, you never really felt that way - like your thoughts would be used against you. Not even in the beginning, before you … got closer to Maul. But now, every idea, every little daydream (especially the ones surrounding a certain zabrak and his athletic body) is accompanied with a surge of embarrassment when you picture the dark lord of the sith going through your mind again.

You can only hope he won’t deem it necessary all too soon, if at all.

Maul shoots you a slightly concerned look.

“I wish he hadn’t invaded your mind like that.” He admits after a pause.

“So do I… ” Is all you say in response, scrunching up your nose. “So do I.”

You have hardly even stepped out of the ship and you already want to turn around and go back.

The suns are searing hot and the day hasn‘t even set completely yet, there is not even the tiniest breeze and nothing but desert safe for what looks to be a settlement in the distance, a mere dot on the horizon. You are still standing on the ramp and already feel sand settling in the wrinkles of your layered clothing.

“I despise this,” you mumble, “so, so much.”

Your companion swooshes past you, two probes levitating ominously behind him. He presses a few buttons on his wrist panel and they soar off into the distance.

“With the help of those we should be able to locate them soon. Then we can leave this place.“

“Marvellous. I think I‘ll just stay on the ship for as long as it‘s still cool inside.“

He shoots you a glance. ”You know, if you want to practice, this is as cool as it‘s going to get today.”

You groan inwardly, knowing that he is right, but also not feeling like stepping out into the desert at all.

”Probably,” you agree unwillingly. ”Give me a second and I’ll be ready.”

You disappear into the ship, gathering your lightsaber (you’ve taken to referring to it as ”yours” in your thoughts, despite the fact that it’s stolen from somebody who, too, stole it). In wise anticipation you take off your jacket, already knowing you‘re going to get a heat stroke if you wear anything over your tanktop. It’s bad enough that you don’t own any shorts, only heavy utility pants that - while much more practical and protective - get very, very hot.

It’s undeniable that your lightsaber combat skills have improved considerably. You are starting to feel confident enough to incorporate some of the moves you learned with a sword in your fighting style, and you now have an accurate enough sense of the lightsaber to know how you can move and jump without letting the blade touch you. This changes up your technique vastly, going from awkward, shaky strikes to much more controlled, agile movements. Are you any match for Maul? No. Will you ever be? Probably not (and you can’t deny the fact that you feel frustrated that after training your whole life, there is a level you will never get to).

But will you be able to give any assailant hell?

You are certain of it.

It doesn’t take long, however, for you to become agitated with the sand that keeps on giving in under your steps, slows you down and piles up inside your boots, as well as the heat that is making beads of sweat appear on your forehead.

Maul is executing a series of strikes that, despite you blocking them, are forceful enough for you to have to take a few steps back - and this is where the uneven ground becomes a real problem: Unaware of the deepening behind you, you yelp and stumble backwards, thankfully having the sense to deactivate your lightsaber before you fall once and for all.

As soon as your body lands in the sand, it is everywhere. In your eyes, between your toes, in your hair, under your shirt. You lie still for a moment, trying to calm the frustration, but to no avail. While pushing yourself off the ground with little grace, you are angrily shaking the hem of your top in an attempt to feel less restricted, less hot, and most of all less sandy. You kick at the sand, once, twice, as if every grain has personally done you wrong. A curse in your native language escapes your lips while you are quickly undoing your braid, trying to shake at least some of the forsaken substance out, but knowing well that you are still going to find it after multiple showers.

“I hate this!”

You kick your boots off and toss them somewhere close to the ramp. There is this pressing desire to destroy something pulsing through your veins - you need to take your frustration out on something.

“Come at me again.” Maul instructs you calmly upon witnessing your aggravation.

Now everything is boiling up, not only your hatred for desert planets but also your frustration at having to work under a ‘master’ again - feeling like somebody is always trying to control you. You don’t mind working with Maul, at all, but you do mind the fact that this Sidious is basically holding your life in his hands like a little bird; alive only because he chooses to let you live, still always ready to be crushed between his fingers. If you wanted to, you’re sure Maul would let you leave, but Sidious wouldn’t.

You allow yourself to let out your anger through jumps and hits and twirls, and the satisfying sound of sabers clashing is like music to your ears. The handle starts to feel like it’s attached to your body, an extension of your arm, the way it fits snugly in your hand and moves to your will. All inhibition out of fear of hurting yourself with the weapon fades away, and with it your ability to pace yourself - another jump, another backhand slash, your lightsabers colliding, and your energy is drained. It doesn’t take Maul much more effort to push you away.

You retract the blade in defeat, your legs wobbly with exhaustion, both physically and mentally.

Collapsing onto your knees, you exhale shakily.

“You have improved,” he remarks, stretching out his hand to help you back to your feet. “You learn fast.”

Still trying to catch your breath, you only manage to nod in appreciation of his praise. How is he so unaffected by both the heat and the physical exertion, while you are reaching the limits of your body?

A grain of sand that has snuck into your eye causes you to start blinking rapidly, rubbing your eye in an attempt to get it out. But your hands, too, are covered in sand.

“I really need a shower now.”

The water does wonders in terms of instant anger and stress relief. It’s tempting to just stay in the refresher, where the temperature is controlled and where not everything is immediately covered in a layer of dust and sand.

But you can’t stay forever, so with a heavy sigh and in fresh, clean clothes, you open the door and reenter the ready room, surprised to find that the ramp is closed.

“Trying to keep the heat out.”

Maul’s voice from your left startles you. He is standing in the doorway that leads to the small storage space, still in the black robes he wore outside and looking like he himself is coated in a thin layer of dust.

“Oh. That’s good, that’s …” really considerate, when you think about it: He didn’t seem to mind the heat, and seeing as he was born on Dathomir, that makes sense too - but he knows you mind the temperatures. You gulp. “... nice,” you finish your sentence.

You notice water dripping from the ends of your hair, creating a damp spot on your shirt.

“Blast,” you mumble, rushing to your bag to find something to tie your hair up with.

You don’t even notice Maul is standing behind you until you lower your arms again, having thrown your hair in a lazy updo. Looking up over your shoulder, you give him a questioning look after seeing his concentrated gaze.

He catches a strand of hair that you missed between his fingers, holding it up to look at it intently.

“Your hair,” he mumbles, slowly stroking his thumb over it to feel the texture. “It’s soft.”

You never considered that the sensation could be new for him, but looking back, his hands did always end up buried in your hair whenever the two of you… got distracted. Heat rushes to your cheeks at his obvious fascination when his fingers graze the skin on your neck, but your flusteredness quickly subsides when you realize that he is still covered in dust.

You jump away from him, pointing your finger in a mock-threatening way.

“I just got cleaned up, so don’t even think about touching me.”

He flinches for the fraction of a second, then looks at you with arms crossed and mischief glinting in his eyes.

“You never seemed to mind me touching you before.”

Oh, you bastard.

You scowl.

“Well, I do now. There’s dust and sand all over you, and I just managed to scrub it all off of me.”

“If you say so,” Maul shakes his head in amusement, then proceeds to the refresher.

With the water running again, you realize you have some free time.

“What to do, what to do…” you mumble as your eyes scan the room for a distraction.

Your gaze gets caught on an empty wooden crate that is standing in a corner innocently.

It’s been a while since you’ve done some target practice (For safety reasons you’ve decided it would be smarter not to throw knives in the confines of a moving spaceship), and that crate would make an excellent target.

Quickly you carve a small ‘X’ into the wood to replace the bull’s eye, then you place your makeshift target on a shelf to get it to a proper height.

Target practice has always been one of your favorite kinds of training. Probably, because you are good at it, and it doesn’t involve people, as opposed to sparring.

The first three throws are good and land in the center, right where you want them. For the next round, you decide to change things up and spin before throwing, giving yourself less time to aim but more momentum.

Quickly, you find yourself getting lost in the monotone practice, tunnel vision on your target the only thing that occupies your thoughts - it’s almost meditative

Time passes faster than you expect it to, and midthrow, you catch sight of Maul leaving the refresher.

Without a shirt on.

You miss the ‘X’ by a couple of inches, the blade boring itself into the very corner of the crate; the furthest you have missed it today. An annoyed sound leaves your mouth, though you can’t fully bring yourself to be frustrated with it when the reason for your miss is so well built.

You desperately try not to stare at him, though it certainly isn’t easy.

The final knife you throw hits the target dead-center again, and you mentally declare your practice session over, only now allowing yourself to look at him.

Maker, he’s attractive.

The black inkings on his crimson skin only seem to enhance the lines of muscles spanning across his torso and with the way his pants are sitting so low on his hips-

‘Don’t you dare read my mind,’ The thought is loud and insistent in your head - an attempt to protect your pride, because you would probably die of embarrassment if he knew you really found him this appealing.

To be fair, it’s been a while since you had some… alone time. You are hesitant about doing anything in the shower, because you are almost certain he’d be able to tell through your heightened emotions. But it is getting to you.

And his upper body being on display like that is not helping.

“Now that I am clean enough for you,” He takes slow, self-assured steps toward you, until he is so close that you are forced to look up to face him, his voice dropping to a rumble. “Maybe you’ll finally let me ... ”

He doesn’t finish what he is saying with words, instead meeting you halfway when you stand up on your tiptoes, lips melting together. Your hands roam over his bare torso, feeling old scars, but also raw power in the hard muscles that contract and relax under your touch.

Suddenly, he freezes.

“What’s wrong?” You breathe against his lips, sensing his abrupt unease.

“There are people nearby,” he pulls away with a frown, summoning his lightsaber and a coat with the force. “Stay here, I’ll go check the area and keep them away.”

You snatch a dagger from under your bed and place it on your belt, just in case someone gets close to the ship, while he opens the ramp and rushes off to the right, where you assume he can sense lifeforms closing in. You follow him down the ramp and stay just a few feet away from the ship, watching him cross a dune and disappear.

It is quiet for a few minutes, whoever it was Maul felt must be far away enough to be out of your earshot.

A sudden clang from the front of the ship alarms you and you whip around, but see nobody. Cautiously, you crouch down and sneak around the ship, watching for an attacker, but the place where the sound originated is abandoned. Footprints in the sand trail the other way around the ship, meaning whoever is here could very well be…

behind you.

You catch the assailant’s hand just before it can wrap itself around your neck, twisting the wrist and forcefully throwing the creature to the ground, immediately recognizing the ghastly appearance of a Tusken Raider.

The sand person gets up before you can finish him and swings his spear your way, wildly, primitively. It’s easy to evade his attacks, and before the savage knows what’s happening, you’ve slit his throat.

The short lived fight leaves you slightly out of breath and on alert, your heart thumping fast in anticipation of another attack, but your gut tells you that this was the only danger lurking here.

“Ugh.”

You nudge the grotesque body with your foot, testing to feel its weight. The decision that the corpse is much too heavy for you to move without considerable effort is made fast, so you elect to leave it where it is and wait until Maul returns.

If it was really only the sand people, then you are not overly worried for his safety. They are brutal savages, yes, but they are not much of a threat for somebody like Maul (or you, for that matter).

As expected, Maul’s return is fast.

“Sand people,” he utters.

“I know,” you say, gesturing to the leg that sticks out from around the corner. “I’ve had the pleasure already.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“I did not feel the presence of one so close. I must be more vigilant in the future.”

It is evident that he blames himself for leaving you behind with an imminent threat, so you try to ease his mind.

“It was more annoying than anything else. I have faced bigger challenges than a Tusken Raider, believe me. Now, would you do me a favor and help me get rid of the body?”

He nods absentmindedly and lifts one hand, using the force to raise the body into the air while at the same time creating a hole in the ground, where the body lands with an unceremonious thud.

‘Convenient,’ you think to yourself, remembering all the times you’ve had to drag and lift bodies that by far exceeded your own body mass.

It’s around noon right now, and the sun is beating down on you two mercilessly. You are about to go back inside the ship, when a quiet whirring catches your attention.

“The probe!”

It flies straight to Maul, where it stops and starts a series of beeps that you assume are its way of transmitting information.

“We have the location of the Jedi,” Maul declares finally with a certain gravity to his voice. “Wait here. Please.”

You sigh. “You be careful, yes?”

“I don’t need to be careful,” He lifts his chain proudly, “It’s them who should be afraid.”

“I don’t doubt that. Just… come back fast, won’t you?” You can’t mask the fact that you feel hesitant to let him go on his own - that you feel worried about his safety.

“I will.” He sounds softer now, seeing your concern for him. “Until then,” he pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone.

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next chapter

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Reader doesn’t like sand. It's coarse, and rough, and irritating... and it gets everywhere.

I’m a sucker for throwing knives ever since I played Assassin’s creed syndicate (can you tell?). The stealth? The coolness? superb. Mwah.

This time less of a wait, though I can’t promise the same thing for the next chapter. I’m going to try to post it in less than one week, but you know how things get :,)

As always, thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

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@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @bagpipes606 @secretnerd00

#maul #darth maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #star wars x reader #sith #star wars fanfiction

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