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themayforce · 3 years

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Pretty in Pink - Part 2

Link to part 1

Summary: After the events down on the planet, you're not sure how to talk to Rex about it. But luckily, Fives and Echo are here to help.

Description: Things get steamy again in this one. Afab!Reader (no gendered language), foursome, double (or i guess triple) penetration (in both holes), unprotected sex (wrap it up fellas), some degradation, and a little bit of spanking

Rating: 18+ explicit

Pairings: Rex+Fives+Echo/Reader

Words: 7481 (literally i only just found out about this word count and uhhhh i don't know how this happened)

There aren’t enough hours in a day for all the work you have to get done. Since getting back to Coruscant, it's like you've been stuck in an endless meeting with every possible senator, advisor, administrator, or whatever title these politicians had chosen to use. The first few meetings had been important, but soon you had no real part in the discussions anymore and you just watched from the back of the room, exhausted.

It doesn't help that events from a certain planet keep replaying in your mind like a holovid stuck on a loop, glitching and catching on moments and phrases you should not be thinking about in the middle of a meeting room. The heat in your face and your anxiety about it make you even more tired, and after a week of these negotiations you're very glad when you can finally get home before dark for once.

The lights in your apartment automatically switch on when you open the door. The soft pink and orange hues from the sunset outside drape over your living room like a blanket and you spend a few minutes just looking out the window, admiring the view over the city, something you didn’t take as much time for as you should.

No matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to empty your mind these days. Your little … adventure with your three clone friends left its marks on you, both emotionally and physically. They’re fading now, but every time you see yourself in the mirror before showering they jump out at you: two rows of bruises on either side of your hips, unmistakably finger shaped. Rex’s handiwork. And the worst part is that it turns you on more than you’d ever care to admit.

You haven’t spoken to Rex at all since flying back on the shuttle. He had been in two of the same meetings as you, sure, but only awkward glances were exchanged, no words. It bothers you, having these feelings fester inside you, but you have no idea how to approach the subject. If you send him a comlink message, what are you even supposed to say? ‘Hey Captain, I think we should discuss how you fucked my kriffing brains out and then pretended it never happened?’

The day after you got back, Fives and Echo had been waiting for you after your checkup in the medbay, bless their hearts. You had all agreed to leave out the specifics of what had happened in your official reports, but a warning had been attached to that planet’s datalog. Avoid the pink flowers: toxic to most humanoids. With those two guys, you can laugh about it now, and you’re grateful for it. Fives seems more relaxed around you, more open. You haven’t forgotten that he called you beautiful, that he held your hand and brushed the hair out of your face. You see the way he looks at you, and it melts you, the way a hot cup of caf on a cold day does. But you just can’t seem to examine your feelings about Fives, not while Rex’s fire burns inside you so vigorously.

If you don’t talk to him soon, you probably never will, and you’re not sure you can take that. You get a glass of water from the kitchen and down it in one go before laying down on your couch, comlink in hand.

Should you call him? Leave him a holo message? Or just a text message? He’s probably very busy, probably doesn’t even have time to meet with you, but there’s no way you can talk it out over the com. The little device feels heavy in your hand as you type out the message ‘Can we talk?’, and your thumb hovers over the send button. What if he says no? Or just doesn’t reply? What if he’s trying to forget what happened, and bringing it up will just anger him? But he’d called you perfect, had fucked you like a man possessed. You look like such a good little whore. Those words won’t stop echoing in your mind.

You press your face into a throw pillow and groan. “Stupid clones,” you mutter to yourself. “Stupid, sexy clones.”

It’s only when the buzzer to your front door wakes you up that you notice you had dozed off in the first place. Quickly, you smooth out your clothes and flip the throw pillow over with the drool-stained side down. You're not expecting any guests -- you were too tired to make plans this week -- so you're frowning when you open the door.

Your frown turns into a surprised smile when you see Fives and Echo standing in front of you. Their helmets are tucked under their arm, and Fives is holding a bottle of something that looks like alcohol, while Echo has a plain white box in his hands.

"Hey there, sunshine," Fives says with a sheepish grin that nestles itself in your heart.

"Guys! What's all this?"

“Hope this isn’t a bad time,” Fives starts, but Echo interrupts him.

“Fives wanted to-” A sharp look from his friend makes him rephrase his sentence. “Fives and I wanted to check up on you.”

“We saw you in one of the meeting rooms today, and you looked tired, so- oh, not that you look bad, you still look great, just-” You laugh, and that puts Fives at ease. He smiles back at you.

“You’re really too sweet. Please, come in.”

You step aside to let your friends into your home, both of them still wearing their armor. They must have come here right after their shift, and it warms your heart that they chose to see you instead of getting their well-earned rest.

“Brought you something,” Fives says, handing you the bottle he’s holding. “Thought you might like a drink.” It‘s a familiar bottle to you, the most common type of Corellian Red on the market, and one of your favorites, which Fives remembered.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have. But you’re absolutely right. I could really use a drink.”

Echo’s white box happens to be the best kind of box: a cake box, and time flies by while the three of you eat cake and empty the wine bottle. It’s nice, really nice, to just hang out like this. Despite the unspoken truth between you and Fives, it doesn’t feel awkward -- instead it draws something giddy and flirtatious out of you, though that may be in part due to the wine. One third of a bottle isn’t enough to get you drunk, but it’s definitely enough to get you tipsy, and soon enough you have your legs in Fives’ lap on the couch. He rubs circles on your calves with his thumb. He blushes. Echo laughs. The whole thing is adorable.

For the second time tonight, the buzzer of the front door interrupts you. This time, aided by the buzz of alcohol, you’re a lot more relaxed as you make your way across the room, glass in hand. There’s music playing from a concert on your holoscreen -- you don’t know the song or the singer, but the rhythm puts a spring in your step and there’s a smile on your face when you open the door.

Your expression shifts to one of open-mouthed confusion when you are met with another set of blue and white plastoid armor, worn by the man you so desperately wanted to talk to earlier today. And that's not all -- clutched in Rex's hands is a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white flowers, perfectly arranged like it's come straight out of a holo-ad for one of those high-end florists from Naboo.

You're speechless. Absolutely floored. Not just by the fact that Captain Rex brought you flowers, but that he decided to do this now, tonight, after ignoring you for over a week and- oh no. Did you accidentally send that comlink message? Is that why he's here? You would never even have considered sending it if you knew you'd have company tonight, but Rex doesn't know that and now he's here and so are Fives and Echo and every possible explanation you can give will bring trouble.

Blood rushes to your head as you try to think of something to say, but Fives and Echo beat you to it.

"Captain!" they exclaim in almost perfect unison while they jump up from their seats.

"Captain…" you repeat, at a loss for any other words. "I- I wasn't expecting-" You can't finish your sentence. Rex looks like he's going through all stages of grief simultaneously -- jaw tightening, brows furrowing, while his gaze darts between you and the clones behind you.

"I'll come back another time."

“No!” you say before you can stop yourself, “I mean, you’re welcome to come have a drink?” It’s embarrassing, the sheepish way you’re smiling at him, but he did just bring you flowers.

“Are those for me?” you ask, gesturing at the bouquet. Rex looks at the flowers like he had temporarily forgotten he was holding them, then hands them over to you.

“Yes. I hope you uh,” he hesitates, “are feeling better.”

“I am, thank you.”

This is unbearable. You want to scream, to either pull him inside or slam the door in his face, anything to make this painful situation end. You can feel Fives’ eyes burn into you from behind you, knowing that you have to explain why his kriffing Captain is bringing you flowers, when you can’t even explain it to yourself.

“So do you w-” you begin to invite Rex inside, pointing your thumb towards the living room, but he starts speaking at the same time.

“I’ll talk to you later. Goodnight. Troopers.”

With a curt nod and a sharp turn, he marches down the walkway, away from you.

You rush over to the low table next to your couch where you left your comlink and after you lay the bouquet down you check your message history. The words ‘Can we talk’ are still blinking up at you from the bottom of the display, unsent. The whole thing was a kriffing coincidence.

“So,” Echo says, pressing a button on the holoscreen to mute it, “what just happened?”

You groan as you let yourself drop down on the couch. Fives sits back down next to you, but his posture isn’t as relaxed as it was a few minutes ago.

“I don’t know if I should talk about it,” you say softly, burying your face in your hands.

"He …" Fives sighs deeply and turns his body towards you. "He also got involved back on that planet, didn't he?"

You nod without looking up. No point in lying about it now, and besides, it was Rex who decided to be weird about the whole thing.

"Said so, didn't I?" Echo says.

"Kriff, yeah, you were right. I really must've slept through it."

Now you sit up, bouncing your gaze between the two of them. “You knew?” you ask, confused.

“Not for sure,” Echo replies, “I stepped away for half an hour or so to fix the transmitter. But something was different about the Captain when I got back.”

Yeah, you could say that. It would’ve been a lot easier if he hadn’t been so secretive about the whole thing.

"I wanted to talk to him about it, but I thought he was avoiding me… Well, until-"

"Until he showed up unannounced at your apartment with flowers," Fives interrupts. There’s a small grin on his face as he shakes his head. "Stars, he's hopeless. We should give him some pointers."

Pointers? He wants Rex to be, what? Better at courting you?

“Wait… I thought-”

“I’d be jealous? Eh, a little, I can’t deny that. But one thing you need to know about clones,” Fives says with a knowing look to Echo, “is that we’re very good at sharing.”

His words make your face burn, your cheeks feel like the twin suns of Tatooine with how hot they are, and your breath hitches in your throat.

Echo chuckles at your reaction and moves to sit down on the couch as well. Stars, why was it making you so flustered to be sandwiched between the two of them?

“Fives was right. You really are cute when you get nervous.”

“I’m always right,” Fives jokes in return, “but more importantly…” He leans over and gently presses his thumb and index finger against your chin, turning your head to look at him. “Would you like that, sunshine? The three of us sharing you?” His thumb now grazes over your bottom lip. If he keeps this up, you might forget how to speak. Or forget your own kriffing name.

“Y-yes,” you whisper.

“Good.” He holds your gaze lovingly, his eyes darting down to your bottom lip. You’re hoping he might kiss you, but then he takes his hand away and smiles slightly.

“Better ask the Captain to come back, then.”

You fumble with your comlink and almost drop it while you type your new message to Rex. ‘Please come back. We want to talk to you.’ That’s the line you all agreed upon.

“While we wait…” Echo leans closer to you and lowers his voice. “Fives here never shuts up about wanting to kiss you.”

“Echo!” Fives hisses, embarrassed.

“Sooo,” you say, turning to him with a bashful grin, “what are you waiting for, then?”

Fives blinks a few times, and then with one swooping motion he pulls you into his lap, and puts his mouth to yours. His lips are sweet from the cake and the wine, his hands warm as he holds onto your waist. He’s firm and soft at the same time and it’s perfect -- until you move slightly and part of his armor pinches your skin, making you wince.

“Okay, you better take this off now,” you say, tapping one of his thigh plates with your fingernail, “or someone’s gonna get hurt.”

“That a promise?” Fives mutters against your cheek, making you giggle.

It’s touching how much care they put in taking off their armor. Just by watching them undress you can tell how important it is to them, almost sacred. They put every piece neatly on top of the other in the same way, like they were taught precisely how. Soon they stand before you in their tight black underclothes, still completely covered, but softer to the touch. The stretchy fabric doesn’t hide much. In fact, it accentuates the shape of their muscles and, well, other parts. You chew on your lip while you watch them move closer to you.

“Your turn, sunshine,” Fives states. “Let’s give the Captain a little surprise when we open the door for him.”

A small whine escapes your lips when you process his words, but you gladly oblige. As soon as you stand up from the couch, they’re on either side of you, so close it’s almost dizzying. They help you undo the clasps on your outfit and soon enough, you’re left only in your underclothes. Nothing fancy -- it was supposed to just be a regular work day when you got dressed this morning -- but at least it was a matching pair. Fives can’t seem to help himself and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that send shivers down your spine and he makes his way back up past your jaw, until he captures your mouth again. His second kiss is more intense, deeper, hotter, and as his tongue moves against yours, you feel the wetness between your thighs increasing. While Fives kisses you, Echo runs his fingers down your breastbone softly, before brushing them over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. He’s gentle, like he doesn’t want to distract you from Fives’ kiss, but it still makes you shiver, the hairs on your arms standing up with the thrill of it.

And then, the buzzer again. When Echo goes to open the door, you instinctively want to turn around, too shy to face Rex in your state of undress, but Fives holds you with your back to his chest and his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them softly. He presses a kiss to your temple.

When the door swings open, your eyes meet Rex’s almost instantly.

"What's going on?" Rex asks, but his voice isn't demanding. Quite the opposite, there's almost a quiver in it as his gaze moves over your body, then quickly away again.

Echo leads him into the room by the back of his arm and smirks.

"Well, Captain, Fives and I have a little … gift for you, if you want to join us."

"We know you got involved, sir. With the toxin situation. No need to be ashamed. In fact, I think we can all benefit from this situation." Fives’ mouth comes up right next to your ear and you can feel the tickle of his goatee. "Why don't you tell him what you told us?" Fives whispers to you. Kriff, he wants you to proposition Rex? Out loud?

"I-I… well…" Alright, breathe, you can do this. You know what you want.

"I want… I want all three of you."

Rex’s eyes seem to darken, his posture heavy when he walks over to you. Fives lets go of you now, taking a step back to give the two of you more space.

"Stars," Rex breathes, "y-you're sure?"

"I'm sure." To help ease his doubts, you trace a path up his armor with your hands, resting your arms around his neck, and kiss him. He seems frozen for a second against your lips, but then he returns your kiss eagerly, warm hands grazing over your hips. When he touches you, his breath hitches, remembering you are near-naked in front of him. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours.

“I felt- I thought I had taken advantage of you. You were so vulnerable, and I was- I couldn’t control myself, I was too rough-”

"Look," you say softly, turning around to show him the remnants of your bruises.

"Is that- did I do that? Kriff, I didn't intend to-"

You interrupt him. "You can do it again, if you want. Keep doing it, so they never fade.”

Rex swallows, but before he can reply you come up with a new idea.

"I want to thank the three of you for saving my life," you say, and you can't help the shy smile that graces your face as you unclasp your bra, shaking it off and revealing your breasts. You take Fives and Rex by the hand and look Echo in the eye sweetly as you lead the three of them to your bedroom.

"There's no need-" Fives interrupts, but you shush him with a finger to his lips.

"I'm going to thank you," you say more firmly this time. You press a quick kiss to his lips before sinking to your knees before him, your eyes lining up with the visible hard-on under his clothes. Your fingers find the waistband of his black compression pants and his briefs below them.

"Oh, stars, sunshine-" His words catch in his throat when you peel the fabric down, revealing his bare cock to you, exactly the way you remembered it. Fuck, you'd fantasized about this late at night, pushing your own fingers into your mouth, imagining how much their cocks might fill you. You can't help but lick your lips before gently wrapping your hand around the base, drawing soft curses from Fives' lips. Your tongue finds the head of his cock, giving it a few kitten licks before letting your lips wrap around it. You hum contentedly as you let him enter further into your mouth, gently licking and sucking and reeling with pride whenever you draw a noise out of him. When you take him in as far as you can go without gagging, you feel his hand coming to rest on top of your head and you let him guide your pace.

"Fuck, your mouth feels amazing, sweetheart. You- you wanna show the other guys what you can do too?"

You whine when he takes his cock out of your mouth, but then you realize he meant show them right now, at the same time, because both Rex and Echo have taken their compression pants off (and Rex his armor, too) and you're greeted by two more of their cocks, hard and leaking and so close to your face.

"My lucky day," you joke, but your heart is beating fast with the knowledge you haven't exactly done this before. You just hope you can give all of them the attention they deserve.

Rex stands closest to you, and his cock twitches as you reach to hold it. His hips jerk forward when you press your tongue flat against the underside, tracing a vein that runs all the way along it. Just like Fives, he reaches for your head -- when you take one of his balls into your mouth and suckle on it softly, his fingers tighten their grip into your hair, his breath hitching with every stroke of your hand along his cock. After you give the other ball some attention, you move back to his cock, bobbing your head along it gently until he suddenly thrusts forward, hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

"Kriff, sorry-"

But you persevere, spurred on to try and take him even deeper even with tears forming in your eyes. The sounds of you struggling to take him down your throat are joined with the sounds of Fives and Echo stroking their own cocks lazily on either side of you. It's lewd, but deliciously so, and your cunt throbs knowing that it's the sight of you that's turning them on.

You swallow around Rex's cock and he curses again, pulling himself out of your mouth.

"I won't l-last long if you keep that up, beautiful," he says, wiping some saliva mixed with precum away from your chin. Your stomach flutters at the pet name, a silly youngling feeling that feels unfitting to the current situation, but you find yourself wanting to hear it again and again.

Instead you turn again to take care of Echo, who seems to be enjoying himself -- his hand is wrapped tightly around the base of his cock and he smiles down at you.

"Your turn, mister," you tease, and a small chuckle escapes his throat.

"Stars, baby, you’re so cute."

Smiling, you lick up the sizable drop of precum that has formed at the head of his cock, drawing small circles around the opening with your tongue. Then much like before, you try to fit as much of him inside you as possible until you gag again -- the unpleasant feeling is somehow unbearably arousing to you, just knowing that his cock is so big, knowing your throat and jaw will hurt after, it sends lightning straight down between your legs.

"Look at me, baby," Echo coos fondly, "that's right, you like my cock, don't you, pretty eyes?"

You nod weakly, turning your attention back to the rhythm you had found while hollowing out your cheeks, when he pulls out of your mouth.

"Gotta keep it fair," he says with a grin while you feel a pair of hands turning you around again.

You service the three of them like this for a while, switching between their cocks while using your hands on the others. You must be an obscene sight, lips swollen and plump, saliva dribbling down your chin, and with every passing minute you're grinding your hips more and more, rubbing your legs together to find pleasure.

"Getting needy, aren't you, sunshine?" Fives teases, his voice raspy as you stroke his cock which is now slippery and shiny with precum and your spit. You hum around Rex, who has gotten to the point where he's thrusting shallowly into your mouth. Your gag reflex seems to have been conquered for the time being. They do say practise makes perfect.

It's Rex who comes first with a groan, his cum filling your throat while he holds your head in place, your nose grazing the hairs around the base of his cock.

"Fuck," Fives says, his hand finding the back of your head, "open your mouth, sweetheart, that's it." You swallow as much of Rex's cum as you can in one go, then open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out. Rex lines himself up with your tongue, pumping his own cock in quick hard motions. He cums with a low, rumbling sigh and his release ends up mostly on your tongue, with some of it on your nose and cheek. Before you realize it, you hear Echo curse beside you and he also finishes, his cum landing on your face and chest, like a marking you're all too happy to wear.

The three of them seem pretty out of breath, and Rex sits down on your bed with a sigh. "Stars," he breathes, pulling the high collar of his shirt away from his neck to let in some cool air. "That was some kind of thank you."

It makes you giggle. He seems more at ease now, having been convinced by the benefits of this arrangement.

Seeing the three of them panting and sweating in your bedroom sends another molten shot of arousal straight to your cunt and you realize your underwear must be soaked by now.

Fives must have realized you were rubbing your legs together, a teasing edge appearing in his voice. "I think you enjoyed that just as much as we did, didn't you? Did that get you wet?"

"Mhm," you admit coyly, "very."

"I think we should do something about that."

With a yelp from you, Fives pulls you up off the floor with ease and you crash into his chest with his nose pressed into your hair.

"Why don't you lie down and let us take care of you?"

Your face turns hot and your cunt throbs with anticipation at his words. But there's one thing that needs to happen first. All of them are still a lot more dressed than you are.

"Shirts off first, all of you," you say with a grin, which they all return.

"Yes, general," Echo jokes, peeling his sweat-soaked undershirt over his head. Now all of them are naked before you, and you can see the differences in their bodies. Echo, despite being the lithest of the three, has the most defined musculature. Fives is slightly broader in the shoulders but narrower at the hips, and seemed to have a little bit of an edge in the body hair department. Rex is the broadest overall, and also the most scarred, with gashes and blaster burns all over his chest, arms, and back. All three of them are beautiful, perfect, and somehow in your bed.

You get comfortable on the mattress, back propped up against a pillow. Surprisingly, it's Rex who finds his way over to you first, the mattress dipping under his knees. He puts his hands (big, warm, calloused) on your knees and spreads your legs so he can get between them.

"B-been wanting to taste you for so long," he says, his voice a dark rumble that strikes you in your core.

"You better take what you want then, Captain." You're not sure where the daring edge in your tone comes from, but after just making three men come with just your hands and mouth, some confidence has gathered in your chest.

Rex slides your underwear off and spreads your lower lips with his thumbs, and you can hear him suck in a breath. Fives sits down on the bed next to you and chuckles.

"Naughty, so wet from sucking dick." You give him a playful nudge which turns into a desperate grasp the moment Rex starts licking your slit in long lines, his tongue putting pressure on your clit repeatedly.

"Oh, fuckkkk-" you moan, your head falling back onto Fives' shoulder. Echo has now sat down on the other side of you and has taken it upon himself to lazily stroke and pinch at your nipples, the small licks of pain making you whine louder. Rex's pace is relentless, not gentle at all, and you find yourself on the edge much sooner than expected. Your nails dig into Fives' arm when Rex adds his fingers into the mix, pumping them in and out and curving them to hit the perfect spot while he sucks hard on your clit until you see-

"Stars!" you cry out, your hips lifting themselves off the bed as you buck into his tongue, your first orgasm of the night hitting you hard and deep. Rex keeps his tongue pushed against you for a while longer, until you come down from your high, slumping back down into the mattress with your breathing heavy and your skin shiny.

"Didn't know you knew how to do that, Captain," Echo jokes, still playing with your tits almost absentmindedly.

Rex wipes some of your slick off his face with the back of his hand and grins. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

When he sits back up, you can't help but notice he's well on his way to being hard again -- so are the others. There's a glimmer of pride in your chest at the moan Fives lets out when you wrap your hands around his cock again. You roll over, knees tucked under you, and bend down to wrap your lips around him again. In this position, you realize your ass is up in the air at an inviting angle, and you spread your knees a little further apart to give the man behind you a good view. It works, because it only takes a few seconds for Rex to grab your ass roughly with both his hands. His fingers line up with the bruises he left there before, and you hope he remembered your plea for their renewal.

"Look at you… you need a cock to fill you up, don't you, sweetheart?”

You hum around Fives’ cock in response, who fists his hand in your hair.

“Or maybe…” Rex’s voice is dark and rumbling, a sound that goes straight to your cunt, but that’s not where he touches you next. His thumb brushes over your exposed asshole and you stop moving your hips instantly in surprise. "... more than one? Think you could do that for us?"

You let Fives' cock slide out of your mouth to reply, spit and precum leaving a stringy trail between you. "Yes, please, I'll be so good for you," you whine, wanting nothing more than precisely that, to be good, to be of use to them, to make them feel good because they deserve it, and you're giddy and proud that they want this from you and no one else.

There's a bottle of oil in your nightstand for occasions like these -- a gift from a friend months ago who swears by this brand, but you hadn't gotten much use out of it yet. After all his nervousness earlier, you were surprised Rex took charge now, although you suppose he had just needed some time to settle into this commanding role that seemed to come so naturally to him in everyday life. The three of them briefly discuss among themselves how they should take you, but you have a hard time paying attention to the specifics. You bite your lip at the thought of the three of them filling all of you, and you can't help but sneak your hand between your legs to put some pressure onto your throbbing clit.

"Uh-uh," Fives tuts at you with a crooked smile, "none of that, now." He grabs the offending hand first and then the other so you can't touch yourself anymore. He laughs when you pout, and it makes you want to kiss the corners of his mouth. "C'mere," he says, pulling you forward to straddle his lap, his erection pressed between your bellies. It feels good, being this close to him, your skin against his. His smirk is still there and so you do steal a kiss, softly rutting against him just to feel him moan into your mouth. "How about the two of us stay like this," he says in your ear, pulling you tighter towards him with a hand on your lower back, "and I get to see your pretty little face while the other guys fuck your ass, hm?" Oh stars above, nothing coherent can leave your mouth in response to that. You press your face into the crook of Fives' neck and whine a breathy please that makes him chuckle. "Alright then sunshine, up you get." His strong hands lift you upwards so you can position yourself over his cock. Like it's the best thing he's ever felt, his eyes flutter closed when you sink down onto him, giving an experimental roll of your hips that tightens his grip on your waist.

"Fuck, I forgot how fucking hot your pussy is," he groans, and you can tell he's exerting some self control not to start fucking your brains out right away. You feel another warm hand on your back and turn to catch a glimpse of Echo.

"Yeah, Fives, you do know how to pick 'em," he jokes softly, but there's something different about him -- out of the three of them, you keep feeling like Echo might not have been attracted to you as much, like he might be happier with some girl from 79's, but now… You wonder if he reeled his feelings in so he wouldn't hurt his friend-- no, maybe that was just your vanity talking. Regardless, you pull Echo in for a short kiss while slowly starting to move with Fives inside you.

The sound of the glass bottle opening behind you gives you goosebumps. Rex's silence feels like the calm before the storm, and you hold your breath in anticipation. The liquid is a little cold when it trickles onto your skin, and you notice Rex also put a generous amount on his hand as he spreads it out, circling your little hole with his thumb. He works one finger into you gently, but you can feel the stretch and you cling onto Fives' shoulders.

"You alright, sunshine?" he asks and you nod, soothed by his voice and the circles Echo is rubbing on your back. Rex works you open gradually with his fingers, adding more oil when needed while Fives whispers words of encouragement into your ear. He keeps his hips painfully still -- your cunt throbs around him and you know he can feel it, too, but he doesn't budge, not yet.

“You’re doing so well, sunshine. Do you think you’re ready?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur against the skin of his shoulder.

“Ask Captain Rex nicely, then.”

You tilt your head up to look at him in slight bewilderment, only to find a playful smirk on his face. Before you can think of what to say, Rex starts slowly pulling his fingers out, grazing them along the sensitive skin in and around your ass, and you whine as you bury your face in Rex’s neck again.

“P-please, captain,” you cry, “please, please.”

His hands firmly dig into your asscheeks, rough and purposeful.

“Please what?”

Your words come out stifled and choked, both held back by your embarrassment to say something so filthy out loud, and shaken up by desire.

“Please fuck my a-ass, I need your cock, Rex, please!”

“Well done, sweetheart,” he says in that low voice that makes you quiver. He lines his cock up with your ass and you can’t help but buck your hips back slightly. His hands take hold of your sides and he starts pushing himself in, splitting you open easily with the help of the oil.

You’re full, so very full, and it’s so much, on the edge of being painful but not quite. Every part of your skin that touches one of your lovers is on fire, burning with arousal like it did when you had those toxins in your body, but better, now that your mind is sound. Whenever you think he can’t go any deeper, he does, and all you can do is hold onto Fives, digging your nails into his skin in the process.

“Fuck, stars, you take me so well,” Rex says behind you.

Echo pets your hair softly. “How’s it feel, baby?”

“F-feels good,” you respond, your words slurring together. Now both Fives and Rex are holding still with you in between them. The waiting is unbearable, like when the ocean pulls back before its biggest waves, and you are waiting for the water to crash.

The smallest roll of your hips is all it takes -- Rex groans as he pulls out about halfway, then thrusts back into you. From below you, Fives starts tilting his hips upwards, and you feel your cunt getting wetter around his cock. With the way you’re lying forwards on his chest, your clit rubs against him every time Rex slams his hips forwards. They move faster and faster, their skin slapping against yours and all you can do is sob, warm tears of pleasure mixing with sweat as they roll down your cheeks.

You can take more. You want to take more, and you look up at Echo through your wet lashes, reaching out for him, trying to find your words.

“Echo,” you whine softly, “my mouth, you can-”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He shifts so his cock is directly in front of your face instantly, unbearably hard and leaking. Your mouth opens almost instinctively, tongue lolling out to taste as much of him as possible.

Rex chuckles behind you as each thrust of his hips forces Echo’s cock further down your throat as you moan around him.

“Seems I was right the first time,” he says, not halting his speed even a little bit, “you really are a good little whore, aren’t you?”

Fuck, why do those words turn you on so much? Being called names was never something you wanted, but the way he said it, in that fucking delicious voice of his, it set you on fire and makes your cunt clench eagerly.

“Kriff, you liked that, didn’t you? Got all tight around me.”

Your mouth is too full of Echo’s cock to answer, but your throat lets out a noise that Echo clearly likes, because he moans and his strong hand finds purchase on your scalp. They fuck you mercilessly, all three of them pounding and thrusting into your body while you bounce on Fives’ cock and grind your clit against him. There is a deep focus to it, this steady rhythm while holding Echo’s cock into your mouth, but it feels so good and so complete, all of you moving together, thinking of nothing else but chasing the pleasure building in your cunt, and once you start slamming your hips down at the same moment Fives thrusts his up, it’s like the ocean wave crashing into the shore with full force, dragging you along with it. You come hard, a white-hot orgasm that shakes you to your core. You let Echo’s cock slip out of your mouth the moment you scream, and Five holds you against his chest where you can hear the pounding of his heart.

Fives halts the relentless thrusting of his hips for a moment, but not Rex -- he gives you not a moment of rest as he uses your ass with the same ferocity he used your cunt back on that planet.

“Fuck, fuck,” he swears behind you, “I’m gonna fucking- gonna cum, gonna fill this t-tight little ass up, would you like that? You wanna take my cum like a g-good little whore?”

“Yes, please, Rex,” you sob in reply.

He buries his cock deep inside your ass, his grip on your hips so tight it hurts, and then suddenly you feel a hand in your hair at the back of your head. Rex grabs a handful of hair and pulls, lifting your head up and back. He keeps you there while he coats your insides with his release, swearing throughout it, before letting you fall back onto Fives’ chest.

Echo stands up from the bed the second Rex pulls out of you and switches places with him.

“You can take a little more, can’t you, baby?” Echo says, lining his cock up with your ass. Some incoherent noise comes out of you as an answer, and Echo pushes in. Rex has opened you up enough for him to enter you easily, but knowing he’s fucking Rex’s cum back inside of you fans the flames in your belly and you can’t help but start bucking your hips back to feel it more, while Fives’ cock is still hot and throbbing in your cunt.

“Look at you,” you hear Rex say, “you can’t get enough of it, can you? Fucking yourself on two cocks at the same time, and looking so pretty doing it.”

“Mmm,” Fives agrees, and you can hear he’s trying to keep his composure but his breathing is ragged as he comes closer to his own release, “such a pretty little cockslut.”

The way they talk to you spurs you on, which they probably intended, and you start riding Fives like your life depends on it, pushing your upper body up a little straighter so you can look at him. He’s beautiful like this, face flushed, beads of sweat between his knitted brows while he intensely chases his pleasure. As soon as you look him in the eye he grabs the back of your head to pull you down, your forehead to his forehead, your nose to his nose, his eyes closed.

“You’re so f-fucking perfect,” he mutters, then lets out a long groan while he spills inside you, his head crashing backwards into the pillow. Echo’s thrusts get shorter and faster now and you buck back against him, wanting to give everything you still have left inside you. Rex’s hand sneaks up between your body and Fives’ to find your clit.

“Cum one more time, sweetheart, I know you can, with two cocks inside you.”

It’s too much -- you want to, but you don’t know if you can, don’t you if you’re even capable.

“I-I can’t, I-” you try to plead, but he rubs your clit roughly and you sob, hot tears wetting your cheeks. Echo tenses up behind you and you know he’s going to finish soon but-

Slap.

Rex’s hand comes down and strikes your asscheek so hard you squeal.

“I said cum.”

You do. You can’t explain it, but you do, an almost painful orgasm coursing through you while the sting of the strike lingers. A curse leaves your mouth but is caught by Fives’ lips pressing to yours and his tongue in your mouth. Echo spills his release into your ass with a moan, and with all three of their loads inside you, you have never felt so full.

After Echo pulls out, you climb off of Fives and let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress, every inch of you covered in sweat. Rex leans over to move some hair out of your face.

“Was that too much?” he asks, and the gentleness in his voice is almost heartbreaking.

“No,” you answer, a blissful smile on your face from how unbelievably good you’ve been fucked, “that was just right.” He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, and you feel an ever so slight trace of stubble on his jaw, less than a day’s growth. You’ve never thought about him shaving, but you’d like to watch him do it, some day. Fives sits up, grabs your hand and puts it to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to your knuckles. Moments later, Echo appears with a towel from your closet and starts cleaning you up, dabbing the cloth between your thighs where their cum has started trickling out of you.

“So,” you start, grinning playfully “are we even, now?”

Rex chuckles and gets up off the bed to find his underclothes -- no doubt duty will call for him again soon. You feel so, so lucky, that these three men have chosen to spend what little free time they have with you, and a warmth spreads through your chest as you look at them, eyes half-lidded from drowsiness.

“Not a chance,” he jokes, stepping into his briefs.

Fives lets go of your hand and strokes your cheek with his thumb, grinning down at you, and Echo, too, has a smile on his face. Rex kisses your forehead one more time.

“You won’t get rid of us that easily.”

#captain rex x reader #fives x reader #echo x reader #clone troopers x reader #the clone wars #captain rex #fives #echo #if you read all of this thank you ilu

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough Am I giving enough Have I paid my debts Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker - and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,598)

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Part Three: Wilbur

Wilbur oversleeps.

He doesn’t mean to. He never means to. But he does, and when he wakes up and finds the sun halfway to its peak, definitely mid-morning rather than the predawn he was hoping to find, it serves as a shock to his system, and all he can think is, shit. Because sure, he’s been pretty fucking exhausted lately, but that’s no excuse. He’s supposed to be the leader here, and leaders can’t lead when they’re sleeping.

And gods above know what Tommy’s managed to get into this morning, or what Dream’s done, because Dream’s been suspiciously quiet over the past few days and there could be an attack at any moment now, and shit, shit, shit.

He fumbles his way through dressing, tries to neaten his hair, fails utterly, and gives up and pulls his beanie on over it. Not very professional, but it’s fine. This is fine. He can’t hear any screams, so nobody’s dying. Probably.

He steps outside of the hastily-constructed house he claimed for his own, and it’s less of a house, really, than a single room with walls and a roof liable to cave in at any second, but it serves for now, and he never claimed to possess his father’s building prowess. There will be time for infrastructure development after independence is secured. But he steps outside, squinting against the sunlight, and finds—everything in order. Everything looks fine. Nothing is on fire, except for the ever-burning camarvan. The walls still stand.

That should be his next step. The walls.

He climbs his way up, surveying the area. The surrounding lands appear just as they were left last night. No ominous structures set up. No fucking TNT cannons. All is calm, peaceful, and he has learned not to trust peace, these past few weeks, but if everything is alright for now, he’ll accept it gladly. Even if it doesn’t last.

He sighs, bracing his hands against the battlements. All too often, these days, he’s found his mind wandering down paths they never would have before. He can’t help but wonder what Phil would think if he knew the full extent of what he’s up to. His father tried so hard, when he was younger, to shield him from war, from the legacy that he and his best friend laid out behind them. And Wilbur cannot blame him for that protectiveness; his first experience of war has only been a few weeks long, and he’s finding he doesn’t care for it, even if he’s discovered a knack for tactics.

The thing is, though, he’s always wanted a legacy of his own.

Phil always said that it would be through his music. He never told him that he had his doubts about that, that he loves his songs but that something in him always calls for more, something just out of reach, just beyond the crest of the next hill. He’s not sure his father knows how ambitious he really is, in the end.

He should probably write him. He’ll do it after the war is over. After he has a country to invite him to see. After he’s built something that his dad will be proud of. And if he leaves out the struggle it took to get it, nobody has to know but him, because it’s certainly better that Phil doesn’t.

“Hello, Wilbur,” Dream says, right by his ear, and he jerks, pulling his sword from his inventory in an instinctive motion. How he missed the bastard’s approach, he has no idea, but Dream is standing right there, right on the walls next to him, covered head to toe in netherite armor, smiling mask firmly affixed to his face. He holds no weapons yet, but Wilbur knows all too well how quickly that can change.

“You’re trespassing on L’Manberg property,” he snaps, trying to disguise the frantic racing of his heart. His feet shift into a ready stance, a movement that’s old hat by now, both from this war and from Technoblade’s training when he was a kid, even though the sword will never be his weapon of choice. “With armor on, too. You’re not allowed to wear armor within our borders.”

He doesn’t know why he bothers to try. Dream won’t obey. He never does. That’s why they’re at war in the first place.

But then, to his shock, Dream chuckles, inclining his head. And then, piece by piece, the armor disappears, accompanied by the familiar clink of metal landing in an inventory slot.

“Right, right,” Dream says, as if he hasn’t just blown all of Wilbur’s expectations out of the water. “Of course. I guess I really should be trying to get off on the right foot with you, here. Congratulations, by the way. I’m sure you were happy to hear the news.”

What is he—?

What is this? Is he trying psychological warfare now? Is that what this is? Because Wilbur has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Is he supposed to know what he’s talking about? Dream’s acting like he should know what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t particularly want to give him the upper hand by revealing that he does not, in fact, have any idea what he’s talking about.

“Thank you,” he manages, a beat too late, but Dream doesn’t seem to notice, just continues on blithely.

“I just figured we should set up an official meeting of some kind,” he says. “One country leader to another. Get some peace treaties drawn up, write some trade agreements, draw some official boundaries, all of that stuff. I’ll admit, I’ve never done any of that before, but it can’t be too hard, right?”

“Right, I’m sure,” Wilbur replies, nodding along. Because, what?

“It doesn’t have to be right away,” Dream continues, and he just keeps talking. “I can give you a day or two to settle in, get stuff in order. There’s no real rush, but we should get it done soon. I don’t want to leave anything up in the air. That’s not the kind of thing that promotes stability.”

“Of course,” he says.

Dream goes to say something else, and then stops, tilting his head again. This time, it’s less mocking, more curious. “You do know what I’m talking about, right?” he says, and the game is up. Wilbur feels caught, but he breathes deeply, fights off his rising blush, gathers up all his composure.

“I’ll be entirely honest,” he says. “I’ve got no idea what the shit you’re on about right now.”

He’s not expecting that to make Dream laugh. But he does, tossing his head back and carrying on, loud and long, and then it devolves into a tea kettle wheeze. Genuine amusement, then, though at what, Wilbur isn’t sure. He doesn’t appreciate being laughed at, but he can’t help but feel like there’s something going on here that’s going straight over his head. He doesn’t appreciate that very much, either.

“Oh my god,” Dream manages, as soon as he’s capable of speech, mirth still dancing in his voice, “he didn’t tell you? Still?”

Something icy gets its claws around his heart.

“Who didn’t tell me?” he demands. “Who didn’t tell me what?”

“Tommy,” Dream answers, and those claws squeeze. His heart skips several beats, and suddenly, he’s casting back in his mind to the last time he saw Tommy. It was last night, wasn’t it? Just last night? He sent him to bed, because Tommy often tries to take late watches, claims himself capable, but he’s not even quite sixteen yet. Wilbur may have pulled him into a war, but he’s still a teenager, and Wilbur’s going to do his damnedest to make sure he comes out of this as intact as possible. And that means getting enough sleep.

He looked fine, last night. He was fine. He has to be fine.

He’s moving before he realizes it, his hand fisting in the front of Dream’s hoodie.

“If you’ve done something to Tommy, I’m tossing you off this wall right here and now,” he snarls. “Don’t test me, Dream.”

A year ago, a month ago, he never would have pictured himself making a threat like that. Never would have imagined himself capable of following through. But he is different, now, from the way he started, different already, and there is a part of him, a part of him that whispers to him in crows’ voices, that is scared of what he will be by the time the war is done.

“I haven’t done anything to Tommy!” Dream protests, raising both hands, though he sounds unconcerned. “I swear, I haven’t. He gave us a really good chance to, last night, but we didn’t take it. You should thank us for that. It was pretty stupid, what he did.”

“Explain,” he demands. “Explain right now.”

Tommy’s a resourceful kid. He can picture him getting himself in and out of an altercation easily. But the way Dream says it, it’s like he put himself in the situation in the first place, like he sought it out, and what the hell was Tommy even doing, outside of the walls so late at night? The walls are there for a reason. The walls are there for protection. The walls are there to keep his people safe, because maybe he didn’t exactly set out to start a country, in the very beginning, but he’s going to see it through. By all the gods, he’s going to see it through.

If, that is, this kid doesn’t give him a heart attack first.

Dream shoves at his hand, and he lets him go without an argument. Dream takes a step back, putting a bit more space between them, and then leans against the wall.

“Tommy came to us last night,” he says, “and traded his discs for L’Manberg’s independence.”

It’s a simple sentence. A very simple sentence. But somehow, the words don’t make any sense.

“Congratulations, President Soot,” Dream says, and he knows, he knows the bastard is smiling under that mask. “I look forward to establishing relations between our countries,” and he isn’t, Wilbur knows that he isn’t, but he’s enjoying this because he’s just dropped a bomb on him and he knows it, because—

“Leave,” he rasps. “Get out.”

Dream does a little salute, short and mocking, and then hops over the side of the wall. Wilbur hopes he takes damage, hopes he breaks his fucking legs. The sound of water hitting the ground tells him that he doesn’t. He can’t even be upset about it, because his heart has jumped into his throat, pounding in his ears, and all of the words were fine individually, but all together, they’re too much to process.

Tommy gave up his discs. And now L’Manberg is free. Just like that, the war is over. And Tommy gave up his discs. Tommy walked straight into enemy territory without telling him and handed over his most prized possessions, all for the sake of L’Manberg’s independence. And he succeeded. He got it. He sacrificed something dear to him, something that Wilbur never would have asked him to give up, and he did it for them. For L’Manberg.

Giddiness is the first emotion that fills him, and next is pride. Because this—this is above and beyond. He never would have asked Tommy to trade away something so important to him, but somehow, he found it within himself to do it, and he got what he wanted from it. He got what they all wanted. Somehow, Tommy managed to end their struggles in one fell swoop, and they’re not related, neither by blood nor by adoption or anything like that, but Wilbur thinks that this must be the sort of pride an older brother feels when watching the younger grow up, watching the younger go on and accomplish great things.

They are free, and it is because of Tommy. He feels like he’s on cloud nine. He feels like he could fly.

And then reality crashes back in.

Tommy didn’t tell him that he was planning this. Tommy didn’t tell him, might not have told anyone at all, and that means he strolled straight into the arms of their bitter enemies, people who might have killed him without a second thought. No one has died yet, and he always intended to keep it that way, but the thought of Tommy alone, at night, creeping his way into the belly of the beast, sends a chill down his spine.

Tommy could have died. Tommy could have died, and he wouldn’t have known until he woke up this morning, woke up late, and saw the message on his comm. TommyInnit was slain by Dream.

And then, another thought occurs to him: Tommy hasn’t come to him. Hasn’t come to brag, hasn’t even come to just tell him, to tell him that he’s just single-handedly won their independence. And that is not a Tommy-like thing to do, to let something like that go unremarked upon.

Something is wrong. Dream might have lied. He could have hurt Tommy. Tommy could be injured right now. He doesn’t even know for sure that he made it back.

Tommy gave up his discs for L’Manberg.

It still barely makes any sense to him. But there’s no time to make sense of it. He rushes back down the wall as quickly as he can manage, and then it’s off through their settlement, eyes darting around, hoping for a glimpse of him. He checks Tommy’s house, first, the ramshackle, makeshift thing he’s been sharing with Tubbo until they can get better buildings erected, and he’s not there, and Tubbo isn’t either. The camarvan turns up nothing. He’s considering leaving L’Manberg entirely, going to check by Tommy’s other house, the one built into the hill, when Tubbo comes up beside him.

“Morning, Wilbur,” he says, and then frowns. “You alright, man? You’re kind of pale.”

“Tubbo,” he says, and grabs him by the shoulders. Maybe a bit too emphatically, because he suddenly looks a bit alarmed, but he’ll be concerned with that later. “Tubbo, have you seen Tommy today?”

Tubbo’s frown deepens. “I was coming to see if you knew where he was,” he says. “He was being a bit off last night. Think he had a nightmare or something. But he’s not with you?”

“No, he’s not.” With every word out of Tubbo’s mouth, he feels his own panic grow. It is one thing for Tommy to hatch some sort of plot and not tell him. That is—well, it’s not fine, but Tommy doesn’t tell him everything. But to keep Tubbo out of the loop? To, presumably, visit him before leaving and yet still not tell Tubbo what was going on? It’s unlike him. Very unlike him.

“Okay, well, he’s got to be around here somewhere,” Tubbo reasons, his brows creased. “L’Manberg’s only so big. Should we go look for him together, then?”

“Right,” he says. He breathes, in and out. Tubbo’s a good kid. Very sensible. Very down to earth. And he’s right, of course. Tommy has to be around here somewhere. Any other possibility is out of the question. “Right, of course, let’s go look.”

So they do. They take a systematic approach, first checking all the most likely places and then combing every inch of their land in a grid formation. Tubbo’s suggestion, again. But that turns up nothing, either, and he can feel the panic creeping back in, because what if he actually didn’t make it home? What if he was out there in the dead of night, distraught and alone, and something took advantage of that? What if some mob looked at him and recognized him for an easy kill?

He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. There would have been a notification. But he could be injured somewhere, incapacitated, in pain and all alone, and he can’t let that happen, can’t let Tommy be hurt like that on his watch—

“Oh, wait,” Tubbo says, and pulls on his sleeve. “There he is.”

Wilbur jerks, and stares in the direction he’s pointing. And sure enough, Tommy’s there, right in front of the camarvan, and Eret too, it looks like. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt relief as pure as in this moment.

“Gods,” he breathes, and starts toward them, calling out, “Tommy!” And as he approaches, he gets the sense that something is off.

The first thing he notices is Eret’s expression. Pure, unbridled confusion, mixed with what perhaps might be something like anxiety. And the reason for that is clear enough: Tommy is holding their face very firmly in his hands. Which is bizarre, and Wilbur blinks a few times to make sure he’s seeing this right, because Tommy doesn’t—he doesn’t just do that. That is a gesture reserved only for people he is very, very close to. Tubbo gets that treatment. He’s been on the receiving end a couple of times himself, but not often. And he knows that Tommy and Eret get along just fine, are friends, just like all of them are, but he really didn’t think that the two of them were close enough for this. And judging by the look on Eret’s face, they didn’t think so either.

And Tommy is just standing there. Not speaking, not doing anything else. Just staring Eret in the eyes—or the glasses, rather—with a startling intensity.

“Tommy?” he asks, as soon as he’s close enough that he doesn’t have to shout. “Is everything alright?”

And Tommy startles. Withdraws his hands from Eret’s face as though he’s been burned. Turns to look at him, and Wilbur freezes in place, because just for a second—

There is fear on Tommy’s face.

He doesn’t understand what could have caused it. But it is undoubtedly there, only for a moment before it is smoothed away into something more neutral, if strained. And he hates it, hates it viscerally. He never wants Tommy to look at him with that expression on his face. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“Ayup,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds—rough. Like he hasn’t slept at all. “Morning Wil, Tubso.”

It’s casual. Far too casual for what Wilbur has just learned, for the panic he’s felt for the past half hour or so, unable to find this kid, this kid who is basically his brother, for all he pretends to protest against the moniker. Tommy is his family. Tommy is his family, and he risked everything last night, gave up everything for the sake of Wilbur’s everything, his grand ideals, his great vision, and now he’s standing there like nothing at all has changed.

“Ayup, Tommy,” Tubbo says. “You feeling any better this morning?”

At Tommy’s side, Eret shifts uneasily. Their expression is still one of concern, and Wilbur wonders exactly how long Tommy had been standing there like that, or what their interaction even was to get them to that point in the first place. It’s confusing. He’s confused.

“I’m great,” Tommy says, and—no, no, they’re not going to do this.

“Tommy,” he breaks in, and Tommy stiffens. “Tommy, last night, why did you—you just—why wouldn’t you tell me?”

It’s not quite what he should be asking, but it’s what comes out. And his voice is annoyingly desperate, and he hates showing off so many emotions like this, especially in a public space, but he can’t stop himself.

“What about last night?” Tubbo asks.

“Last night?” Eret echoes, and looks to Tommy, who blinks, his gaze darting between the three of them but landing on Wilbur most of all, and it’s like he’s nervous, almost, anxious about how he’s going to react, and—does he think he’s going to be angry about this? Perhaps he is, but only in the sense that he’s angry that Tommy took such a stupid risk. Below that anger, that anger born of fear, his pride burns bright. Surely, Tommy must know that?

“I—look, I knew you’d say no, alright?” he says. “But I knew that I could do it, so I did it. Simple as that.”

Simple as that, he says. As if he didn’t give up his greatest possessions. As if he didn’t win them the war, win them their freedom, win for them the reality of the values that this country was founded upon.

“What’s going on?” Eret asks.

“Yeah, does this have something to do with what you were saying to me the other night?” Tubbo says, and then looks at him. “Wilbur, what are you talking about? What happened last night?”

Tommy sighs, and says nothing. Wilbur swallows, and maintains eye contact with him as he speaks, searching for some kind of reaction.

“Dream came to me this morning,” he says, and does not miss Tommy’s flinch at the name, “not even an hour ago. He said—he said that we were free. That the war was over, that L’Manberg was its own nation, that he wanted to set up a meeting for diplomatic ties and whatnot. He called me the president. And, um, he said that you won it for us, Tommy.” He pauses, just for a moment, trying to get his emotions under control. He mostly fails. “He said that you came to him, last night, and you traded your discs to him for L’Manberg’s freedom.”

“You did what?”

Tubbo’s voice is dismayed and disbelieving all at once. And Tommy flinches, draws into himself a little, and that’s not the reaction Wilbur would have expected, but literally none of this is what he would have expected.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding quiet, a bit defeated. “Yeah, I—I did. I knew he’d take the deal. And I just wanted—I wanted the war to be over, yeah? Before anybody got hurt. And I knew this would work, so I just went and did it.”

“You couldn’t have, though,” he finds himself saying, before he even know what he’s going to say next. “Maybe you could’ve guessed that he’d go for it, but—Tommy, what if they’d killed you? Taken what they wanted and killed you right then and there? I just—” He breaks off running a hand through his hair, remembering too late that he’s got his beanie on. His fingers dislodge it, and he readjusts it with more fervor than is necessary. “I just can’t believe you did that without telling someone. Without telling—” Me, he wants to say, but holds himself back. No matter his feelings regarding Tommy, the deep respect and even deeper love that has grown in him over the course of their friendship, he doesn’t have a monopoly on Tommy’s attention. Perhaps he would have preferred for Tommy to tell him, but he’d have settled for Tommy telling anyone.

“What, are you worried?” Tommy says, and Wilbur only spares a second to wonder why he sounds so disbelieving, because—

“Yes,” he bursts out. “Gods, Tommy! Dream came to me with this and my first thought was that you’d died! Or that you hadn’t made it back, that you were out there somewhere, alone and needing help, and I didn’t—Tommy. Tommy, please tell me you thought of this. Please tell me, tell me that you were prepared, at least. Tell me that you—” He cuts himself off again, shaking his head hard, and under any other circumstance, he would be kicking himself for the display, for the outburst of emotion, for the lack of eloquence, but he thinks he can be excused for the moment.

Tommy’s mouth works for a second.

“Oh,” he finally says, weakly. “Um, right. Sorry, Wilbur. No, I had it handled, trust me. Sorry, I didn’t, um. Didn’t mean to scare you like that. Sort of just—did it, y’know?”

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it kind of isn’t, because Tommy’s continued to shrink into himself, and he doesn’t want that. “It’s okay, Tommy, I’m just glad you’re okay. And, gods above, what you did—” He steps forward, then, unable to help himself, and takes Tommy by the shoulders. Tommy stares at him with wide eyes. “I never would have asked that of you. I couldn’t believe it when Dream told me. And Tommy, I—I’m so, so sorry. But I am so damn proud of you. You hear me? So damn proud. I know what that must have taken, for you to do that. And I’m so fucking proud of you.” He smiles, then, wide and a bit watery. He’s not going to cry, he’s not, but emotion is rising up in his throat, thick and overpowering. “You did it, Tommy. You won us L’Manberg.”

Tommy returns the smile, if a bit tentatively. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess I did, didn’t I?” And then, the smile widens, and he puffs out his chest, putting his hands on his hips. “I hear that makes me the leader now. You’re speaking to Mister High President King Lord Innit, so show me the respect you owe me, eh?”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” he replies, but he’s laughing. “No, no, enough out of you, go, take Tubbo and go get yourself whatever you want out of our rations, you’ve fucking earned it, Toms.”

Tommy offers him one last grin, and then he ducks out of his grip, grabbing Tubbo’s hand and dragging him in the direction of their storage. He can hear Tubbo’s voice already, high and offended at the fact that Tommy went and did this without telling him, and perhaps all is right with the world after all. Some things do not change, even when everything else does.

He went to sleep last night a rebel, a general. He woke up a president. How about that?

“Do you think he’s alright?” Eret asks, and he starts, almost having forgotten they were there.

“Probably not,” he admits. “Not entirely. Those discs meant a lot to him. But we’ve got time to figure it out.” He turns to them, then, makes eye contact with himself in the reflection of their sunglasses. “What was he doing with you, before we walked up?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” they reply. “He came up to me, sort of yelling a bit? Punched me in the shoulder a few times. Couldn’t figure out what that was about. Then he thanked me for something, and then he hugged me, which was a bit odd, and then he did the, uh, thing, with the holding my face? And then you and Tubbo arrived. I honestly don’t know what any of that was about at all.”

He hums, and looks out after the boys, at their retreating backs. As he watches, Tommy slings an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, his other hand gesticulating wildly.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says softly. “It’s Tommy. He makes it his job to be unpredictable.”

“You’re right about that,” Eret says. “I suppose congratulations are in order, President Soot?”

President Soot. It’s got a nice ring to it. He is the leader of a free country now, and it is thanks to the kid he sees as a younger brother, whether he’ll admit as much out loud or not. He is the leader of a free country, and that means there is much work to be done.

But he gives himself a moment longer, and smiles at the way the midday sun shines in Tommy’s hair.

It’s all for them, after all. Land is just land; as long as he can give his loved ones the freedom they deserve, that’s enough for him.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #tubbo #eret #/rp #cw swearing #cw death mention #cw injury mention #both of those are hypothetical #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #surprise!! bet you weren't expecting a new chapter of this today!!!#:DDD

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captainrexforever · 3 years

Text

Sketches

Hey guys. I meant to publish a full length fic today, but my imagination just hasn’t been cooperating. Instead, have this short drabble about our favorite sweetheart. I think this is set a while after the Season 2 Finale but who knows, this was begging to be written, regardless of continuity.

It’s late and Din has just returned from turning in the latest set of bounties. He’s in the cockpit, setting the ship on a new course before turning in for the night. You’re just about to turn in as well when Din’s modulated voice breaks your reverie.

“What’s this?”

You turn and your heart jumps into your throat as you panic just a little bit. He’s holding your sketchbook in his hand, and you realize you must have left it in the cockpit earlier. You’re a little embarrassed. In truth, you have no reason to be, but the thought of Din looking through your sketchbook is enough to set off your nerves. You like to think that you’re somewhat decent at sketching, but you’ve never had any formal training. And as a result, have never had a reason to show anyone else your drawings.

“Just a book.” You finally answer.

“I didn’t know you read hand-written books. Don’t you usually use your pad?”

Damnit, he’s right. Obviously he’s a faster thinker than you, and you flush when you realize you’ll have to tell him the truth.

“Actually, it’s a sketchbook.”

“Oh. May I?” He gestures towards the cover, and you note the questioning tone within his voice. Your heart swells and you wonder how you were ever nervous in the first place. You have shared every other part of yourself with him. A few sketches certainly won’t change how he feels about you.

You nod before capturing his hand and leading him to the side of the Crest where the small ledge serves as a bench of sorts. After settling yourself against his side, you reach a hand out to lift the cover. He grasps your hand gently, holding it while he lifts his other hand to his helmet. He raises it from his head, settling it beside him, before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You blush and give him a goofy smile in response, allowing yourself to just stare into his eyes for a few moments. You will never tire of gazing into his face, watching as his eyes twinkle and his lids fall in lazy blinks. His responding smile has you captivated, and you suddenly forget why you sat down in the first place.

He breaks your trance by pressing his forehead to yours, then redirecting his gaze towards the book in his lap. You giggle at the silly sight, unable to stop yourself from admiring the features of his face again. He lets out a light chuckle, and joins you in your soft laughter before tucking you further into his side as he turns towards the book again. He holds it while your hand drifts to the cover again, and when you open it you hold your breath, a little unsure as to what the first image will be.

Oh, it’s one of your first attempts at sketching. A simple round sphere decorates the page, a tiny sun drawn into the top left corner to simulate the presence of light. The sketch was meant as a way to practice your shading skills. You risk a glance towards Din and see that he looks completely awestruck, and you can’t suppress a proud smile from overtaking your lips.

You flip the page, this time revealing a more ambitious project. It contains the face of a wolf, the shape a little too round, the lines a little too jagged, the shading a little too forced. The proportions are slightly off as well and you wince a little at the poor attempt. Din still looks interested though, so you continue to the next page. It reveals an eagle head and this time you feel quite proud, the sketch is one of your favorites and it has undergone some small additions throughout it’s long existence. Behind the eagle is a landscape of stars, a mountain range further in the distance that forms a complementary shape which frames the main sketch.

Din sucks in a breath and you smile at him when his gaze drops to you.

“I didn’t know you were so talented.”

You blush. Even after all this time, you’re still awkward with accepting compliments, so you settle for showing your appreciation through actions rather than words. You lean up, lips pursing, then meeting Din’s lightly stubbled cheek in a quick kiss. His mouth curves into a smile and you’re caught once again in the beauty of his gaze. Finally, you muster the strength to break the eye contact and tuck your head into the crook of his neck instead, watching as he flips through the rest of the pages. Some are sketches you remember fondly, others are not quite finished, but they all remind you of specific memories and mindsets. When he finally reaches the last page, you’re practically drifting off already, his warmth and comforting embrace leaving you even more drowsy.

“Still working on this one?”

Your eyes flutter open, and a fiery blush overtakes your cheeks when you take in the sight. The page is filled with different sketches of Din. One shows him wielding a blaster, looking handsome as ever, while he shields you behind his back. Another depicts you in his arms during a nighttime flight with the jet pack. There are dozens more, but the one that must have caught his attention is the most recent sketch. It shows Din on one knee as he offers a ring to you. The shading isn’t quite finished, some of the lines still rough and too light to be considered part of the final product.

“Can you blame me for wanting to immortalize that moment forever?”

He tugs you closer, planting a kiss on your forehead as he closes the book and sets it aside.

“I suppose not. It was the best moment of my life after all.”

“Mine too.”

You’re practically asleep now and he hums, lifting you in his arms as he carries you to your bunk. For it is your bunk now, as much as it is his. Within a minute, he’s tucked you both in, and he’s still wearing his armor, but you don’t mind, it’s as much a part of him as his skin. With a sleepy promise of love you tangle you fingers in his hair and drift off to sleep, safe in the arms of your handsome knight.

#the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader fluff #mando reader fluff #mandalorian fluff #Mando x reader

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ayellowcurtain · 3 years

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the sobbe “Best Part” by Daniel Caesar? Fanfic is so perfect can you make a part 2 with them having that weird encounter with jens and comming together for real

Part 1

Robbe doesn’t know what to think. He’s usually the rip the band aid off already type but they couldn’t just leave, call all their friends and tell them that hey, they had sex, it was all a joke before but it isn’t anymore? He’s not sure.

But it was the weekend and everything was still too fresh so they waited. Sander walked with him home and Robbe wanted to ask him to come inside, chill for a little more but his mom was home. Sander smiled and said it was fine even though Robbe didn’t have the courage to explain to him properly. He held Robbe by the back of his neck and kissed him right there, in the middle of the street, before walking back out and going home.

Later they were both bored and Robbe wanted to go skate for a little - he didn’t explain he needed to put some energy out because he was still feeling like he was having a heart attack every time he dared to remember himself that he had sex with Sander - but he just said he needed some fresh air and Sander was up for it, also tired of being stuck inside with not much to do. Any of them could have suggested calling the others too but nobody said a word so it was just the two of them.

They met at the skate park and Robbe skated around the park a little bit, trying some new tricks, checking every time he landed one to see if Sander was looking.

He always was and sometimes he would even clap and cheer when Robbe got his tricks right. Robbe laughed and shook his head, going from one bowl to the other a little more. He lifts his shirt a little bit to see if the wind gets inside of it and helps calm himself. They’ve been acting like a couple for so long but Robbe feels like he can’t go to Sander like he wants to and kiss him out of nowhere, act like a couple that they might actually be after what happened last night and the weird mood going on between them ever since, like they're dancing on thin ice. He doesn’t dare going up to him and kiss without a proper conversation before that.

Sander is drawing him, sitting on the edge of the bigger bowl and Robbe wonders if he’s drawing Robbe intentionally or just drawing his surroundings because that’s what he has for now.

“Can I see?” Robbe climbs to the edge and sits right next to Sander, their sides glued to each other, too close for random friends hanging out.

“What?” Sander lifts his eyebrows, pressing his sketchbook against his chest, smiling. Robbe rolls his eyes, thankful that he’s already blushing from all the running around so he won’t have to explain why he’s blushing because of Sander too.

“Your drawing…?”

Sander sighs, and Robbe watches as his free hand comes to his cheek, caressing it softly. A moment passes by and the playfulness changes to a type of care that Robbe can’t really explain because he never felt before.

“You’re so handsome.” Sander confesses to himself and Robbe is glad he could hear it too.

“You really think so?” He asks honestly and he can see how Sander’s expression changes slowly, how soft his eyes turn, staring too deep inside Robbe’s.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I really do. You’re my boyfriend.” Robbe laughs, nodding his head, holding back the need to mention again how they’ve been actual boyfriends for less than twenty four hours and only because Robbe kissed him while he was tipsy.

“Since you have a better memory than mine about last night...what did Jens see?” Sander pretends that he needs to seriously think about it.

“He saw more of me than of you if that’s what worries you. Your past crush won’t suffer any change because I’m pretty sure he only saw your back, sitting on my lap. And then you got up and I was there for him to see fully, with my pants unzipped...thankfully I decided to wear underwear last night.”

Robbe grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. He really was in a rush, about to put his hand inside Sander’s pants…

“Do you think he was drunk enough so he won’t remember it today?”

Sander shakes his head, pressing his lips together, “Pretty sure if he was, seeing you on my lap made him sober instantly.”

“You’re not helping me, you know?”

“Look on the good side: We’re not pretending anymore. And so we don’t have to explain. He saw a couple making out at a party. You’re thinking with the guilt of the constant lying for the past six months but they don’t need to know it was a lie before…”

“I know! But it’s still me, almost dry humping you!” Sander snorts and lets his head fall forward, shaking his head.

“You’re so cute.”

Robbe doesn’t let himself think, he just puts his arm under Sander’s until he can find his hand and hold it, pressing his temple against his shoulder, looking at Sander, enjoying for the first time that they might actually be a thing now.

“Stop it.”

He watches as Sander plays with their fingers together, finally holding his hand tight.

“Don’t worry about it. If he makes one joke that you don’t like, I’ll put him in his place.”

“Oh, my knight in shining armor.” Sander looks at him and winks, sitting back up, letting go of Robbe’s hand to put his on the inside of Robbe’s thigh, running up and down quietly.

“We’ll be okay. Do you think he already told Aaron and Moyo?”

It’s his time to snort, lifting his eyebrows, “Do you know Jens?”

Sander laughs, tilting his head from side to side because everyone knows Jens can’t keep most of the secrets he knows.

Moyo and Aaron continue talking about the big bruises on Aaron’s hands from falling from his skate earlier but Robbe is just pretending to pay attention while avoiding to meet Jens’ eyes. Sander’s hand is on the inside of his thigh again, casually resting there but Robbe can feel he’s enjoying the awkwardness very much, holding himself back from bursting out laughing.

They’re sitting closer and more comfortably than what they would do while pretending and Robbe is aware of that, of every inch of theirs glued together because Jens is staring from across the room, sitting on his chair right in front of the couch, in front of them. Sander sighs next to him and Robbe looks at him, knowing he’s about to say something.

“Okay! Let’s get this over with.”

Robbe feels all his blood go to his cheeks and chest, burning in desperation, holding Sander’s hand in his thigh and Jens snorts, more than ready to start, relaxing on the chair.

“You saw us making out at the party and now you and Robbe are being weird about it. Do you wanna join or what?”

Robbe freezes, watching Moyo spit all his beer back on the bottle, spilling down his hand too. Aaron opens his eyes as wide as they can go, looking at Sander.

Jens laughs awkwardly, “...What?”

“Do you want to join?” Sander asks again, a lot slower this time, looking straight at Jens, enjoying how he opens and closes his mouth and adjusts his posture over and over again.

“No, he doesn’t.” Robbe asks for them, looking from Jens back to Sander, “And he’s kidding, Jens, chill.”

Jens looks at Robbe, trying to read in him if Sander is really joking or not, “He’s joking!”

Sander squeezes his thigh, “No, I’m genuinely curious!”

“Stop…” Robbe whispers, trying not to laugh at how uncomfortable Jens is getting. Moyo is trying not to laugh too and so Robbe feels a little more at ease that everyone but Jens seems to get this is a harmless joke. Aaron seems confused and asks, “Is this a broad question or you’re just curious about Jens?”

Sander snorts and Robbe blushes even harder, thinking out loud, “For fuck’s sake…”

“This is not a general question, nor an invitation, bro,” Moyo tells Aaron, pushing Jens' chair, “And? Are you joining them or what?”

He finally seems to learns his words again, frowning a little bit pissed, looking at Moyo, “Fuck you! It’s not my fault that they don’t know what...a lock can do.”

They all laugh and Robbe exhales, relaxing against the couch, putting his head back and covering it with both hands, finally happy that this conversation is finally moving somewhere else.

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #robbe x sander

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brandyllyn · 3 years

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War makes thieves, and peace hangs them (pt5)

Told from POV of Triple Frontier characters and while it’s an OFC she is never described. Her “name” is a radio handle (Wildcat).

Summary: Getting ready for the op, Wildcat and Santiago find themselves on a private channel. (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 2100. Read it on AO3.

Rating: R? NC-17? (Explicit) language. dirty talk.

"Here," Wildcat presses a small piece of silicon into Santi’s hand and he held it up. "They work off bone conduction, can just about pick up your thoughts." She hands him a cell phone. "I’ve got everything wired right now through this handheld. It should automatically temper the sound so it won’t matter what volume we’re talking at - it’ll modulate it into a narrow range." She grins, "Don’t want to blow out your ear drum."

Santi turns the earbud over in his fingers before pressing it into his right ear. "Comms check?"

She glances up at him, "Loud and clear."

It’s an odd sensation, he hears her voice like normal, but also simultaneously like she’s right inside his head with him. "What’s the range on these?"

"About a hundred yards." She taps a button on the phone in his hand and he no longer hears her echoing. Then she pulls a black beanie out of her bag, settling it on her head and making sure all her hair is tucked away. "Please remember that I won’t be on main comms. If there’s anything I need to know you’re going to have to repeat it to me."

"Yeah, about that-" he starts but she cuts him off.

"One of your giant radios is going to be too obvious. No way. I need to at least be capable of blending in."

Santi looks her up and down. She’s got on a pair of dirty jeans and a grey t-shirt. The jeans are loose, falling straight down her legs and hiding the curves of her body. The t-shirt… "What did you do to your-" he gestures at her chest.

She squats at her bag, slipping a knife into one boot and another behind her belt. "Left them back at the hotel." At his raised eyebrow she grins. "Didn’t you know all boobs are detachable?"

"We talking about boobs in here?" Will’s voice precedes him into the room.

Wildcat turns to him with a smile. "We should always be talking about boobs. They’re amazing."

"I don’t like it," Santi grunts.

"Boobs?" Benny asks with an incredulous look following behind Will, Frankie a few feet behind him.

"This," Santi gestures at Wildcat. "I don’t like you not being on primary comms. The delay could cost you." He looks at her once more, "I also wish you’d wear some armor."

She sighs, heavy and strained. "If someone sees me from the corner of their eye I need to look like I belong. One of your radios and a flak jacket will ruin the mirage."

"Ain’t no one mistaking you for a narco Wildcat," Frankie points out and Santi gives him an approving look before looking back at her.

"Yes. Exactly," Santi agrees vehemently.

She kicks her bag under the nearby table and then stands up to her full height, hands on her hips. "Look. You hired me to do this because I’m really fucking good at my job. So back off and accept I know more than you about how to do this." She holds up the keyset she lifted just fifteen minutes ago, "Unless one of you wants to gather the intel from an active safe house? No? Then I’ll say it again. Let me do my fucking job."

A quick dip of his chin is all he gives her and she doesn’t say anything in return. Instead she checks her watch, leaning to look out a crack in the papers covering the window. "How long we got?"

"Hour, give or take." Ben replies, sitting and leaning a chair back against the wall.

Santi pulls his 9mm out of its holster. Checks the magazine, checks there isn’t one chambered, and then hands it and the holster to Wildcat. "You’re going in there with more than a knife on you. And you can’t tell me a gun will be out of place. It will look odd if you don’t have one."

She wrinkles her nose but nods, repeating his motions and checking the safety before hooking the holster onto the back of her pants.

"Might as well have kept the bullets Pope," Ben says with a smirk.

"You can fuck off," Wildcat mutters, looking out the window.

Pope raises an eyebrow. "What’s this?"

"Wildcat can’t shoot for shit," Ben laughs.

"Really?" This from Frankie who had finally stopped blushing every time he looked at her.

Wildcat grunts, turning away from the window and back to them. "I have a different skillset."

"How bad?" Will asks.

She shuts her eyes for a moment before shrugging. "Bad."

"Hey didn’t you wash out of SEAL training 'cause of it?" Ben asks.

She spins on him, "Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?"

"How did you even make it out of basic?" Ben continues to needle.

A thunk echoes in the room and Ben turns his head slowly, his cheek grazing the knife that had appeared in the wall next to him. Frankie gives a low whistle and even Will gives her a more appraising look. Santi hadn’t even seen her move.

"I said I have a different skillset," she grits out before walking over and pulling the knife out. Santi is watching but as soon as it comes out of the wall it just… disappears. Somewhere.

"Enough," Santi snaps and everyone stands up a little straighter. "It’s time to get into place." No one needs a reminder, the moment the words are out everyone starts moving. Wildcat takes the phone out of his hand, turning the screen on and showing him the earbud controls before turning everything on and tucking the phone into his vest.

"Be careful," he tells her and sees her brows draw down but she nods and slips out the back door.

Santi grabs their gear and heads up to the empty apartment. The narcos knew his face which meant he was stuck running ops. From the apartment above he had a good view of the street out the window and Will and Frankie would be placing cameras. Ben would be on the corner, doing a much better job of pretending to read the paper than Frankie had. Will would be with Wildcat, ready to boost her up and then move to the extraction point. Frankie was on getaway car.

-Pope Pope, Ironhead.-

Santi reaches down to his radio. -Ironhead go.-

-Wildcat is up, moving to secondary.-

-Copy that Ironhead.-

"I see my babysitter has already contacted you." The voice purrs inside his head and Santi shifts his weight on his feet, looking down at the building across the street. He can’t see her, knows he can’t. Until Will got his camera setup he wouldn’t be able to see her.

"Shouldn’t you be keeping quiet right now?" he asks, scanning the street for signs of her anyway.

A low laugh, "I’m twenty feet off the ground. And I’m whispering. I can barely hear me."

"Well, you shouldn’t be distracting me," he says.

"From what? We’ve got at least fifteen minutes to kill." A pause and he can almost hear her brain working. "I can think of some fun ways to spend fifteen minutes."

He groans, "No. Absolutely not."

"Aw, Pope, why so serious? Don’t you ever have fun on these jobs?"

"No," he says again, even more firmly.

"That’s too bad," he hears a low hum and can feel it travel through his body, curling his toes. "I guess I’ll just have to entertain myself."

"Do not," he warns but she just laughs, low and dark. "I’ll turn your channel off," the note of caution in his voice should be enough to scare anybody.

"No you won’t. You won’t risk something happening to me while you’ve got me muted." Fuck she was right. Had called his bluff. "Which means that you, sexy man, are at my mercy."

Santi leans his head against the windowpane for a second, careful not to disturb the curtain he was peering around. "Didn’t you get enough of me last night?"

"Oh no," she is definitely purring now. Her voice low and sensual. "I don’t think I did. In fact, I think tonight you should let me tie you up."

"Not a chance," he says, shifting to look at the three camera feeds, of which only two are up. As he watches, the feed from Will’s camera comes through and now he can see her. Tiny on his screen and squeezed into a corner where two buildings meet, near a window. He tilts his head, trying to figure out the logistics of what she’s doing. She got one foot wedged into a crack, the other on maybe a half inch of exposed brick, her hands pressed out to each side. Her legs at an angle he’s never seen from a human before. Just looking at her makes his knees hurt.

"I didn’t know you were that flexible," he comments and sees her lift her head, eyes scanning until she spots the camera Will set up across from her. The camera is too far away to see her expression but he can somehow tell that she grins at him.

"Oh honey, this isn’t even half of it."

He groans and then tries to stifle it when he hears her low chuckle. Damn these earbuds are sensitive. He’s not used to them. Not used to having instant communication with the team like this. It’s nice, or at least would be if she weren’t using them for evil.

"You know I still have marks on my wrists from last night."

He did in fact know that. He had forgotten to untie her for far too long, until his belt had chafed her skin and she’d actually had to ask. He also knew better. He’d played these games before and generally wasn’t so careless. There was just something about her that made him want to push. Push things just a little further than was safe.

"I’ve also got a scratch on the inside of my thigh. I think it’s from your zipper."

He bites back the groan this time, clenching his fist so hard his knuckles hurt.

"I’m sad I didn’t get to see you. You have a beautiful cock, don’t get me wrong, but I’d’ve liked to have seen the rest of you."

The cock in question was already half hard. Santi grits his teeth.

"I mean, I barely even got to touch you. That’s really a shame. It is. I like touching. And tasting. Running my fingers and tongue over someone’s skin."

Why was she doing this? He’s watching the cameras, he really is, but he keeps coming back to her. The way her body is twisted against the building. She can’t move. Not really. But she doesn’t seem like she needs to. As uncomfortable as it looks to him, her voice in his head doesn’t seem at all fazed.

"I really enjoyed sucking your cock you know. I would do that again for you, anytime you’d like."

"Fuck," he breathes and he hears a low hum from her.

"Maybe you’ll be nicer next time. Let me take my time. Go slow. Draw it out for you. Suck on you til my lips go numb."

"Cat," his voice has an edge to it.

"Are you touching yourself Pope?"

He grunts, shifting in his chair. "No."

"Do you want to be?"

He doesn’t reply. Lets the silence stretch between them before he hears her sigh. "I wish I could touch myself right now. I’ve gotten myself all wet thinking about you." Another sigh, as heartfelt as the last. "Or even better, I wish you were here touching me."

He can imagine it easily. The way her legs are spread and the angle of the camera mean that he’s looking right into the V of her thighs. Hell, if she weren’t wearing pants he could probably see inside of her in this position. But she is, and he can’t, just sees the tight stretch of denim. His brain is more than happy to fill in the rest.

-Pope Pope, Catfish.-

Santi groans, shifting his attention to his radio. -Catfish go.-

-I’ve got eyes on the delivery truck.-

-Copy that.- The next bit is as much for Wildcat’s benefit as his own. -Eyes on the delivery truck. Allcom sound off.-

-Catfish go.-

-Ironhead go.-

-Benny go.-

"Wildcat go," a whisper in his ear.

"What do you hear Wildcat?" An old litany. One he’d said a thousand times before.

This time he doesn’t imagine her twist towards the camera, the grin she gives him. "Nothing but the rain Pope." Then she’s twisting against the building, a small jump and her hands catch the lip of a window just above her.

"Drop zone is clear," he tells her, watching the cameras. He can see her body sway, she’s holding herself by eight fingers and a single toe-hold. The delivery truck pulls up and he waits just a second longer before speaking one word.

-Go.-

Pt6

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x ofc #triple frontier #writing

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scarlettwitcher · 4 years

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The One With The Lost Baby Yoda

Summary: When Pedro finds a lost kid dressed as baby yoda at a Mandalorian convention, he takes him with him, making an unexpected friend.

Word Count: 1,703

Warnings: Fluff everywhere. It’s like glitter. It’s all over the place.

Author’s Note: You can thank @laubeck10 for this masterpiece. This is going to be a four part set but each one can pass as it’s own oneshot. I hope y’all like it. I know it a RPF but I hope y’all like it. I’ll be tagging people I think will be interested. Requests are open so please send them in, and if you have sent a request, don’t worry, I’m working on them! As always, thank you for reading and feedback is always welcome/needed.

Pedro hadn't anticipated for the convention to be as full as it was. He didn't even consider the fact that the Mandolorian was as big as it was. But watching all of the fans together, all of the cosplays, blew his breath away. It wasn't his first convention but it definitely was his first one being this big. He was so excited, he decided he wanted to completely indulge himself… by wearing the original Mandolorian armor, complete with his helmet. He felt ridiculous at first but as he walked through the crowd, being stopped now and then for photos, he felt great. Not only did he blend into the crowd, nobody realized it was him and he was able to see everything from up close.

A few hours of exploring around, he felt a small tug on his cape. He looked down and saw nothing. He frowned slightly and stared at the floor until he saw a little hand reach out from underneath the table, tugging on his cape once more. He smiled softly as he bent down, lifting the cloth slightly. He was met with the cutest, biggest brown eyes. "Hey there buddy."

"L-lost." The little boy's words were followed with a sniffle. Pedro looked around before looking back to the kid. He finally got a good look at him and if he wasn't worried for the kids safety, he would've found the situation pretty cute. The little boy was about 3 years old. He was wearing a brown robe and bright green ears. He was dressed as a little baby yoda. He looked up at Pedro, who was still fully dressed as Mando, and whined quietly. "M-mando."

Pedro's head whipped down to the kid. He had his hands up towards Pedro, wanting him to hold him. He sighed quietly and obliged, pulling the kid into his arms. The little boy wrapped his arms around his neck, holding on tightly. He was shaking softly. It was pretty obvious the little boy was scared. "Where's your parents buddy?"

"Lost.. Want my mommy."

Pedro looked around the sea of heads. Some passed and awed at him and the kid. He realized then that it looked like a Mandolorian and baby yoda costume duo. He smiled awkwardly as he tried to move through the people as the little kid held on tighter. "Okay buddy, we'll find your mommy. What's your name?"

"Logan."

"Okay, Logan. Do you remember what your mommy was wearing?" Pedro heard more sniffs and stopped, pulling the little boy back so he could see him. The little boy rubbed his eyes and shook his head, pouting. "That's okay. I'm sure we'll find her." Before he could say anything else, Pedro's phone started to ring and he reached for it, seeing Jon's name and contact covering the screen. He pressed answer, holding the phone as best as he could to his face, making it hard with the helmet on. He looked around, finding the exit of the main hall. "Hey."

"Where are you?"

"Kinda in a situation. What's up man?"

"We have a panel in 15 minutes. You gotta get here now."

"Oh shoot. I forgot. I'm on my way." Pedro quickly hung up the phone, sliding his phone back into his pocket before walking towards the exit. He looked around and followed the signs towards the panel room, going through the back. A few of the organizers were walking around making sure everything was ready. A few have Pedro strange looks as he walked in with the kid but they said nothing. Once he got towards the stage entrance, he slowly sat Logan down on top of a large crate. He reached up, removing the helmet, wiping away a few sweaty hairs. The helmet was very hot and he realized it was a very bad idea wearing it. "How are you doing buddy?"

"Okay."

"Good." One of the organizers motioned for Pedro to get ready to walk onstage. He sighed, looking down at the little boy with worry. He motioned for one of the security guards to get close before pointing to the little kid, explaining the situation. The guard understood as he waited on the side, letting the other guards know there was a lost boy, as Pedro approached the little boy. "Okay, buddy, I gotta go onstage. I'll be back."

"No! No! Mando, no leave." The little boy cried out, making a few heads turn. Pedro sighed as he looked around, trying to find any solution. The little boy whined impatiently as he held his arms out again.

"Buddy, I gotta g-"

"No!" The little boy started crying and Pedro felt his heart sink. He relented and pulled the little boy in his arms. Logan clung to Pedro like he was his father. He cried into his shoulder, holding onto his shirt tightly. He felt the desperation waving off of the little boy and he knew he wouldn't go anywhere. Pedro nodded the guard off, knowing they would try to find the mother as Pedro got into position. As they announced him, he made his way on stage, waving at everyone as they cheered. He heard a few awes and knew it was because of Logan. He found his chair on stage and sat, being met by a few curious stares from his cast members. He shrugged before turning towards the crowd waving. "Hi everyone! How's everyone doing?"

Pedro was met by loud screams and cheers. He laughed, pulling Logan down into a sitting position on his lap. The little boy's head barely reached over the table, his little ears pointing out. After a few lighthearted bantering between his castmates, the fans started to line up to ask questions. "What's your question sweetheart?"

"So first off, I want to say I'm a huge fan of your work. You're so amazing!" Pedro blushed and nodded his thanks as Logan reached up, touching his cheek. The audiences laughed as Pedro looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "I had a question before coming up here but now I gotta know, who is your baby Yoda and why is he so cute?" The audience laughed and cheered as the fan asked the question everyone wanted to know.

Pedro pinched Logan's nose before looking up and smiling. "Well, I just found him a while ago. This is Logan. I was walking around the convention, and I found him under a table. He was lost and we haven't been able to locate his mother. And for some reason, he doesn't want to leave my side." A loud wave of awes filled the room as Pedro nodded and smiled. "He's adorable isn't he?" He was responded with cheers. As if on cue, Logan stood on Pedro's lap and waved towards the audience. Everyone laughed and waved back. Logan smiled widely as he turned to Pedro, pointing towards the audience.

"They say hi! " His little voice was picked up on the mic and everyone laughed as Logan sat back down, hiding his face. Pedro found his shyness adorable as he held the little boy against him protectively. The rest of the panel went smoothly, Logan occasionally making his little comments that had everyone swooning.

"Mando look!"

"Candy!"

"I sleepy."

Pedro's favorite moment was when Logan was drawing on the table as a distraction. As much as everyone loved his comments, it was taking attention away from the panel so Gina passed Logan a few papers and crayons and he got to work. He drew a picture of him and Pedro, both in costume, and gave it to him and he drew another one of Gina. They weren't Van Goghs but Pedro thought they were beautiful. They showcased his art at the end and Logan was proud of his masterpieces. Around the end of the panel, the little boy was exhausted and fell asleep in Pedro's lap, with his little hands clutching his shirt tightly in his sleep.

Seconds after the panel ended and they left the stage, a distraught woman went running towards Pedro. He stopped to focus on her as she panted. "Logan baby. Logan, oh my god." Pedro realized that this must be his mother. He looked just like her. The little boy stirred and almost jumped out of Pedro's arms trying to get to his mother.

"Mommy!" The woman grabbed Logan out of Pedro's arms and clutched the little boy as tightly to her body as she could as she cried quietly.

"Oh baby, you scared me so much. Are you okay?"

"Mando protect me." The woman finally looked up at Pedro as a loud sigh of relief left her lips. She nodded softly at him before holding the boy impossibly tighter to herself. She knew this was Pedro Pascal but at the moment all that mattered was her son.

"Thank you so much for caring for him. I hope he didn't give you any problems."

Pedro smiled widely as he shook his head. "Absolutely none. He's a great kid."

"You're telling me." The woman moved Logan's weight to one arm as she reached out with the other towards Pedro. "I'm Y/n. Nice to meet you Mando." Pedro laughed at the nickname and took her hand, shaking it softly. He loved the feel of her soft hands in his and a small blush crept on his cheeks. He cleared his throat before slowly pulling his hand back.

"Nice to meet you too Y/n and you Logan." The little boy whipped around and looked at Pedro, smiling wide.

"Mama I'm hungry." She looked down at the little boy before nodding.

"Okay baby. Let's get you something to eat."

"Mando too." Y/n raised an eyebrow at Logan before turning to look at Pedro, a genuine smile crossing her features.

"Would you like to join us Mando?"

"I don't want to impose."

"Nonsense. I kinda owe you a lot. Lunch is the least I can do." Pedro chuckled, while rubbing the back of his neck in thought.

"Okay. Let's have lunch."

"Yay Mando!" Logan cheered as he reached for Pedro, jumping from Y/n's arms to his. Logan held onto him tightly as the three navigated through the crowd in search of food.

Forever Tags: @iwantthedean @authoressskr @sorenmarie87 @reigningqueenofwords @goldenolaf25 @giftofdreams @winchesterprincessbride @chelsea072498 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @itakeawfultoawholenewlevel @fictionalabyss @gabby913 @angelkurenai @sea040561 @sleepylunarwolf @smoothdogsgirl @carryonmyswansong @feelmyroarrrr @evyiione @sofreddie @sis-tafics @nitelotus @trexrambling @manawhaat @mermaidxatxheart @winchest09 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @mrswhozeewhatsis @just-another-busy-fangirl @lovebodymindstuff @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @chook007 @akshi8278 @evansrogerskitten @bringmesomepie56 @persephonehemingway @blacktithe7 @donnaintx @queenxxxsupreme @whitewolfandthefox @riviawitch3r

Pedro Tags I think will like this: @thesadvampire @le-roman-rose @mcudisiac @someone-take-my-bagelseverywhere @chibi-liz05 @marvel-avengers01 @themandjalorian @floccodineveautunnale @jassiepoohbear @gollyderek @retrobhaddie @wolf-lover74 @paryl @laubeck10 @ithinkwehitametaphor @wizard-b1tch @domino-oh-damn @c-ly-g @rosamedina92 @sunshinepascal @ariespedro @libellule2001 @ohpedromypedro @two-unbeatable-beaters @menacingmandalorian @scribbledghost @spacegayofficial @ariasfandom @lannister-slings-and-arrows @sendhoots @stevieharrrr @dindjarindiaries @hiscyarika @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @jimmythegirl @catfishingmorales @generaldamneron @cptnbvcks @swhiskeys @honeychicanawrites @thepascalorian @ladydahliawrites @roboboyjinx-writes @zeldasayer @damerondjarin @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch @aerynwrites @mandadoration @absurdthirst @huliabitch @gryffindorwriter @ghostofthebarricade @astrolo-galaxy @siempre-pedro @cherryplasmids @madadlorian @sithlordmando @bubble-tea-bunny @beskars @longitud-de-onda @archieimagines @outfatuating @lesqui @inknopewetrust @softpedropascal @pascalisthepunkest @swimmingbyrd @buckyodinson @everstarry @waywardodysseys @paniclana @tiffdawg @siempre-pedro @fandom-imagines-stories @umbrellasandlassos @kingsmanstories @bucks-angels @the-real-xhorse

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal au #pedro pascal drabble #the mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian imagine #mando reader #real people fic #rpf #pedro pascal fluff #din djarin #mando #scarlettwitcher original

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 4 years

Text

Enchanter Come to Me

When Cullen comes to the Tavern one night, Lydia dances and enchants, hoping he will come to her even if she knows he won’t. She hopes to tell him something, something important, though the night may offer more than she initially thought.

Cullen x Lydia Trevelyan, about 4,000 words. Smut. NSFW. There is some serious lemonade making in this. The piece also talks about his past in Kirkwall, with some first times, oral sex, and sexually confident, lightly dominant Cullen. (With more in the next chapter.) This is part one of two :)

READ ON A03

He’s here.

The Commander doesn’t often habit the Herald’s Rest, so his presence draws attention from many men and women alike. When Lydia first sees him enter she also sees the rush of soldiers rising from the tables with their mead. So sorry Commander, reporting for duty at once sir, yes sir! Cullen, mildly amused, assures them that they are off duty and it’s alright. He’s off duty himself.

He’s never off-duty, Lydia thinks to herself, but indeed he doesn’t wear his armor or mantle—thank the Maker—but a simple red tunic with breeches. He takes a seat by Captain Rylen, one of the only people who can crack his professional façade and make him laugh. Except, of course, for her. Once. Mildly embroiled with a thing often called jealousy, she watches Cullen laugh at something Rylen says.

Once, he laughed at her ridiculous quips that she always used to offer to Josephine when it came to the visiting Orlesian nobles, and when they played chess not too long ago in the garden, she saw him smiling from the corner of her eye at her concentrated face before eventually giving up and giggling. He was patient with her novice chess skills, and she’s certain he let her win. He may be obstinate, but he is kind. He always used to ask if she’s alright, if she’s holding up. We asked so much of you, he said once. And when never wondered if you were alright. From Haven, he found her in the snow and carried her home.

She knows. He’ll never talk to her again.

She knows that, so she doesn’t bother. So, unbothered, when the band begins to play, she’s nudges Sera next to her for a dance, making sure she’s in his line of sight. To the gentle beat of the drum and lute, their hands linked, they make time to the music. She’s thankful for her choice in outfit, as she wears a blue gathered skirt that dances with her, and as she quickens her pace her sleeves drop from her shoulders and her brown hair falls from it’s bun. She’s painted her lips red as well—a favorite shade of blue-toned red that matches both her vibrant blue eyes and light brown skin. When Sera lets go, tired, she finds herself next to Dorian, and he laughs and they dance together. From one companion to the next—Bull, Krem, Cassandra even with some goading after a noise of disgust—Lydia dances. They clap for her, her people who have given their lives for her cause without truly knowing her, but at least on this night, they know she loves to dance. Indeed, she dances with one after the other learning their names—Bevel, Ophelia, Connor, Falia, all until she’s in the arms of a scout named Jim. He can’t move, he’s blocky and his starstruck attitude prevent the concentration he needs in his footwork, but Lydia laughs it off and promises he’s doing well.

“Your ladyship,” he says, far too excited as Lydia is forced to take the lead, “your hair smells like jasmine.”

“My perfume,” she says, the two of them heading into a corner next to the bar. “Oh…please don’t, you’re going to step on my foot…oh I think you should practice more…”

“Pardon. Allow me.”

Jim says it before Lydia can, “oh, Commander, of course,” and wordlessly Lydia take’s Cullen’s hand—his ungloved hand—and he pulls her into his frame just as Maryden begins to sing “Enchanter.” Before she can think this isn’t happening, as she was convinced he wouldn’t speak to her again, she smells the elderflower and oakmoss from his shirt, (a trick his mother taught him to keep clothes fresh, he confided once.) she knows it’s real. It’s him. He has her in his arms.

“I’m afraid I can’t dance,” he says, self-deprecatingly so, and she lets him pull her closer, to where she can feel his beating heart. He’s somewhat right—he’s unsure of his footwork and where he should take them on the floor, but he holds onto her hand, the other on the small of her back, and he keeps his eyes on her, even as the music changes to a softer, melodic lute.

“You’re not bad,” she compliments, a small offering of peace after his own offering. Of course they’ve been pleasant to one another in the War Room or when she comes to his office to discuss the Red Templars, but not since she spoke to him in the garden have they spoken as acquaintances, friends, more.

He thanks her with the slightest of blushes, and they sway together, his heartbeat never truly easing as Maryden sings, enchanter come to me. She apologized in the war room hours after their confrontation, Leliana of all people inspiring her. (“I know you are frustrated. I am too. But…he has been through so much he’d rather forget. Sometimes I think he looks at me and remembers. He cares for his soldiers, and the Inquisition. I believe now is what matters.”) After her apology, he said it was “forgotten,” if not forgiven before he moved on to the Red Templars. He was too business-like after, too cold, and he must have seen how her heart ached.

But she did it all herself. He had such warmth before when he spoke to her. Smiled at her, rare for him, and he wasn’t beyond light teasing when they played chess together. After she confronted him, he erected an icy wall that only cracked after her apology. Even now as they dance, even as his eyes remain fixated on her lips and her eyes, she knows. He doesn’t want to be hurt again.

But why is he dancing with her? Why did he take her into his arms?

The questions ignite a fire, and she can’t take it anymore. “Cullen,” she says, “May we speak elsewhere?”

She plans on speaking outside the tavern, but it’s crowded with soldiers watching a friendly sparring match and she knows she can’t do it there. Before when she confronted him it was in the garden, and she was fully aware that a crowd gathered to watch the Inquisitor’s tongue lashing at the Commander. Inside the hall, she thinks, , but there are people there as well, visiting nobles from Orlais and Ferelden both that she will not let into her world. With no other option, she suggests, “My room?”

There’s apprehension. “is it proper?” he asks, but she assures she wants private, and when Josephine hired only the master masons for Skyhold’s repairs, she asked the Inquisitor’s chamber be just that, a private oasis.

“It’s practically the size of my old quarters that I used to share in the Circle,” Lydia says. “And there’s a fire going. It’ll be warm.”

Still apprehensive, he none the less agrees and follows her up the stairs and into her room. Once inside, she remembers the decanter of sweet wine she swiped from the kitchens with permission from the cook Emmaline (“You need a treat,” she said, one of the few who ever said such thing to her_ and pours both herself and Cullen a glass in a silver goblet. As she heads over and hands him the wine, she decides to crack the unease by way of light jokes, prattling on about actually seeing him out of his armor and mantle. Not only that, but he isn’t working. Surely now griffons will fly across Skyhold. He smirks. “I saw Cole before coming to the Tavern” he says. “He told me he didn’t know the armor came off.”

“Wasn’t sure if I did either.”

He grins. “Well. As you can see….”

Certainly, she sees. His burgundy shirt is open at the collar, the briefest bit of golden hair peeking through. The mantle and heavy plates have hidden his physic, she sees. His arms, forearms and shoulders are broad, typical of many Ferelden men she has met. However, it is his bare hands that she is drawn to. She’s so used to his brown gloves that his bare hands seem too intimate. They too are broad, and his fingers long. There are scratches here and there, but they only make them look more lived.

She offers him to sit on the throw rug near the fire, and he does as Lydia readjusts her gathered blue skirt, setting her wine down on the stone floor next to the furred rug. “Cozy,” he comments, and she agrees. She tells him there is always a fire in her room when she comes home, curtesy of too many kind people who take care of her in that way.

But as she talks more of her room, the blue curtains and blue bed sheets, the four poster from the Marches, and the majestic view outside the open window, she realizes she’s stalling. She has to say what she wants to say. He deserves it.

“Cullen,” she begins, thinking of that life, what he has done and what he will continue to do, not before, because he’s given her no reason to think otherwise. “I wanted to tell you again.”

She observes his face. His amber eyes are trailed to her, kind, but they don’t forget.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, words meaningless, but offering them anyway. “When Hawke told me about Kirkwall and the things that happened, I shouldn’t have asked you like I did.”

He sighs. “Inquisitor—”

“I know I already apologized. But things haven’t been the same between us. I thought we were friends. And...” Her cheeks turn hot. “I ruined it didn’t I?”

“No.”

She feels as though he has inched closer to her, his fingers mere centimeters away from hers. “I wanted to tell you. I planned on it—first thing I was going to do when you came back from Crestwood,” he said. “Truly, I wanted to tell you for so long. But I was worried you’d…think less of me.”

She thought about it for a long time after Hawke told her the truth about him in Crestwood, that it took him ten years to see through Meredith, and he thought less of mages during those ten years. But she never saw that when he was with her, when they talked and laugh. She saw a man who worked too hard to keep his men safe, who poured over reports and missives for hours, and who respected her, a mage. He defended her to Roderick in Haven, after he called her mage, infidel. He respected her. Talking with him, she felt her titles strip away until she was only a woman, only Lydia. In turn, he was her Commander, he was Cullen.

The past mattered, but the present mattered the most.

“Inquisitor—”

“Please, call me Lydia,” she says. “You called me Lydia after you found me in the snow and you carried me home, but you haven’t since. Please.”

He looks into her eyes, the fire crackling. So she pleads once more, “forgive me please.” Then, she adds, “I was wrong before in the garden. You’re not a coward. I should have never called you that.”

“But I was once,” he says with a long, defeated sigh. “I couldn’t see. I was blinded by rage. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner, known I was complicit. Lydia…” He looks away from her eyes, toward the fire. “I…I understand if don’t want anything more than friendship, or even if you don’t want that. I shouldn’t have come to the tavern, but I thought…”

“I liked your hands on me Cullen.”

He meets her eyes, though she is the one that inches closer. “Forgive me,” she beseeches again.

She can’t help but notice how he looks at her painted lips. “Forgiven,” he mutters. “But, forgive me. Not for my past. I know you can’t, no one can. But forgive me for not telling you sooner. I was too afraid you wouldn’t…” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think you would want me.”

That was something that hurt, she realized moments after she called him a coward and saw his face. She did still want, because she knew who he was then. Her commander, Cullen. It took nearly loosing him to find out, and that hurt most of all.

“From now on, tell me everything,” she whispers. “And I’ll do the same.”

“I can’t stop thinking of you.”

She stares, her heart beating quickly. She has a river of thoughts but she cannot speak, and when he mistakes her silence, he rises from the rug, hurt again.

And Maker she doesn’t want him hurt again.

“I should go,” he says. “I’ve taken too much of your time. I—”

“No.”

She rises and grabs his shoulder. He stops. She knows, she tells him. She has known. She senses it every time before when they were together, knew it when he saw his face fall after she called him a coward in the garden. And she keeps her vow, by telling him the same. She can’t stop thinking of him.

“You knew I’d be there tonight,” she says. “You wanted me in your arms. You came for me.”

The enchanter she was, she came to him too.

He nods. Her hand finding his, he pulls it into his. It is her marked hand he holds. She feels as though she should pull away, and yet his amber eyes speak a different tale. He will not harm her, he will not turn away. And then he presses his lips to her palm, against her mark. One, and then another. Desperate kisses, anguished kisses, kisses that say I need you.

They’re in each other’s arms, and fingers twist through his hair, his hands splayed against her back. He kisses with his whole being, pours every ounce of his soul as he captures her bottom lip and she answers in turn. They pull away, but not completely, their foreheads pressed together.

“Don’t go,” she pleads.

“If I stay longer, people will talk.”

“You care about that?”

She feels his smile against her. “No.”

“Then stay.”

“It’s too soon to stay,” he mutters, though she can see that veneer of a blushing gentleman is disappearing with each gentle rock of her hip against his. He’s hard, already.

It’s thrilling.

“Too soon,” he says again. “Lydia…?”

“Why?”

The question flummoxes him. His bare hand caresses her cheek, warm and gentle.

She reminds him of their recent promise.

“I’ve thought of you since I saw you,” he answers, needy, hungrily. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you since I saw you by the rift. But…you’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war, and you haven’t always seen me in the best light.”

“I don’t care. I want us to be together.”

She speaks it with such desperation, but she knows it’s true for him. She can feel his want pressed against her.

“Lydia…”

“We don’t have to. I understand. Maybe it’s too fast or it’s not proper, but—”

Words she means to say fly away. She loses herself in the tangle of arms and lips, and when he says, “fuck what’s proper,” she soars, she dances, she is, and she exists as a nothing but wanted and hungry woman in the arms of her lover until they are standing at the edge of her bed. She’s not the Inquisitor, she’s Cullen’s lover. The word ignites her, lover. Has she thought of herself, what she had needed during this time? Has he? Fuck the world at war. In her room, they can be each other’s.

Indeed, they dance like they did earlier, but with entirely different steps as they touch, kiss, feel as she leads them backwards to her bed. “Fuck what’s proper,” she says, mirroring his words. “Be rough.”

The words alight him, and yet even though he holds her, she can feel a wall between them erecting.

“Are you sure? Now?” he asks.

“Maker, yes,” she replies.

“We don’t have to. We can be slow.”

“We’ve talked as friends, we’ve argued, we’re back again, here. Cullen, Knight-Captain, Commander, when you were in Kirkwall, did you think of what you wanted? Were you selfish?”

He shakes his head. “Be rough,” she says, “be greedy. Tell me what to do and what you want. I have everything to give.”

“Let me give it back.”

Her fingers twist in his shirt. “Do you know what it’s like, to be the Inquisitor? I’m not a woman to these people…I’m not Lydia. I’m a symbol. I don’t want that with you. I want to be wanted, desired, tasted.” She holds him, and whispers in his ear, “I want it from you.”

“I…I’m scarred,” he tells her, as if he’s ashamed. “You’ll see and—"

She holds his face in her hands, kisses his forehead before he can finish. “I don’t care. I want to see.”

“Lydia—”

She unbuttons her shirt, assuring him it’s alright when he asks what she’s doing. It flutters to the floor, and she gulps before she reaches behind her and tugs down at her breast band. With her breasts free, she lets him see. It’s a jagged scar across her chest, pink from where it healed, and barely touching her left breast. He stares with awe, he stares with something else in his eyes.

“A templar.” she says. “When the Circles fell, I tried to go back home. Ironically, I got this when I was trying to go back to the Circle.”

His fingers lightly ghost over the pinkish mark, against the valley between her breasts, but carefully avoiding them, for now. He traces lightly before he places his hands over her bare hips, and he kisses the mark, grazing his lips over her skin. Her hand wraps around his hair, mussing the waves into curls, keeping him there until he rises to kiss her. They fall against the bed, his body pressed flush against hers. He only pauses his ministrations to kick off his boots, and Lydia does the same, tossing off her flat shoes with a dull thud to the floor. She tosses off her skirt, Cullen helping her until the only thing covering her body is her undergarment. He though, is still covered. When her hands reach to remedy that, he helps her.

She wants to see. She rises when his shirt is gone, skimming his hands over his shoulders and the blonde hair on his chest, kissing the reddish burns from fire, the marks from swords, and then finally, the scar across his lip, rough yet smooth underneath her darting tongue. Their lips meet again, and she settles against the pillows, his body acting as her blanket. He mutters words of how sweet her kisses are, how beautiful she is, and then he grows lewder. He never imagined he’d get to feel her, never thought he’d bury himself inside her.

“More,” she urges, enflamed. “Tell me what you want.”

“Put your hands over your head.”

She obeys with ardor, and his hands skim against her arms, lips following where he touched. He nips her chin and then his warm mouth is over her neck, and even in places where she never thought there should be kisses—underneath her arms, underneath her breasts. He kisses again that scar before he palms her breasts, pinches her nipples lightly and makes her cry out.

“Be loud,” he instructs, husky and low, and slipping her undergarments down. “I have everything to give you.”

He does. He peeks from between her thighs as his tongue darts against her inner thighs. He licks her clit once, and then again before using the pad of his thumb. She could never pleasure herself the way he pleasures her—her hands are too delicate, too unlived. His are strong, and she grabs the other as he slips a finger inside, moves in and out until her thighs quake around him. She shudders with the bliss that his tongue brought, and Maker, he laps her arousal, he kisses her with his arousal still on his lips and tongue.

She could spend the night kissing him, and kissing him only, her hands wrapped around his cheeks, the way he poured his whole being into each press. And yet he rocks against her, and she instinctively allows her hand to travel. He gasps when she caresses his clothed cock, allows her to help him take the off his breeches. He’s warm against the juncture of her thigh, straining as he moves against her thigh to abate himself somewhat.

He looks at her in the eye, breathing heavily and pupils blown wide. She nods. She thinks he meant to be slow, but she’s warm and welcoming from the art of his hands and mouth, and she did tell him, rough. He obeys, as he’s inside all at once, filling her to the brim.

She meant not to cry out, and she succeeded, but her face betrayed her.

“Lydia,” he breathes, exasperated, cradling her face head in his hands, “you’re a virgin.”

A man…Cullen is inside her. That alone thrills. “Not anymore,” she assures.

“I should have known. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says with a smile, moved by his concern. “I wanted you.”

“Does it hurt?”

He’s remained inside her during their dialogue, and though it never truly hurt—it was more an adjustment to the feel of him inside, a slight burn at the stretch. She shakes her head, and she gasps as he moves, holding onto his arms, squeezing the sinews. She throws her head against the pillow and he rewards her with reverent kisses against her neck and collar, and then again to her lips, catching her sighs of delight.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as he moves, grounds her to the bed, centers her world from the Inquisition to only the two of them.

“I didn’t want you gentle.”

“I’d prefer to make love to you, not fuck. There’s a difference.”

She plants her feet against the bed. “Oh. Have you fucked before then?”

He smirks, a silent, now Lydia, truly? And she knows the answer. It doesn’t matter, she absolves, as they belong to the moment.

The moment continues, her Commander wrapped in a bliss she’s never seen from him before. “Wrap your legs around me,” he asks, and when she does, she angles her hips just so, to where his feel is deeper, more intense. He asks her to touch herself, he won’t last much longer, and she obeys, sticking her hand between them and rubbing her clit before he decides he’d rather his hand there. He stimulates inside and outside, an intoxicating duet, and her second orgasm comes again with fervor and heat, a rush. She falls when he pulls out, mourns the loss of his cock, but the feelings are brief. His earlier action inspires her to slap his hand away, bring him his end with her hand. Flushed, illuminated by the fire, hair in disarray, golden, and at her mercy, his moan as like music, and he spills onto her belly. A moment and a lifetime together, both ended too soon.

And yet she feels deliciously satisfied, and wanted. Loved.

Her heart still races as his hand rummages through the bedside table, finding a cloth. He lays by her side to clean his spent, and she can’t help but blush—though she obviously knows why he pulled out, she never thought of a man’s seed on her skin before. Romance novels often didn’t touch on that, or the sweat, or the moments between when they re-adjusted positions and spoke. Lydia finds she prefers it their way to the novels.

Eventually, their eyes find each other, and his smile is radiant. He leans by her side and that kiss is the sweetest.

“Don’t you dare talk of going now,” she says to him. “Stay.”

Enchanted, spellbound, he says he will. And she asks again, because she finds she must, do you forgive me?

“You ask me after I’ve been inside you?” he asks, holding back a chuckle. “Lydia, dear. Yes.”

She tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and she tells him that the man she is with now, she likes what she sees in more ways than one. He boyishly admits he’s glad of it, also in more ways than one.

“Golden lion,” she mutters. “Beautiful, radiant man.”

“Lion?” he repeats, amused. “Maker…”

She doesn’t ask if that makes her a lioness. Rather, she calls herself an enchanter, and she casts a spell on him, so the night can stretch longer than the hours it usually lasts.

“It’s not over yet,” he tells her.

“No. But I want you to sleep. I have you now not working, so please sleep while you’re here with me. You deserve it. Darling.”

Darling. She likes calling him that, and indeed he has the softest of smiles on his lips as she wraps a blanket around them, kissing his forehead after. Truly, it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, and he falls asleep. When he’s asleep, she promises him what she’ll promise come morning: she’ll never hurt him again.

She knows, without a doubt, that the same is true for him.

A/N thanks for reading! If you are familiar with my long fic in Waking Dreams things operate differently there, but I was inspired to explore a different way to write their coming together. thank you for reading!

#Cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #cullen fic #lemons #SMUT #smuttty smut smut smut #will put on a03 tomorrow #also Lydia is in my profile and mobile sidebar #:)#lemonade

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greaterawarness · 3 years

Text

Brothers CH. 3 Contactless And Poor

(Thanks to Fives new job he learns where Rex and the other Mandalorian clones hangout.)

After two weeks of living on Coruscant Fives and his brothers were starting to settle in. They made it top priority to find jobs considering how fast they were blowing through 99’s trust fund for just buying normal everyday things. They hadn’t expected how hard that would be in such a large city. They imagined there would be plenty of jobs out there. And there were. Just not for clones. The first week was spent hearing possible employers explain how they didn’t want violent clones working in their businesses. This gave them no choice but to take whatever job that would hire them. For now, they would stay in their dingy apartment and make the most of it.

Fives rolls onto his side to watch Cutup hit their holovid projector to try and make the image clear. When the two boxers finally appear, his brother sits back against the caf table they bought for a sad excuse for a table.

“Who’s winning?” Fives yawns as he sits up.

“Well… looks like Thrasher has the upper hand but Wolffe always finds a way to turn the tables.” Cutup says. Hevy sits next to him before handing Cutup a cup of instant noodles. They slurp loudly with their eyes glued to the fight. Fives slips his slippers on, still not comfortable touching his bare skin to the floor yet, and shuffles to the small kitchen. Droidbait is knelt down attempting to fix their oven.

“Any luck?” Fives reaches for an instant noodle cup and pours some hot water into it. Droidbait sits back with an aggravated sigh.

“Nah, hey Echo! Come give me a hand!” Droidbait calls. Echo jumps down from his bunk to help Droidbait out. Fives starts to slurp down his own noodles when Cutup and Hevy start cheering loudly. Echo, Fives, and Droidbait all walk closer to the holovid to see the famous boxer, Wolffe, take down the other man. When the bell dings the clone throws his hands up in victory along with Cutup and Hevy.

“I told you!” Cutup says. He and Hevy start roughhousing.

“We should try and make it to one of his fights.” Hevy says as he throws a punch. Cutup easily dodges.

“Yeah, it’ll just take all of our rent money but sure!” Cutup says. Droidbait and Echo return to fixing the oven while Fives watches his two idiot brothers play fight. When his watch begins to beep, he lets out a groan. Hevy and Cutup stop for a moment to give him a sad grin.

“Back to work?” Hevy asks. Fives lets out a long sigh before pulling his work close on.

“Back to work.” He says while putting the Greasy Bolts cap on his head. The only job that would hire Fives was a fast-food joint. Despite the name it happened to be quite popular, so they hired Fives as their delivery guy. They only paid him two credits a day but told him he could keep all the tips. It didn’t sound to bad until he realized that no one tips clones. It was incredibly frustrating to see nonclone delivery guys get tipped sometimes 20% and then to have the door shut in his face once the food was delivered. The only upside to this job that Fives could find was that they lent him a speeder to deliver food with. It wasn’t great and was decorated in neon red and yellow colors with the Greasy Bolts logo plastered boldly for everyone to see but it was still a speeder. Another positive if he was being honest was it was also letting him learn the city as much as anyone could.

When Fives parks the speeder outside of Greasy Bolts, he walks inside to see the manager already piling orders on the counter.

“Here,” He says not even meeting Fives eye. “We have three orders. The addresses are already in the datapad.”

“Sure thing.” Fives sighs while taking the bags of food. He takes a company datapad and walks back out to his speeder. Two women walk by making Fives blush and pull his cap down lower. They glance at him before giggling and whispering to themselves. His ears burn with embarrassment. He shoves the food into the cooler on the back of the speeder before taking off.

The first order was to an apartment building Fives knew well. He’s delivered here so many times the doorman barely acknowledges him. He also knew he wouldn’t be getting any tips. After finding the apartment and handing over the food the man inside closes the door before Fives can utter a word.

“That’s what I thought.” He sighs before heading back to the speeder. The second order was to a much nicer neighborhood closer to the surface. The people inside the nice apartment were all drunk and tried to hug him when he handed them their food. This time Fives closes the door before they could touch him. He makes it back to his speeder already exhausted. He didn’t fully understand why he was so tired. He worked harder on the farm and for longer hours, but this job drained him. He misses the farm. He misses 99. They all do but no one wants to be the first to say it. That meant being the first to admitting defeat of figuring out who they are. Fives guessed it wasn’t so bad being a normal civilian, but he still felt like there was something more out there for him. He shakes his thoughts away and focuses on finding the last address.

The third address is in a much seedier part of town. Fives wishes he could afford a blaster. He made a mental note to start saving up for one. He passes the address a few times before realizing he wasn’t delivering to an apartment but to a bar. He parks his speeder next to a long row of speeder bikes. They were all customized by their owners and looked a hell of lot better then Fives company one. The name of the bar shines bright in big neon blue lights. Fives takes the last order from the cooler and cautiously walks up the steps before entering The Resolute.

Fives freezes once he’s fully inside the bar. He holds the food order tight in his hands. Every patron inside is a clone. Not only that but they all wear a black leather jacket with 501stin blue writing on the back with odd white markings below it. They also had unique drawings and symbols drawn on the back that differed for each clone. Some clones play pool off to the side while others drink in large groups at tables. Some play cards with others watching a rerun of a Wolffe boxing match. Fives stands completely still unable to move or speak. When the doors open behind him, he leaps out of the way. He almost drops the food in his hands when Kix shuffles through the bar. He doesn’t wear his Mandalorian armor though, instead he’s dressed in scrubs.

“Denal!” He calls out tiredly while taking a seat at the bar. The clone behind the bar gives him a grin. “Give me the usual.”

The barkeeper Denal slides Kix a shot glass and then places an entire bottle of whiskey on the counter. Fives watches in the corner of the bar as Jesse and Hardcase appear from a group of clones playing cards.

“Another rough day?” Jesse chuckles before trying to reach behind the bar for a drink just for his hand to get slapped by Denal.

“You try explaining to a helicopter mom that her kid’s cough isn’t deadly it’s just a cold! Just for her to insult me, the nurse, and all clones for being incompetent.” Kix says before taking a shot of his whiskey. Jesse and Hardcase aren’t wearing Mandalorian armor either. They wear normal street clothes under their black leather jackets. Both of their jackets reflect their face tattoos on their back. While Fives watches and ease drops, he doesn’t notice someone walking up to him.

“You lost?” a female voice asks. Fives flinches before realizing a Tortuga girl is staring at him. He arches a brow at the only nonclone in the bar.

“Uh…” Is all he can say. She gives a smile before taking the datapad from his hand.

“Oh, I can help you find this guy.” She says. She walks out from the corner of the bar. She clears he throat before yelling “Hey! Kano! You’re foods here!”

The room is silent for a moment before a clone’s head pops up from the couch facing the holovid of the boxing match. He leaps over the back of the sofa before walking up to Fives.

“Great, I’m starving!” the clone Kano says. Fives hands him his food now feeling all eyes on him. He’s never felt more embarrassed about his job before. This was somehow worse than the girls laughing at him. The clone reaches into his pocket and holds his fist out. Fives stares at it for a moment confused. The clone arches a brow. “You want a tip, don’t you?”

“Oh!” Fives holds his hand out and feels a large number of credits fall in it. He stares down at the twenty credits in disbelief. “But… your food was only six credits.”

Kano takes a bite of the fried dough and shrugs.

“You’re a clone. Clones look after other clones.” He says before walking back to the couch. Fives puts the credits in his pocket before looking to the girl.

“What is this place? A clone bar?” Fives asks. The girl crosses her arms and tilts her head with a chuckle.

“Kinda. This is a bar for the 501stclone battalion. Most of these guys fought in the war with some being brought in afterwards. It’s a safe place for them to unwind.” She explains. Fives stares at Kix, Jesse, and Hardcase. He wants to ask about their Mandalorian armor but didn’t know how. He swallows trying to think of a way to bring it up when he notices the markings on her face. When she sees him staring, she frowns. “What?”

“Sorry, I just realized the white markings on their jackets match the ones on your face.” He says feeling his face grow hot. She lets out a laugh.

“Yeah, they were jealous of all the other clone groups having mascots and decided that my face would be the 501st.” She laughs to herself.

“Other clone groups?” Fives now stares in curiosity. She arches a brow at him.

“Why? You wanna join one?” She asks.

“Absolutely.” He says making the girl’s expression soften. She opens her mouth to say something when a door to the back room opens. Fives tenses when Rex walks out. Most people in the bar acknowledge him in some way. Some give little whoops while others do polite nods or gestures. He doesn’t wear Mandalorian armor either. Today he wears black pants and a dark shirt under his own leather jacket. When he turns showing his back, he doesn’t have the girl’s face markings but the jaig eyes from his helmet. His gaze falls on Fives and the girl.

“Hey,” He calls making Fives freeze. “Wanna be a part of this or not?”

Fives stares at Rex feeling like his heart might beat out of his chest. His mouth felt dry as he tries to form words. This is it.

“Yeah,” The girl next to him calls. Fives feels his heart drops. “Tell them I’ll be there in a minute.”

Rex nods before disappearing back into the backroom. Fives pulls his cap down lower while heading for the door. He can’t seem to leave fast enough. When he reaches his speeder, he notices the girl running after him.

“Hold up!” She calls. Fives can’t look her in the eye without his face growing a deeper shade of red. “You wanna join, don’t you?”

Fives takes a deep breath and turns to face her. He gives a nod.

“You think they’d actually let me in?” He asks after crossing his arms.

“Well… they don’t just let anyclone in. You have to prove to either Rex or Anakin that you can keep up.” The girl explains. “There are conditions and… well they don’t just sit around a bar you know.”

“I know.” Fives says meeting her eyes.

“Good.” The girl gives a curious grin. “Then you know that if you’re going to be a part of any clone clan that you’re going to need a blaster. More than that, they need to know that if you go out on a job that you aren’t going to freeze up and get killed or get any of the others killed.”

“Well… how do I do that?” Fives asks uncrossing his arms. The girl lifts a hand to her chin while thinking.

“Well for starters I would look into purchasing a blaster. Then I would try and find a contact that will hire you for jobs. Build up your resume and prove to a clan leader that you can keep up then you’re in.” She gives a shrug. Fives sighs while leaning against his speeder.

“Easier said then done.” He snorts. The girl gives another smile.

“If this is what you want then that’s what you have to do.” She says. he nods while staring at the ground before lifting his eyes to her again.

“Then names Fives by the way.” He says standing up straight so he can hold his hand out.

“Ahsoka Tano.” The girl says shaking his hand. When they release Fives gets on his speeder.

“Thank you,” he says, starting up the bike. “But I have to ask, why are you here? You’re not a clone.”

She gives grin while walking back towards the bar.

“Why don’t you join and find out?” She calls. He watches her disappear inside before taking off.

***

“I found them!” Fives yells while bursting through their front door. His brothers slowly look up from what they were doing.

“Found what?” Echo asks. Fives throws his cap on his bed while walking to the center of the room.

“I found Rex and the other clone Mandos!” he says. This makes his brothers sit up intrigued. Fives tells him about The Resolute and everything Ahsoka told him. When he’s done, they sit in relative silence in deep thought.

“So how are we supposed to build our resume?” Droidbait asks.

“We pretty much have to become bounty hunters.” Hevy sighs making Echo and Droidbait exchange a look.

“Don’t bounty hunters usually work on multiple different planets?” Echo asks. “We don’t have a ship and we can barely afford the subway here.”

“Not to mention we don’t have a contact that will hire us for jobs. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for that.” Fives adds. They all sit back feeling discouraged before Cutup sits up.

“I… actually might know someone who can help.” He says slowly.

They end up following Cutup out of their apartment and through the streets of their level. Echo and Fives stay close to each other when they turn down a dimly lit street. Cutup stops in front of a laundromat.

“Cutup,” Hevy starts when they step inside. “What are we doing here?”

“Just wait.” Cutup says before walking to a girl sitting on a stool in the back. She lifts her eyes from her magazine and frowns at him.

“Hey, don’t make me throw you out again!” The woman warns. Cutup holds his hands up in defense while Fives and his brothers roll their eyes.

“Only Cutup would find a way to get thrown out of a laundromat…” Echo mutters.

“Hey, Rafa come on!” he says only making the woman, Rafa, frown deeper. “You know me!”

“No, I don’t!” She says crossing her arms.

“Okay, so you don’t really know me, butyou know I’m not a snitch.” He says making everyone’s eyes land on Rafa. Her eyes go wide and then narrow back down with a frown.

“What do you want, clone?” she asks finally.

“I know you work with contacts. We need one.” Cutup says getting serious. Rafa rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“And why pray tell would I ever tell you?” She asks holding her hands out. Fives and his brothers look back and forth from Rafa and Cutup. It almost felt like watching a boxing match. Who would win? The idiot or the laundromat lady?

“Because I’m charming?” Cutup says with a big grin.

“Yeah, as charming as a bantha maybe.” Rafa snorts.

“Ooo good hit.” Echo whispers making Fives chuckle.

“Counter?” Fives whispers.

“Right because you’re just oozingcharm and I can’t help but notice the coat you’re wearing was the same one I saw a lady bring in a few days ago!”

Rafa’s mouth drops for a second before she stands toe to toe with Cutup.

“Well, at least I mind my own business and don’t harass business owners because I’m too dumb to find my own contact!” Rafa shouts.

“That was a tough one. Can he turn the tides?” Echo whispers while Fives, Droidbait, and Hevy hold in laughter. Cutup and Rafa both stare at them.

“Shut up!” they yell only making them want to laugh more. Rafa and Cutup stare at each other for a moment before Cutup reaches into his pocket and holds out some credits. Rafa’s eyes stare at the money.

“This could be it…” Fives says before Rafa takes the credits. This prompts Fives and his brothers to burst out laughing earning death glares from Rafa.

“Fine. You know what? I do have a contact for you.” She says turning to write something down. She hands Cutup a sheet of paper. “Go to that address. Knock on the door. The password is gedetir.”

“Thank you.” Cutup smiles.

“Now get out of my laundromat!” She yells with a finger pointed at the door. They don’t waste any time as they run out of the shop. They each reach over to either pat Cutups back, punch his arm, or give him a noogie.

“Cutup, how do you already have a reputation at places?” Fives asks as they walk down the street.

“Because unlike all of you self-isolating weirdos I go out and actually talk to people.” He explains. Hevy gives him a playful shove.

“Those poor people.” Hevy chuckles prompting Cutup to try and get him in a headlock. When Echo, Fives, and Droidbait keep walking they eventually stop their roughhousing and catch up. Fives notices Echo in deep thought.

“What’s wrong?” He asks him. Echo doesn’t answer at first.

“It’s the password,” he says when they all crowd into a lift. “It’s Mando’a. it means beg or to plead.”

“You know… what are we supposed to do when we get there anyway? Tell them that we have no weapons or a ship, but you should totally give us a job because I really want it?” Droidbait asks. It was true. They hadn’t exactly thought this through. But it seemed like no one wanted to back out from it.

“We’ll… figure it out when we get there.” Hevy eventually says. They say very little once they get to the right level. This level is the lowest they’ve been on since being in Coruscant. The only light is from the flickering street lamps. They stay close to each other as the feeling of being watched intensifies the further they go. Hevy stops at the top of some stairs leading down to a red door.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Echo says before Hevy takes a deep breath and walks down to knock on the door. A gatekeeper droid pokes its eye at them.

“Gedetir.” Hevy says with way more confidence than he probably had. The droid pops its eyes back in before the door slides open. A female Mandalorian stands on the other side. They stand frozen until she motions for them to follow. They walk-through single file. They walk down a dark hallway with walls covered in graffiti. At first, they can only hear the loud music playing from the speakers overhead but eventually make out screams coming from a distant room. Fives feels Echo’s anxiety building up. Fives looks over his shoulder at his brother and gives a reassuring smile, but it does little to help him. The female Mandalorian takes them into a larger room. Another female Mandalorian stands behind a desk talking to someone on a holovid. Her armor is jet black with tally marks covering most areas. A black tapestry hangs on the wall behind the desk with giant blue jaig eyes staring down at them.

“… you’ll get me those codes. Unless you want your precious empire to burn down with you?” the Mandalorian says to the man on the holovid. The man drops his head before looking back up at the woman.

“As you wish…” the holovid shuts off after that. The Mandalorian turns to face them. She lets out a low laugh before slowly walking around the desk taking in the sight of Fives and his brothers. Fives feels trapped in the Mandalorian’s gaze. She leans against the desk.

“What do we have here?”

Read full story HERE on AO3.

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jenmyeons · 4 years

Text

Crush Culture

moodboard credit to crush culture’s biggest fan @kyungseokie <3

Pairing: kyungsoo x female reader Summary: Turns out drunk-dialing your crush in the middle of the night isn’t as bad as you initially thought.

Word count: 1620

Author’s note: what was supposed to be a drabble turned into a lot a little more but this is hopefully the fluffiness you were seeking jae! can’t believe i’m taking a fluff request from the queen of fluff herself @j-pping this is wild

A dragged out ‘Kyungsoo~’ greets him over the line when he in his disoriented sleepy state answers the phone with a grumble.

The sound of your voice with the unmistakable drunken slur immediately has him perking up as he leans in squinting, trying to make sense of what ungodly hour of the night or morning it is. In the end, Kyungsoo gives up and instead asks why he’s the one at the receiving end of your drunk dialing.

“I- I just-” you hiccup while trying to get the words out. “I just missed you so, so, so, so, so much. Why didn’t you come with me and the tall ones out for drinks, Kyungsoo~?”

Kyungsoo’s brows draw together in confusion. “The tall ones… do you mean Chanyeol and Sehun?”

The answer he receives is an almost incomprehensible one but he thinks he makes out a yes. Relief. At least you’re in somewhat good hands, Kyungsoo thinks to himself.

“Where are you? Are you still with the idiots?” He asks, worry lacing his still sleep-heavy voice.

“No, no, no!” You interject. “They left for this… this… I don’t know,” you relent at last and Kyungsoo can feel his stomach sinking at the thought of you out by yourself without a sober cell in your body.

“I wanna go home” There are sniffles heard now and Kyungsoo sighs with defeat, you always were an emotional drunk.

“Tell me where you are and I’ll pick you up,” there is no hesitation in his statement and before you’ve even replied with a vague description of your whereabouts, Kyungsoo already has a pair of sweats on, heading for the door without bothering with a jacket. He quickly slips his shoes on and walks out of the apartment with determination in his step.

The drive from Kyungsoo’s home isn’t very far from your location and he is relieved to see that you followed his simple instructions to stay where you are while he makes the drive to pick you up.

You’re seated at the sidewalk with your high heeled shoes taken off and discarded to the side, forgotten, as your knight in shining armor pulls up with his sleek car a few meters away. In the time since Kyungsoo ended the call with you in order to concentrate on his driving, you’d managed to at least somewhat sober up the slightest bit. The lack of alcohol fogging your brain quickly reminds you of the predicament you’ve put yourself in; drunk dialing long time friend and crush in the middle of the night, forcing him to come save you from what could otherwise end in disaster, had you actually stayed out in the middle of the night all alone.

The door of the driver’s side opens and a disheveled and unfairly good looking Kyungsoo appears in your line of sight. Looking good despite being rudely awakened at an ungodly hour should be illegal, you think to yourself.

Without much more than a greeting and a ‘how are you feeling?’, to which you answer with an unconvincing ‘fine’, Kyungsoo pulls you up from the sidewalk and steers you over to his car.

The vehicle smells like him is all you can think as you buckle your seatbelt in silence. As if every little thing doesn’t already remind you of him. His own natural scent along with the faint hint of his cologne feels like it will consume you and you can’t wait for this drive to soon be over. Streetlights pass by in a blur and Kyungsoo’s soft humming to whatever tune is playing on the radio and fatigue takes you over. The alcohol starts wearing off and with Kyungsoo’s angelic voice, you’re quickly lulled to sleep.

Your soft snoring reaches Kyungsoo’s ears and he steals a quick glance at your sleeping state, head resting against the window, passing street lamps fleetingly lighting up your features and he thinks you look a lot younger while you’re sleeping. As quickly as he takes his eyes off the road to look at you, Kyungsoo tears his gaze away from you to focus on the task at hand. He contemplates for a while if he should make the long drive to your own place across town but decide against it as he feels a yawn separating his lips. Blinking away the fatigue which starts to once again cloud his eyes behind his thick rimmed glasses. His right hand itches to release the steering wheel and instead grab your left one which rests on your thigh. Not wanting to cross any boundaries, Kyungsoo grips the wheel a little stronger and tries thinking about something else. Anything other than how your fingers would feel intertwined with his.

The car coming to a halt in front of the familiar building of Kyungsoo’s apartment and the gentle shaking of your shoulder pulls you into consciousness. It takes a minute or two for your disoriented brain to connect the dots of your whereabouts and you send Kyungsoo a questioning look.

“I don’t trust that I can drive you all the way home without falling asleep at the wheel,” he explains softly and you know deep down that he probably doesn’t mind, he wouldn’t have picked you up otherwise, yet the need to apologize still takes over.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him sincerely and feel the warmth of a blush spreading through your cheeks. “I shouldn’t have called you this late.”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’d rather you wake me up in the middle of the night than going home all by yourself.”

Not sure what to say so you just nod and open the car door. The chill of the night air making you shiver while still being refreshing in contrast to the stuffy air inside the car.

“I’ll make you a cup of tea once we get inside,” Kyungsoo states casually, walking around the car to lead you towards the entrance of the building. Your feet slightly unsteady from a night of drinking and wearing heels.

True to his words, the first thing he does when the two of you get inside is turn the kettle on while you settle on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. Kyungsoo works in silence, only asking what kind of tea you want and you feel strangely out of place in your friend’s home. Unsure whether it’s due to the embarrassment of drunk calling your crush or the suffocating quietness but the atmosphere is making your brain malfunction. You observe how he with a familiar comfort shuffles around the kitchen, heart thumping against your rib cage as you imagine how it would be to see this on a daily basis. How lucky you would be.

Then Kyungsoo looks at you as he places the teacup in front of you and the last bit of liquid courage leaves your system in five daunting words.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your right hand instantly flies up to cover your mouth as soon as the words that have haunted you for years are spoken into existence. You watch with dread as Kyungsoo’s round eyes widen in shock, his mouth falling agape and the regret of your confession comes creeping, burning your cheeks and neck.

After an eternity of regret and furious blushing on your part, Kyungsoo finally breaks the quiet.

“Come again?”

“Please don’t make me say it again,” you plead with tears of embarrassment threatening to spill as well as a thickness building in your throat, awaiting the rejection which you’re sure will come.

In a weak attempt at gathering yourself, turn away from the intense stare of Kyungsoo’s gaze - needing to focus on anything other than the man holding your heart.

Kyungsoo, normally calm and collected can feel both his mind and heart racing from the words of the confession which still hang in the air. Waiting for him to say something - anything really. However, all words have left him and he stays rooted in his spot. The moment he has been dreaming of finally arrives and like a dumbass, he can’t even tell you he loves you too. He is so deeply in love to the point where he wonders if anyone has ever sparked such feelings in him before you. Probably not.

Your stressed out state and the way you turn your head to look away from him seems to do the trick as his hands move to cup your face at their own accord, forcing you to look back at him. There’s a fragment of a moment where Kyungsoo hesitates as he leans in before his lips lock with yours.

Instinctively, your hands find purchase at his waist - pulling him closer by the fabric of the worn out t-shirt you’re sure he only ever wears to bed. The kiss deepens at the slight tilt of Kyungsoo’s head and your mouth works against his until the lack of air becomes overbearing. As you pull apart, his hands stay firmly where your neck meets your ears, rough thumbs stroking gently at your cheeks.

“We’ll talk more about this in the morning,” he manages to make out breathily after several moments of silence. His gaze then flickering down to your forgotten teacup on the counter. “For now, just drink your tea then let’s go to bed.”

How he manages to keep up a cool exterior is beyond him and the smile playing at your lips makes his heart race wildly, making him steal a chaste kiss before settling down beside you, playing with your free hand as the two of you chat about anything other than the elephant in the room while you drink your tea.

You can definitely get used to this.

#kyungsoo #exo #exo fluff #kyungsoo fluff #kyungsoo drabble #exo drabble #exo one shot #d.o #d.o fluff #kyungsoo one shot #d.o fanfic #exo fanfic #kyungsoo fanfic

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snk-oc-guide · 3 years

Text

ehhh hi i hope you do not mind reviewing my snk oc! I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes or something, English is not my first language.. thank you in advance~

Basics Name: Ida Hoffmann Age: 16 Years Birthday: May 8th, 834 Birthplace: Wall Maria; Shiganshina District Species: Human Gender: Female

Affiliation: Scouting Legion Grad. Rank: 18 Kill Count: 3 [ 2 Solo, 1 assisted]

Appearance Ida is a short girl standing at 151cm and weighing 50kg. She has short, brown hair which she always wears in a high ponytail. She has dark green eyes and slightly tanned skin.

rowan: okay, she has short hair but wears it in a high ponytail. i know some short hair can be pulled back (like ymir's) but i don't think a high pony tail would work, unless it's at least medium-length.

a small critique, but it would bother me if i didn't point it out lol

Personality Ida is a compassionate person and cares for other people much, up to that point that she tends to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong so she can keep a close eye on others. She also always tries to cheer up those who might be upset about something and does everything in her possibilities to make them bright up. She treats everyone as nice as she can and always wears a smile on her face. Ida is overconfident with her actions, thinks she can do a certain something but actually can’t in the end. If someone asks Ida for an opinion, she clearly shows how indecisive she is, which is her biggest problem. The reason for that is what happened in Shiganshina, the happenings put her in a state where she’s very unsure about her decisions, which also shows that she isn’t a good leader person. She is also not stubborn and easily gives in if other people want something from her. Her actions are unpredictable, she often surprises others with the things she says or does, and a quite annoying habit of hers is to make (stupid) jokes.

She is superficial and shortsighted, and doesn't pay enough attention to the details of something, which in the end makes her judge situations too quickly. That is why she notices too late if, for example, her comrades need her help. But since she cares deeply about her comrades she'd always attempt to save them. Having made terrible decisions during the battles of Trost, which almost got her comrades killed, this slowly starts to take a toll on her emotional health, that's why she always keeps a smile on her face, to hide how guilty she feels.

Likes: Drawing, she did that ever since she was a little child, her brother brought her to it. Sleeping in. Since her constant training doesn't give her quite many chances to sleep, and she really loves to sleep, she takes every chance she has to sleep, even going to sleep sooner than all the other cadets. She likes to gossip, a lot. She can't stay quiet and always is blabbering about something (even though it might not make much sense).

rowan: i find it peculiar she enjoys "gossiping" since that involves talking about other people and their personal affairs behind their back. since she is a kind and caring person, i can't see her enjoying something like that tbh

Dislikes: Making decisions. She takes too long to decide and most of the times the decisions she makes are not even good. Rain, snow, winter as it's too cold for her, she dislikes cold weather as she's cold easily. Snootiness, especially regarding the military police, she thinks the people in there are "smug assholes".

Abilities/Statistics Ida is not an outstanding soldier, but she always tries to improve herself and get better day by day. The only thing that is indeed mentionable is how well she can handle the 3DMG.

3DMG: 10/10 Hand-on-Hand Combat: 2/10 Battle Skill: 6/10 Initiative: 3/10 Wits: 3/10 Strategy: 2/10 Teamwork: 2/10 Spontaneity: 10/10

She always manages to figure out something rather creative and probably very risky in heat moments. In hand-on-hand combat especially, doing things that confuse the opponent so she gets to have her chance. E.g. she yells out suddenly something to irritate her opponent [ aka "Holy hell, look, there, in the sky!" ] and then tries to take him down.

rowan: if she is good at quick/random thinking like that, i would increase her wits a little bit and make it a 5. same with hand-to-hand combat. with the skill that low, it means she is such a lousy fighter than anybody good beat her, even if she uses sneaky tactics like trying to distract them. she could take a swing, and they wouldn't even budge lol

so i would make her combat skill a 4 at the least.

i feel like since she cares so much for her teammates, her teamwork skill should be higher since she would have no problem working with them. with it being low, it sounds like she isn't a team player at all. i would make it an 8. so her new stats would look something like this:

3DMG: 10/10 Combat: 4/10 Battle Skill: 6/10 Initiative: 3/10 Wits: 5/10 Strategy: 2/10 Teamwork: 8/10 Spontaneity: 10/10

Background She grew up rather normally in the Shiganshina district, having a loving mother caring about her as her father passed away before she was born. Ida was known in Shiganshina as the girl pestering people daily with her good mood and many many questions. Ida had a brother, Martin, who head off to the military, and graduated to later join the Stationary Guard, who was also a victim of Ida's curiousity about literally everything. Ida loved her brother really much, and saw him as a rolemodel and always told everyone how "cool and awesome" he was. Since Ida was a open-minded girl and friendly, she had many friends she'd hang out with outside daily.

Everything was quite fine until the day when wall maria got breached. Ida managed to survive that day, but had to watch how her own brother got eaten right before her eyes just because he wanted to save her from getting eaten. She managed to get to the saving gate eventually and as Ida glanced back at the district sitting in the refugee boat, and caught sight of the armored titan, she realized she would join the military just like her brother, to learn how to defeat titans and not just stand there doing nothing like that day. She wanted to revenge her brother and fulfill his wish he had told her right before he got eaten - survive.

rowan: you mention she had a caring mother, but make no other mention of her. did she die during the fall of wall maria?

Ida joined the 104th Trainees Squad in Trost two years later. She had her problems in the beginning, more than once standing on the edge of failing the training, yet she managed to stay strong and always would find a way to get through it, no matter how hard it was. She grew close to her comrades since she's really compassionate and always tried to help everyone with their problems.

As she was having to decide whether to join the Scouting Legion or the Stationary Guard, she was about to choose the Stationary Guard because she wanted to chose the same path as her brother, but then the wall got breached again. During the battles of Trost, Ida managed to kill one titan and she realized what she really wanted. She wanted to be finally free, and she knew the only possibility to become free was to join the Scouting Legion and try to find a way to erase these titans outside the walls. Surviving, she joined the Survey Corps in the end along the 21 of the 104th Trainees squad who chose to do so.

She had a strong change of heart. Martin's wish of course stuck in her head, and now she feels guilty because she basically broke that promise as the chance to die is rather high in the Survey Corps. In the end the prospect of helping humanity with joining the Survey Corps convinced her. She thinks if she's able to kill titans until her death, she'd really revenge her brother after all.

Relationships Close Friends: Sasha, Marco, Jean Friends: Armin, Reiner, Connie

Annemarie Hoffmann: Ida gets along well with her mother. When Ida was younger and used to have stupid ideas a lot her mother would often get mad at her but that never lasted very long. Since Ida's father died early, it was her mothers job alone to raise Ida and her brother, so they grew really close. Ida is glad to know her mother is save, though her mother isn't really fond of the idea that Ida chose to join the Survey Corps, which would cause an argument whenever they see each other. Despite that, Ida loves her mother deeply.

Martin Hoffmann: Ida used to call him the 'world's best brother'. Martin always cheered Ida up when she was upset and often protected her from her mothers' chastize. He is also the reason Ida never cried again just because he told her once to never do it again after she once had started crying when her mother was mad at her. They had a very loving and caring relationship, even though he used to tease her rather often.

Sasha Braus: It was clear on day one the two of them would get along well. Ida was immediately on a wavelength with her and Sasha was the one who'd always manage to make Ida genuinely laugh. Ida thinks it's cute how much Sasha loves food, and she'd usually spend her time around her. With time they build such a strong friendship that they could understand each other without words - You can just look at them and immediately say the two of them are best friends.

Marco Bott: Whenever Ida talked to Marco, he reminded her of her deceased brother. He was as equally nice, caring, and so refreshing to be around that she liked him immediately and cared for him and he ended up being Ida's best friend, though their friendship wasn't as close as his and Jean's. Ida was very shocked when she found out he was dead, which also brought her close to the edge of crying, but since she wanted to fulfill her brother's wish, to never cry, she didn't. She does get sad whenever someone mentions him.

Jean Kirstein: Since Ida used to hang around with Marco, it wasn't preventable to also stumble upon Jean. His attitude immediately interested her and soon she found herself developing a crush on him. She never told him though, as she didn't wanted to destroy their friendship. Still, both of them have a close friendship which built with time (And patience, the two of them argued so often [about mostly stupid things] they lost count). She envies him greatly for his leader capability and does see him in a leading position some time in the future. She's almost always blushing when she talks to him though. After Marco's death, the two of them got even closer. They build each other up, often teasingly and rely on each other, though he does get angry with her often because her traits remind him of the ones he used to have.

rowan: thank you for submitting your oc to us! ida seems like a pretty simple and well-rounded oc. with all her qualities, comes her flaws so i can see she is pretty realistic and balanced.

there were a few things i thought didn't add up, so you are welcome to take my advice or not!

#submission

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liliesoftherain · 5 years

Text

My Hero Academia Main 3 Boys x Reader Ch.2 Battle of Heroes vs Villains

Pt. 1

Here’s part 2! Sorry for any mistakes, I hope you enjoy!

-*-*-*-*-*-

The next day at school you felt better than ever. Even though you had to sit through regular core classes like any other high school, it was still amazing to you. You were learning from Pro Heroes. How could that get any better?

When lunch rolls around you're shocked to find Lunch Rush, the Cook Hero making the food. You sit next to the friends you made yesterday, and get to know them a lot better while digging into the amazing food that has been served. Then came your favorite part of the day.

During your afternoon classes is when things finally were turned up a notch. You were sitting in your desk for your Hero Basic Training to start, when a loud and booming voice came through the door.

"I AM HERE!" Everyone turned their heads to the door, eyes wide. You were amazed, you've heard that the one and only Number One Pro Hero was teaching at the school, but you never would've thought he'd be teaching you first years!

"Coming through the door like a hero!" AllMight yelled, his grin from ear to ear as always.

"So he is a teacher!" Kirishima stuck a fist in the air, he turned to you with a wide smile.

"This year is going to be awesome!" All you could do was nod back, too excited to speak.

You noticed he was wearing an old classic costume of his, and only smiled larger when Tsu- is what she wanted everyone to call her, pointed it out as well.

"Consider this class as Hero 101! This is your most important class, and you'll be learning the basics of becoming a pro! As well as what it truly means to fight in the name of good."

He turns around, looking like he was grabbing something from behind the desk, before turning back around and presented what he had. A card with giant block letters spelling out 'BATTLE' was shown.

"Fight training!" You heard Bakugou shout out, his voice sounding less nasty and more like he was having a good time? Well, he did seem like the guy to have a great time bashing heads together. You shake your head and focused back to AllMight.

"One of the keys to being a hero issss.. LOOKING GOOD!" He pointed over towards the wall, where a bunch of suitcases lined up with a number representing each student. These had to be your hero costumes!

"These were made with the designs you guys had turned in with all that enrollment paperwork!" You tried not to let it show but you were really curious on how they made your costume look.

You suited up with AllMights directions, ready to see what will be happening at training ground Beta. You walked outside the locker rooms to see Bakugou walking out as well. His costume was, pretty extreme. But, you had to admit it really suited his personality. You had to stifle a laugh at the gauntlets, but you didn't do a good job when he turned his head in your direction.

"You got something to say you fucking glow worm."

Your eyebrow raised at the name, trying to figure out why he was calling you a glow worm of all things. Then you realized, you tend to glow when you try to make your body into Photons to act as light. So you smirked light while crossing your arms, giving him a sassy retort back.

"Uh glow worm? C'mon Bakugou I'm sure you can do better than that." He huffed at you, eyes narrowing. He seemed to actually be thinking of another name, and although you didn't like the fact he had to call you a nickname, it was still nice to not be called a shitty extra, as he so liked to call everyone.

"Tsk, stop wasting my time glitter bomb." With that he walked away to the training ground.

"Glitter bomb?" You muttered to yourself, following him. That was really any better, you almost preferred glow worm.

. At least glitter bomb was much cuter, and even if he said it with a nasty frown, hopefully he didn't think too badly of you. You walked out with everyone else following behind you, hearing AllMight yelling about how now you have to think of yourselves as heroes in training. Ah, you liked the sound of that.

"You all look so cool! You bunch of newbies!" AllMight laughed as soon as you all were standing in front of him. You took the time to look around and you had to agree, you all looked really amazing. However you noticed Deku's costume and you actually had to let out a laugh. It was kind of cute of him in his fanboy costume. It looked not as nicely made as the others costumes, so maybe it was a gift. Still, it was a nice sight to see. You saw AllMights face when he realized the same thing, causing you to laugh again.

"What's so funny huh (y/n)?" You looked to Kirishima and shrugged, slyly looking towards where Deku was talking to Ochaco.

"Tsk, a second rate suit for a second rate nobody." You hear Bakugou grumble under his breath, and you meet his eyes.

"You know it's kinda cute how simple it is, and the fact it's supposed to resemble AllMight." You swear you saw a vein pop out of his head.

"Shut up stupid glow worm!" Kirishima looked between the both of you, confusion painted on his face.

"Glow worm..?" You ignored him for the moment, still looking at Bakugou.

"What happened to glitter bomb?"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" He briskly walked towards the front of the class, leaving you and Kirishima towards the back.

"UH? Glow worm? Glitter bomb? I'm so confused." You pat his arm with a smile, choosing to say nothing once more before looking back at your instructor.

"Now that your ready, it's time for combat training!"

"SIR!" Iida called out, he was decked out in a full body suit of armor. "This is the fake city from the entrance exam, does that mean we'll be conducting urban battles again?"

Give it to Iida about going above and beyond with asking questions. You admired his high sense of authority, and couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Your father acted like this every day, having to deal with sidekicks and his own crew, making the most tactful choices and asking all the right questions. You hands clenched at your side. You had to step it up if you were one day going to be as great of a Pro Hero as he was.

"Not exactly!" Replied AllMight, holding up a peace sign with his fingers.

"I'm going to get you two steps ahead!" AllMight begins to talk about hero vs villain fights happen outside, but things can always take place indoors. He went on giving examples of backroom deals and home invasions. You mentally agreed that the most shadiest stuff was always going on inside, somewhere that was more private to the public eye.

"This training exercise will be split between the heroes and the villains., and pin you up against each other."

"Isn't this pretty advanced for us?" Tsu asked, her brows furrowing as she thought.

"Think of it this way, the best way to learn is through experience! Plus you won't be dealing with robots, you'll be dealing with actual people now.

"Sir will you be deciding who wins?" Momo asks.

"How much can we hurt the other team?" Of course the one to ask that was no one other than Bakugou.

"Do we need to worry about the losers getting expelled?" Ochaco was nervous when she asked, you saw her almost shaking in worry.

"Will you be splitting us up on chance or skill?" The ever so thoughtful Iida asked.

"How exactly will we be able to win?" You asked, "What's the goal of the exercise?"

"Is the cape amazing?"

With all the questions being asked, AllMight looked far too overwhelmed. This guy dealt with villains all the time, you'd think he can handle a few kids.

"I wasn't finished. LISTEN UP," He pulls out a script.

"The situation is the villains have hidden a nuclear weapon somewhere in the 5 story building. The heroes must stop them and their plans! You have two ways to complete the job, either catch the villains, or recover the weapon! Likewise the villains have a chance to win if they protect their weapon or capture the heroes. There's a time limit so here, we will choose teams by drawing lots!"

"Why lots? Can't we decide teams based off of quirks? Wouldn't that be more practical?" Iida asked. You looked up at him from where you stood and spoke up.

"It's easy to believe that when fighting villains you'll be able to team up with people you know. But that really isn't the case."

Deku smiled at you, nodding quickly to agree.

"Yea Iida think about it, most heroes don't have a choice for who they are partnered up with for cases. That's probably why we're learning it like this!"

"Yea you guys are right, life is not a straight line. Excuse my rudeness." Iida bowed at AllMight, who just turned and waved him off.

"Don't worry about it, let's draw!"

You all walked up and picked papers out of the box, you were team A. You looked at Kirishima who only shrugged.

"Sorry man, guess we aren't together on this."

"U-uh hey (y/n)! I think we're partners!" You saw Deku smile at you, and you grinned back.

"Hey there Midoriya, sounds like a plan!" He nodded shyly and rubbed the back of his head.

"You can call me Izuku if you want. Not that you have to, I just know that everyone has been calling by your first name so I figured since I'm calling you by your first name you'll want to call me by my first name, or even just to have it even so we can call each other by our names. But maybe you don't feel comfortable and are only going to do it out of obligation-" Deku was talking a mile per minute and you had to get your thoughts together before you could shut him up.

"Izuku chill out, I don't mind. I prefer calling everyone by their first names. To me it makes us all closer don't you think?" You smiled, to show him you were serious. He was blushing, probably because all that talking made him out of breath. Before nodding again eagerly.

"Y-yeah of course!"

"I declare the first team to fight will beeeee..." AllMight trails off, digging his hands into both boxes labeled 'Hero' and 'Villain'.

"These guys!"

He held up an A ball and D ball.

"Hey looks like we're up first Izuku, isn't this going to be fun-Izuku?" You looked at him with a grin before it faded at his shocked expression. You saw why once you felt a glare towards your team. Bakugou was frowning, murderous intent in his red eyes.

"Everyone else, head to the monitoring room! A team you're our heroes, D team, the Villains!" You watched the class walk on, still looking at the glaring Bakugou and shy Midoriya. You gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, and he glanced over to you.

"We got this." He smiled stiffly, his eyes hardening in determination and his fists squeezed together. He stared straight back at Bakugou, which caused the other to jolt back in surprise. He must've never seen him like this before you thought.

Bakugou practically growled at the two of you with an intense look. Which was only cut off by AllMight telling the bad guys to get settled inside the building. So Iida and Bakugou headed inside, while you and Midoriya stayed out. You were given a layout of the building, and you stared at it trying to formulate a plan.

"It's a lot to take in, but it's better than going in blind. Most Pro Heroes don't get the luxury of knowledge." You say while looking over the paper, trying to drink in all the details you could.

"So we can relax just a little-ah geez Izuku you're practically sweating through your costume." You snicker while glancing at the boy next to you. He looked terrible nervous, none of that determination from earlier when looking at Bakugou had stuck apparently.

"Uh well, it's um," He bit his lip looking away, you felt your stomach churn, This kid was like a chihuahua, he was going to come right out of his red sneakers. "We're just going up against Kachan, and there's Iida too. We just really need to stay on our guard." You hummed in agreement.

"Bakugou, you have a funny nickname for him too, huh? Yea seems like he likes those." You chuckle, remembering the stupid ones he called you, and that he calls Izuku, Deku.

"What's up with you two anyway? He's always glaring at you. Well, even harsher than he glares at everything else."

"Uh, it's a long story.. But, I just know we have to be careful because he's really amazing. He can be a real pain sure, but he has strength, ambition, and confidence. Plus his quirk is so much better than mine. But that just means I have to try harder than ever. I refuse to lose today." He glares up at the building, popping his mask on. His shaking has stopped, and you felt yourself smile.

"So I see, it's a battle we can't afford to lose." He looked at you, blush back and shakes returning. Oh man, this kid has some mixed emotions.

"You don't need to try so hard for me! I can't get you mixed in my fight!"

You take a hold of one of his outstretched hands. Giving him a bright smile. His cheeks went darker as he stared at your hand in his.

"It's not just for you. I want to win too. Plus, we are a team. No way in hell am I letting us lose today, you can count on me Izuku."

"Yeah!"

"Alright! Let's begin, team A enter the building! The clock starts now!" AllMights voice sounds from the intercom, you give Deku a nod as you both race inside. You both crept in through a window, carefully walking around corners. You both fixed your ear pieces, making sure your contact stayed on. You felt energy swirling in you, an adrenaline rush coursing through your veins. You let Deku lead the way, guarding his back, and he looked around corners. You two were silent and stealthily.

You wondered if both of the boys would both be waiting for you in the room where the weapon was, sure Bakugou may have been a hothead but surely he was smart and tactful. Along with Iida, you were sure he had a plan at the very least. You both paused before coming up to your next corner, moving onward. You heard a slight movement and you held Izuku back, signalling him to be quiet. But it was too late, Bakugou was jumping from a hallway that you both hadn't seen before hand, aiming a punch directly at Deku. You held onto him as you jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding a full on punch. Smoke went everywhere, and you fell straight on top of Izuku.

"You good Izuku?" You questioned, jumping off of him and getting back on your feet. You missed the blush he had when you were pressed against him, but he shook it off. Going back to the battle in front of him.

"Yea I'm good." You looked down and saw no blood on his face even though his mask had been torn off along the left side.

"Good, it was just your mask." The smoked cleared as Bakugou smirked towards Izuku.

"What's wrong Deku, afraid to fight me yourself?"

"I knew you'd come for me first." Izuku gritted out, standing beside you. You looked between both boys, your hands starting to glow with your light. You willed the light to change it's formula as you let it harden over your wrists. The light burned you, but over many years of trying to perfect your quirk made you numb to the pain, as well as the gloves you wore really helped with it.

"Sneak attack, very villain like Bakugou. " You said while you jumped up and swung, missing him by a thread as he tried to counter with a kick to your torso. You dodged it last second, landing behind him. Using your quirk like how you did during the long jump, you shot out a few light rays, solidifying them to give you a boost. You went to give a roundhouse kick but ended up missing again. Bakugou was able to grab your wrist and toss you to the side, close to the ground by Izuku. You spun yourself last second landing on your feet crouching to stop your momentum with your hand. You were able to lessen the damage of what would've happened if your back had taken the fall.

"Stay out of my way shitty glitter bomb. I'm not here for you." He glared at Deku, charging forward.

"I want to hurt you so bad, they're going to have to stop the fight!" Before you could run towards him, Izuku sprinted past you, and grabbed his right arm last second as if he knew that'd be his first move. You were as shocked as Bakugou looked when Izuku managed to flip him over and land him on his backside with a painfully loud thud. You saw spit fly out of Bakugou's mouth and you wondered how much force Deku actually put into that throw.

Izuku was breathing deeply as he spilled his secret.

"Kaachan, you always use a big right hook when you start a fight." You looked over at Deku, was he seriously that in tune with his surroundings and the people in it? How observant was this guy?

"I know because I've watched you for years! I've analyzed every amazing hero, that includes you. Everything was in the notebook you burned and tossed out the window." He stood up tall, fear in his eyes but body held up with something much stronger than that.

"You can call me Deku, but I'm not the same hopeless kid anymore! You understand? I've changed, for now on, Deku is the name of a hero!" You grinned, a part of you felt happy that Izuku was overcoming any obstacles. It seems these two had a rough past, one you didn't want to get into or get in the middle of, but that didn't mean you couldn't feel proud for someone standing up for themselves.

You quickly realized that if you left now to go obtain the bomb more than likely Bakugou would not follow you. His fight was 100% with Izuku and you were just someone in the way of that. But if you left him here with Bakugou, with Izuku's quirk the way it was he had no chance of really doing anything to him. Bakugou may have been surprised and taken down by that sneak attack, but there was no way he'd be able to keep that up. Bakugou would overcome that in an instant.

"Deku.." Bakugou huffed, his anger rising faster than you've ever seen it. "You're shaking in your boots you're so scared. Why do you always insist on fighting me.. THAT’S WHY I HATE YOU!"

You saw the blue light from Bakugou’s earpiece go off, before he yelled back in it for Iida to shut up and defend the weapon. You realized if you were going to go, you would have to go now. You made eye contact with Midoriya who nodded in your direction. Seems that great minds think alike.

"(y/n) hurry go!" You cast a beam of light, aiming for Bakugou's eyes as he used his quirk to push himself forward towards Deku, before running off. Bakugou snarled as that caused him to miss kicking out Izuku's legs and hitting his arm instead, giving him a slight advantage.

" FUCK!That was fucking too bright, that shitty girl. Ballsy move Deku. You think you're so tough trying to take me on without that STUPID GLOW WORMS HELP!"

That was the last you heard of their battle before you dashed away. You were trying to locate the bomb and Iida who was with it. You knew at least he was taking this seriously, and you really needed a plan before you found him. You knew you were safe from Bakugou, the guy must've been working alone, which you're sure put Iida in a sour mood. He's going to try to make up for his missing partner and be an even bigger pain in your ass.

You heard shuffling from one of the rooms, and you knew this must have been it. You hid behind a pillar, taking a quick glance and saw Iida talking to himself. Hearing him mutter about villainy things. You tried not to make any noise as you snuck around, pillar after pillar. Hoping to make this a quick and easy mission, to make sure Bakugou didn't hurt Izuku more than he had to.

You unfortunately misinterpreted a move and Iida spotted you from the corner of his eye.

"Ah (y/n)! There you are, I knew you would be here alone Bakugou ran off to engage in a battle with Midoriya. Your quirk has to deal with sunlight right? Well I made sure you wouldn't get any of it, seeing as I blocked off the windows allowing no light to shine through! Muawhahah! What are you going to do now you hero scum!" You glanced around saw all the impressive ways he blocked the sunlight from entering.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, villain! I don't need direct sunlight all the time!" You sent off a ray of light, blinding him just like you did with Bakugou, before running off behind another pillar.

You couldn't make a run for the weapon, Iida was faster than you when you weren't using your quirk, and since there was no water nearby you couldn't afford overheating yourself too early in the game, you'd be defenseless for a while until you were able to cool yourself down. You held your earpiece and contacted your partner.

"Izuku, are you alright?" The piece crackled as he responded.

"I'm here, what's wrong."

"Right now nothing bad, Iida spotted me before I could reach the weapon, and he blocked off any light. I may be able to outrun him but if it doesn't work I'm down for the count. Even with my suit built for me I doubt it'll cool me down in time to continue the fight before I get caught."

"I understand, where are you at?"

"Near the middle of the top floor."

"You're right above me, hang tight. We probably don't have much time. We can't give up yet. Keep him distracted, I'll tell you when."

"Roger. I'm counting on you Izuku."

You didn't hear anything back, so you got to work, You kept making small bursts of light come off your hands, dodging from one pillar to the next. Even without his sight, he was able to find you and take swings. You dodged them all, rolling and ducking away. Till a giant explosion had the whole building rattling, you looked at Iida, shock on your face, and while he was wearing a mask, you assumed he had the same expression when he asked you what the hell was that.

You bit your lip, praying Izuku was alright, things weren't going well based on the current position. Iida got side tracked, trying to contact Bakugou through his own earpiece.

"Bakugou! Come in, did you cause that blast!" You were going to take advantage of his distraction. You willed your light to travel to your feet and you took off, simultaneously making your light from regular beams to solids, back to rays again. Giving you an added boost. It was terribly difficult, and you were focusing on making sure you didn't mess up. Your feet burned but you kept going, the sweat never reaching your eyes as your mask caught it all. Your body was overheating itself but you couldn't afford to stop now!

However, Iida was too fast, and used his engines to burst his speed and move the bomb towards the other side of the room. You were able to stop yourself right before you ran into the wall, turning around and shooting a glare.

"Nice try, but you're no match for my speed the way you are now. I'm sure the fact that there is no light is causing you to use whatever kind of storage you have, meaning if you keep this up you'll be drained. So I can easily keep this weapon out of your grasp until you run out, or the time does! Muahahah." You huff, teeth grinding as he actually got that part of your quirk right.

You never remember telling him how the ins and outs of your quirk was, and you briefly explained it to Kirishima and the others when you ran the race, so all he knew was from that conversation. Even then, that was very brief and you didn't go into details. All you could do was bluff.

"You're smart, I'll give you that. But you're completely wrong about my quirk. I can keep going, can you?" You threw another beam dashing around trying to get to the other side of the room, but Iida knew how to keep you at bay, moving it back to another position across the room. You clench your hands into fists, willing the light around them. You threw punches, anything to try to get him away from the weapon, even if you couldn't reach it, he wasn't able to move it. You heard your earpiece crackle, and Izuku's voice come through.

"(y/n) what's the situation, you okay?"

"Not looking too good, I can't get close to him or past him. He's too fast for me right now."

You didn't hear his reply, but AllMights voice rang throughout the area.

"Bakugou, use that stored up power again and not only I will stop this fight, but your team will lose. " You glanced at Iida, taking this time to give yourself a break. You were heavily overheating, and you could feel your suit work to try to cool you down, but it wasn't enough. At least not for what you have planned. You needed the rest of your strength if this was going to work.

"To employ such a strong attack indoors is inviting the destruction of the stronghold you should be protecting! That's a poor strategy, whether you're a hero or a villain. The penalty is a massive loss of points resulting in your loss."

"Get to the pillar by the window, get there now and stay out of the middle."

You smiled. This will finally be over, you both were going to win. You dashed there, ignoring the strange look from Iida.

"Running away are we? No matter, time is up soon anyways! Attack from long range all you'd like!" He shouted after you, and you used smaller light blasts to try to let him think you were still trying to do long range.

You felt the ground rumble and you knew this must of been it, you heard him shout your name.

"(Y/N) GO NOW!"

"Roger!" You shouted back, charging up your energy, feeling yourself break down and start to glow. You grew hotter by the second and felt the building shake even worse than it did for Bakugou. The windows shattered and you felt light poor in, which help you out even more now that you can replenish your energy. The ground in the middle split off and a beam fell which allowed you to use it as a pathway.

You charged up and sprinted, reaching the weapon before Iida could even get his bearings in order. He was so focused on not getting blown away by Izuku's blast. You ended up hugging the base of the weapon, almost knocking it over with how fast you were going. You let out a sigh of relief, but also a groan of pain when you felt how hot your body was an the air surrounding you. Your suit was going into overdrive, and you're lucky you didn't have to continue fighting, you were drained.

"NO! THE WEAPON!" Iida yelled, upset he had lost.

"The hero team, WIIIINS!" You heard AllMight's shout. "Your indoor combat training is over."

You fell from the bomb and landed on your behind, steam coming off of you and mixing with the clouds from the destroyed building. Iida rushed to your side, trying to stroke your back but you were too hot, even with his gloves. He immediately pulled away. He was surprised you weren't melting through the floor at this very moment.

"Are you alright?" You nodded weakly, trying to breathe in large amounts of air in hopes you'll cool down faster. Iida began to fan you, hoping something would help.

When you were able to stand after cooling down a bit, Iida helped you to the bottom. You both walked back to the examination room to see how well you did. You looked around for Deku but you couldn't find him.

"Do not worry miss Hakamata, young Midoriya is with Recovery Girl, getting his wounds healed.

You only nodded in response, still slightly out of it but getting better. While there wasn't any more steam, you were hot to the touch, like accidentally touching a cooling stove. Not terrible but still painful.

"Despite the winners here today, I can say that both sides have done amazingly. Miss Hakamata and young Iida have proven themselves to be co-winners in the battle!"

You both looked at AllMight in shock, not understanding how you both could have won.

"Shouldn't there be only one winner? Like just (y/n), since she was one of the winners?" Tsu asked, her tongue flopping out of her mouth as her head tilted.

"Valid question! Who can take a guess as to why it was the both of them?"

Momo raises her hand.

"Sir, I can tell you exactly why. Iida embraced this challenge wholeheartedly, and thought logically as the villain. Taking steps to ensure his enemy's defeat, like by blocking all the sunlight in the room to weaken his opponent. He adapted to his assigned role perfectly. While Hakamata was very quick thinking, knowing that she couldn't use her trump card so early on, and sticking to dodging and smaller attacks to watch out for not only the missile, but even the villain. As heroes, we should always aim to immobilize not kill. To look for the perfect opportunity in any situation and that's exactly what she did." You felt proud that someone saw what you were trying to do, and even a bit bashful getting this praise.

"While Bakugou had his judgement clouded due to a personal grudge, he had no care for what was around him, causing him to let off a large scale attack that would have been bad if the missile were real. Villain or not he should always put the plan first. While the same thing goes for Midoriya, while his plan gave his team the edge it needed to complete the mission, it was poorly thought out and could've- did, render himself helpless, which helped no one considering Bakugou was still on the loose."

You could see the praise getting to Iida from where you stood, he was on the left side of Bakugou while you sandwiched him in on the right. You flushed lightly, looking away from the eyes of your peers. AllMight looked to be shaking as Momo finished her rant, coughing before continuing.

"well uh yes, you missed a few things such as young Iida could have relaxed a bit, and Miss Hakamata should have been more open to using her move if it would've meant less damage in the future. However, good job! You nailed it! Let's move on to the next battle."

You looked at Bakugou and saw the look on his face. It worried you to see him look so devoid of emotion. You looked away, not wanting to start any more problems and focused on the next students beginning their match.

You couldn't help but let out a gasp, you were amazed at the brute strength this Shoto Todoroki had. He made the entire place freeze over, making sure his partner was safe outside. The sheer amount of power had you taken a back. You could feel the cold all the way from the room you were all in, and it caused your body temp to drop instantly, the temp regulating it out.

"Wow.." You whisper out, still somehow standing next to Bakugou even though the class moved closer to the screen.

"This guy is insane." You finished, noticing the others, even AllMight shivering in front of you. This guy was one of four to get in on recommendation alone.

‘Incredible.’ You thought.

The rest of the matches seems to go by just as fast, you realized a lot of classmates had powerful and useful quirks, but your mind was still on the 3 boys who, in your opinion, out shined them all.

You cheered on Kirishima and Sero as they fought bravely. Even Mina as she burned holes into the flashy kids cape. You couldn't remember his name.

It was finally all over, and AllMight congratulated you all.

"We had no major injuries, accept for young Midoriya. You should be proud, that was excellent training from you all."

He took his exit as said he was going to check on Izuku, rushing away and leaving the students buzzing with excitement. You all returned to change out of your hero outfits, and went back to class to collect your stuff for the next class.

"(y/n) you were badass! I wish my quirk was flashy like yours!"

"Thanks Eijirio!" You slapped his arm playfully, "You're quirk is pretty good too. I wish I had it! I could fall and not get hurt? Yes please!"

You all settled down as the next part of your afternoon classes began, your thoughts circling back to how Izuku was fairing. To be honest you weren't sure if you'd be allowed to go see him if he still wasn't back by the end of the day, but you decided it's fine. You were partners after all.

Before you could go once classes had ended. Eijiro, along with Sero, Kaminari, and Mina kept you behind to chat. You figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt so you let yourself go in the laughter and happiness that swirled around you. Your head snapped towards the door once you heard it open, Kirishima beating you to the punch of saying hi.

"Hey it's Midoriya! Good to see you! I don't know what you were saying during that match but you were all fired up huh!"

"I can't believe you held your own against Bakugou!" Sero pitched in, "He's super strong!"

"Glad to see you still in one piece partner!" You grinned at his overwhelmed expression as he started rubbing the back of his head with his uninjured hand. The other being in a cast and sling.

"You really went all out didn't you." You hummed while poking the sling, grinning up at him. "We made a badass team yanno, you were pretty good too I guess." He laughed, nodding in agreement,

"We sure did, we won thanks to you."

You saw his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as others, including yourself, told him he played a big part in that win. Everyone introduced themselves to him and you could see his eyes swirl with so much going on. You ll stopped to watch Iida go berserk over another student putting his feet on his desk, and failing to get him to listen.

Denki also walked in at that moment, along with Ochaco, holding books for the class. She blushed slightly, before excusing herself and running over to join the group. Izuku brushed her off in a nice way, letting her know he's fine and there's no need for any worrying. he glanced behind you, then looked at you in the eyes,

"Hery uh (y/n)? Where's Kaachan?"

"Oh Bakugou? He just left. We tried to make him stay but he really wanted to go." You saw Izuku run out at that very moment, and knew something was going to happen. You wanted to go and be there in support but you knew better than to get involved.

You went to glance out the windows with other students, seeing Bakugou shouting at Izuku. You couldn't tell what was being said, but you saw that Bakugou was in a lot of pain. Maybe he's realizing that he can't win every battle? Who knows, so you ignored it, and shrugged along with everyone else. Packing the books that were brought in and making sure you had all of your other materials before leaving with your newly made group of friends. You saw that AllMight had dragged Midoriya away, you wondered why they always seemed so close. That was really suspicious and you felt uneasy. Was he somehow related to AllMight? They have similar enough quirks, and AllMight, while he tries to hide it, obviously cares about Izuku.

With that on your mind you waved your friends off once you parted ways at the station, you began to head home. Once there, you did whatever homework you had, mind still reeling on the secret around those two. You made dinner, and left it in the fridge for your father, it seems he was going to be late tonight. You readied yourself for bed. Staring at the ceiling, now thinking about just more than the Number One Hero and his fanboy. You thought back to Bakugou and his face after he lost, and that Todoroki kid with his half-and-half quirk. It was amazing to be surrounded by so many talented people, you really weren't expecting it.

Honestly, you didn't even know what to expect when you first started. It was only the second day and you felt exhausted by all the people, by all the work. But that wasn't going to stop you from reaching your goals. You aim to be as great of a hero as your father, maybe even better. Your goal is to show him you can one day care for him and others, just like he does for everyone around him.

Damn anyone to hell if they were going to get in your way.

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saelwen · 5 years

Text

Thranduil x Modern!Reader

Part1 / Part2

Summary: The reader was driving on the way back to her house, after a long day of work. Eager to just to jump on her comfy bed and sleep for the rest of her life but the universe had other things on mind

Warnings:None only some curses and a little make out

Words: 2k

Humming the song that was playing on the car radio, trotting my fingers on the steering wheel. I was driving back home, after a long day of work. I work on a small cozy bookshop in the Town, it was from my grandpa. I work there since my teenage years, helping him with the shop. The shop was one of my happy places, since a kid I was in love with books. How they could tell old tales and adventures. It's always so fascinating to me.

As I passed a long dark road, the lamps are always without light here, that was surrounded by dense trees. A tall figure jumps in front of the car, making me turn to the side violently.

I stop the car and got out quickly. Panic spreading through my body, what the hell was that? Walking to the road, I turn on the flashlight on my phone, trying to see what it was. Suddenly I heard a groan, turning the flashlight to where the sound came. Standing there was tall strangely looking man, he was wearing a silver armor, detailed with some kind of celtic drawings, looking like some kind of cosplay, maybe? His hair was long and soft with a shade of silver blond, I point the flashlight to his face and saw the most beautiful eyes I ever seen. They were ocean blue, that was full of years of life experience.

I gasp when I notice blood running down his forehead and on his stomach. Running to him, I fall down on my knees “OMG! Are you alright?” I said worried. He lifts his head with all his strength, fixing his eyes on mine “Help me.....” he whisper, closing his eyes slowly. Shit! I slap his face “Hey! It's okay....Don’t close your eyes!” I grab him by the arms and drag him to my car. Jesus..his heavy! I succeeded putting him inside the car, next I jump to my sit and start driving to the nearest hospital. Why this stuff happens to me? I just wanted to get home, make some tea and relax, reading my new book.

When we arrive to the hospital, I got out the car quickly as I can and run inside “Please, help! A man in my car it’s injured!” with this, the nurses and a doctor run outside to car, putting the man on a stretcher. They take him to a room and begin observing him. I stay on the waiting room, rubbing my hand on my forehead. I hope he’s okay... I never seen someone like him, was that a cosplay? It didn’t look like it, his armor felt really and his eyes told some much stories.

After some time, a nurse went to me. I shot up from my seat “He’s okay?” I asked with a worry voice, she smiles “Yes, he is okay. He had some deep wounds on his stomach and a concussion but he’s okay now.” a sigh left my lips as I feel my body relax “Thank God!” she picks a note book and a pencil “If you don’t mind, could you tell me where did find him?” I nod and start telling her everything.

As I was about to finish my story, another nurse came running to us “Ma'am! Ahh.. the patient just woke up and don’t stop yelling for you. Do you mind come with me?” ahhh...What now?! I nod and start following the nurse. When I was close to his room, I could hear his yells and the doctors and nurses trying to calm him “WHERE AM I?! WHERE IS THE MAIDEN THAT SAVE ME? TAKE ME TO HER!!” “Please, Sir! Calm down! You are going to open your wounds again!” “HOW DARE YOU TALKING TO LIKE THAT?! I AM A KING!...LET GO OF ME, YOU MERE MORTAL!!” King? Mortal? Well he has hit his head really bad. I enter the room and saw a doctor trying to seize him up, the stranger man stops as he sees me, giving me a gorgeous smile “My Lady...” he whispers, I tilt my head to the side, confused by this event. The nurses left and the doctor went to me “He may be confused with all had happen to him. The concussion may had done something to his brain...but he had something I’ve never seen in my life, his ears are pointy...like an elf...” what?! Pointy ears? “It may be mutation of him...it may happen to some people but I will search better on this. If need something just press that button.” with that the doctor left the room, leaving me and the strange man alone. He was staring to the machines with a weird look, poking the tubes with his finger “What’s this? Some kind of sorcery?!” I walk to his bed and sit on the chair that was beside it “Do you remember anything of what happen to you?” I ask him. He stops poking the tube and look to me “Yes...me and my army were ambushed by an army of orcs...i was the only one that survived...” okayyy....he may be crazy “All right....And what’s your name?” he smiles and lift his head high “I am King Thranduil of Wood Land Realm. And what’s yours?” wait!...Thranduil?! Isn't that a name of a Tolkien’s character? Ohhh....Now everything makes sense. The armor, pointy ears, appearing of nowhere, strange talk...He is a FUCKING character from a book!! Thranduil looks to me, waiting for my answer “Ahhh...m..my name is Y/n...” he nods “What a beautiful name! I want to thank you for saving me, My Lady! The Woodland Realm is debt with you.” he starts standing up, pulling the needles from his arms. I run to him, trying to stop him “No! Don’t do that! You may hurt yourself.” he smirks “Don’t worry my lady! I don’t get hurt easly. Now, may you lead me to a horse? I need to get back to my Kingdom.” shit now what? He thinks that is still in Middle-Earth! One thing that he’s right, I need to get him out of here. If anyone knows that he from a book, it will be crazy. Cops will be involve and maybe the government, it will a chaos.

I take his hand and led him out of the room, to my car “Follow me! I will take you to my house.”. We get to the car with a bit difficulty since Thranduil was always stopping to point at some machine or weird clothes that people were wearing. I open the car door to him “Get in. Don’t worry, it’s safe.” he sits on the car and stay still, looking around him. I jump to the driver seat and turn on the car and start driving “WHAT KIND OF HORSE IS THIS?!” he said yelling, I chuckle a bit “It’s a car. It's a vehicle that take us whatever I want to go...I need to tell you something...You are from Middle.Earth right? Well you no longer there.” I look to my side, seeing a shocked Thranduil “I beg your pardon?...Where the hell am I then?” I start trotting my fingers nervously “Ahh...You are in a modern world...a world without elves, orcs...and gods.” he stays quiet the rest of the trip, shocked with all the things around him.

I stop the car in front my house, happy that I don’t have any neighbors. I get out of the car and wave to Thranduil to follow me “You have a beautiful home.” he said softly, we enter and I turn on the light “Thank you.”. Thranduil walks around my living room, inspecting everything that for him is strange. He stops by the Tv “What’s this black box?” I pick the remote and turn on the Tv, as the Tv start playing, Thranduil jump a step back “BY ERU! WHAT’S THIS THING?...Why there is small people trap inside?” I giggle and explained what a Tv was. After I show him everything and explained how to work it, I led him to my guest room “This will be your room for now. Get some rest now.” as I was about to leave, he grabs my hand and kiss it “Good night, My Lady.” a blush start spreading on my cheeks. Now that I get a better look at him, I notice that he was gorgeous. His features were sharp and his body was muscular, like it was carved out by the Gods themselves. I smile and leave to my bedroom, eager to jump to my bed and sleep.

Days had pass and Thranduil learn almost everything about this world, I must say that I'm impressed how fast he learned. During the day, he would stay at home watching Tv as I was at work, his favorite show was Game of Thrones, he says that it reminds him of his home. Our relationship got pretty close, we shared some things in common, like reading books, nature, go for a ride....wine.

One day I arrive from work, tired and hungry. As I walk inside, I saw the dinner tabled beautiful prepare with dinner, with a bottle of wine and some candles spread on the table “W..What’s all this?” I ask with a huge grin on my face. He went to me, grabbing my pack and jacket, putting them on a chair “A small thank you gift for have taken me in.” he says softly rubbing my cheek. God! This man couldn’t be better. During dinner, we shared some stories, he told me more about Middle-Earth and his kin. I would give my arm if that would send me to Middle-Earth. We start joking around, telling some funny stories and other things.

After dinner we went to my backyard, sitting on the grass and watch the stars “Thank you for the dinner. It was lovely.” I said to him, resting my hand on his “You are most welcome, Bein iel.(fair maiden) I wish to ask you something if I may?” I sit up and nod “Yes of course.” he sits up and look to my eyes “Since you found me, you were always kind to me. Never judging me even when I did some stupid things in your house. You showed me the beauty of this world....i have taken to like you...and I want to ask if you feel the same?” my body froze with his words. I always felt some kind of connection towards him but I always think that was just a silly crush. Now knowing that he feels the same, my feeling raised up at full force, making me feel butterflies on my stomach. Not knowing what to say, I grab him by the collar of his sweatshirt and pulling him down, crushing my lips to his. I heard him moan and felt his hand grabbing me by the waist, pulling me to his lap. He bites my lower lips making me let a small gasp which gave him the opportunity to push his tongue inside my mouth, exploring every corner.

We break a part, catching our breaths. He rests his forehead on mine “I love you, Meleth nin.” I give him a huge smile, making my cheeks hurt “And I love you, My Elvenking.” and we stay like this for the rest of the night, cuddling together.

Hey Guys!! So...today I've dreamed that Thranduil was in my house (funny dream) so I did this story. Hope you guys like it!! Feel free to send request and comment.

XOXO

Taglist: @crazyonesarethebest @llama2264 @tigereyesf @aeryntheofficial @yes-captainstark @lespaceboi @danri-and-thomas @burningcoffeetimetravel @icarus-fell-in-spring

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siribear · 4 years

Text

‘let glory take point,’ deacon says. ‘she’s the one with the armor.’ it’s true. glory’s the only one even remotely defended, her heavy jacket modified with metal plates stitched within the padding of the tan coat. she and deacon are only dressed in their plain shirts and jeans, for lack of any other armor available at hq.

‘after you, ma’am.’ whisper gestures, falling in line behind glory.

‘don’t call me ma’am,’ glory mutters, leading them through the metro.

thankfully, they only encounter raiders during their trek. the unorganized group doesn’t stand a chance against the three trained agents. glory draws all the attention while whisper and deacon sneak around to pick off the distracted raiders.

‘nice to see that even with your sneaky shit, you haven’t lost your touch, dee.’

deacon, almost in response, finishes off a raider with a clean shot to the head. ‘i aims to please.’

whisper slings an arm across his shoulders, now that the area’s cleared. ‘it’s why i keep him around.’

glory frowns and makes to flick at her glasses. whisper flinches backward, slinking behind deacon. ‘and he made you into a deacon 2.0.’

‘i have to admit, she’s the better looking between the two of us.’

whisper turns around to call the elevator and to hide her growing blush. only made worse when glory openly agrees. the elevator dings, and an automated voice announces its arrival to bzzt floor. ‘after you, miss glory.’

‘being pretty doesn’t make that any less annoying,’ she says, but still enters, and whisper can only smile.

down in the basement, they’re greeted by the haptic sounds of gunfire. immediately, deacon and whisper duck down and behind the minuscule cover the open elevator doors provide. glory ducks, winding up her minigun. no sudden gunfire slams into the elevator, but they can still hear the gunfire, followed by screaming. the only voices they hear are human, over the unmistakable sound of laser fire.

‘more synths,’ whisper says, low. ‘sorry, glory.’

glory sighs. ‘let’s just get this over with.’

glory takes point again as they slowly make their way forward, down a short hallway that ends in a left turn. slowly, at least, until glory charges forward, whisper and deacon on her heels. a handful of raiders, whatever’s left of the group that took over the metro, faces off against a squad of synths. unfortunately, the raiders are trapped behind their makeshift wooden structures, and even with the high ground granted by their constructed lofts, they’re no match for the synth’s lasers and glory’s minigun. the synths, on the other hand, have taken advantage of the stalled subway car, peering through broken windows and metal doors.

between the sharpshooters, the synths are picked off, sparks lighting the dim subway with every one that goes down. glory ends the remaining raiders in a bloody shower of red. all in all, they did well. no injuries on their side, but the carnage turns her stomach. they probably thought the trio could help them; everyone turned against the synths - but the raiders would have turned on them right after, no doubt. some dimming part of her feels - terribly guilty.

‘what’s going through your head, partner?’ deacon asks from his crouched position, hands deep in the pockets of a dead raider. he passes her a handful of pistol ammo, the bullets tinged red with blood.

‘idealism,’ she says, softly.

‘go on.’

she groans, frustrated. ‘just - wondering how many people we can prevent from turning to raiding, you know? no lack of food, water, safety. no need to turn to chems. that sort of thing.’

deacon stares at her for a moment, silent. then, ‘watch that bleeding heart of yours. most people are content to let you bleed out.’

‘yeah, i’m figuring out that much.’ the world pre-war was by no means perfect, but it still shocks her how bad things have gotten. but maybe it’s always been this way, just under the surface, the bombs blowing away the top level of society, peeling back the layers, leaving them with this. she doesn’t take part in the looting, this time.

when the scavenging is finished, glory stands near the door that will lead them back to the surface. ‘you know, this was actually a pretty good run. you two aren’t so bad. guess i can say it was good seeing you two, but i should report back to griswold.’ on the way up, whisper quickly runs her through the updates from the day’s earlier meeting. ‘hey, you find a way back into the institute, i want to be there.’ she cracks her neck. ‘storm the place, give my last fuck you to the assholes who created me.’

‘top of my list, glory, don’t worry.’

‘and keep an eye on the brotherhood,’ she says, motioning to the sky. ‘i’ve been seeing those vertibirds flying around. who knows what they’re looking for.’

‘duly noted, mademoiselle gloire,’ whisper says with a grin. deacon chuckles.

glory isn’t as amused - or not that she’d admit. there’s definitely a smile she’s fighting. ‘and you were doing so well.’

‘what was it? i aims to please.’

glory points between the two of them. ‘i’m getting out of this pair. right now. before i strangle the both of you.’

‘you know we’ll miss you terribly, gloria.’ deacon receives a friendly middle finger in glory’s wake.

whisper hardly needs his help maneuvering around the city these days. it almost makes him feel useless. almost. until he stops her from walking right into mutie territory; the mutants have moved further into the city, set up their favorite, bloody decorations along the buildings like christmas lights.

but his partner likes to walk the old roads, likes to wear away the poor, centuries old pavement. ‘save some road for future generations,’ he begs her, and, bless her, she takes to a sidewalk. leave it to her to think of the future.

so, maybe that’s why he appreciates her. it’s been far too long since he’s thought of the future. can’t appreciate the seeds you’ve sewn for the future if you don’t survive the day. she makes him think there might be an end to that.

whisper stops at the entrance to goodneighbor, hand stilled on the metal door.

‘take a hit to the head back in malden? forget how to use doors?’

she spins on her heel, puts her back to the door, and all deacon can think is: uh oh. he knows the look; she wants to talk. and he’ll talk, sure, but -

‘why didn’t you tell me about the tech you picked from kellogg’s brain?’

- deacon is, unfortunately, finding it more difficult to lie to her. she’s picked out enough of his bullshit, gone along with the rest of it. the act itself isn’t difficult - deacon’s been lying for years. but there’s a little part of him that whispers (ha) don’t lie to her.

‘didn’t seem important.’

she cants her head to the side. ‘try again. you can do better.’

see, he can. but he doesn’t want to. so he gives her the truth. part of it, anyway. ‘it might have been a waste of time. i figured, between tom and carrington, they’d find out if it was a lead worth pursuing.’

he notices the tension begin to drain from her shoulders. a leak, not a release. ‘so it wasn’t because you don’t trust me?’

so that’s what this is about. carrington must have gotten to her more than she let on. ‘of course not. i trust you.’ more than he probably should, but deacon still considers himself a good judge of character.

she catches her genuine smile, turns it into a grin, and he can hear the wink in her voice when she says, ‘thought you can’t trust anyone?’

he rolls his eyes even though she’s turned her back to him to push through to goodneighbor. ‘just you, partner,’ he mumbles, low enough that she can’t hear.

amari looks between the two of them before pulling away from her paperwork. the memory den is empty today, likely in preparation for what they’re about to do. though, irma had apparently been told who to look out for, because she had simply waved them on to the back.

‘do you have a geiger counter?’ the doctor asks.

‘mine is in the shop,’ whisper answers dutifully. the doctor’s hands return from under her desk and away from a pistol she no doubt has hidden. deacon has taught them all so well.

‘i recognize you.’ amari nods at deacon. ‘you’re the other one?’ when whisper introduces herself, amari’s eyes widen. ‘ah, i see. h2 mentioned you.’

‘he’s why we’re here. malden center is open again for one last run. desdemona is working on another route.’

amari closes her eyes and nods. ‘i thought as much. thank you. it was getting dangerous holding him here.’ she rises from her desk. ‘i’ve kept him the back room, but we’re going to need it if we’re going to go through with this procedure.’ she holds out a note with another shorthand - different from deacon’s own - scribbled in drummer boy’s handwriting. ‘your other friend isn’t here yet. i’ll go have h2 move to another room.’

‘no!’ whisper near-shouts. ‘i’ll get him, it’s no trouble.’

‘i don’t think that’s - ‘ amari begins, but whisper is already halfway to the back. ‘is this her first?’

deacon nods. ‘they got particularly close. she took a bullet for him.’ he remembers the look in her eyes when they were sitting in the lobby in ticon. like a mother looking at her son. how it didn’t hit him then that she’s a mother - ‘she’d find out one way or another.’

he can’t protect her from this.

‘he left this for her.’ amari pulls a holotape from her pocket. ‘that’s how i knew who she was.’

whisper is breathless, half-skipping down the stairs to where h2 waits. she takes in that mop of brown hair, his padded blue jacket, though he’s grown a beard since the last time she saw him. he sits on a couch at the edge of the room, staring down at his hands.

‘hey - ‘

‘whoa, lady.’ it’s h2′s face, but not his voice. this man’s voice is rougher, not the soft-spoken young man she met in the church. ‘doc said i’m in quarantine. i might be contagious or something. what’re you doin’ down here?’

there’s no recognition in his eyes when he looks at her. just confusion. ‘i, uh, i work with the doctor. she said you’re clear, and we’re moving you to another room. she’s - she’s upstairs.’

‘oh, hey, cool. i was gettin’ bored down here. only so many times you can count ceiling tiles, y’know? was tempted to take a little nap in one of those pods. anyway, upstairs, you said?’

whisper’s glad for the sunglasses when he comes closer. somehow, she keeps the tears out of her voice. ‘yeah, upstairs. she’ll get you set up to leave.’

‘thanks again, lady. nice meetin’ you.’

she doesn’t turn, just listens to the sound of his retreating footsteps. ‘yeah. nice to meet you.’

it’s where deacon and nick find her moments later, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the two memory pods in front of her. the former puts a hand between her shoulders, leans around her. ‘you okay? i should have warned you - ’

‘no, i needed to find out myself. i get it.’ she’s since dried her tears.

‘this is for you.’ he takes one of her hands in his, places something cold and metal in the center. ‘from h2. before.’ it’s a small holotape with her codename written on it.

she puts it in her pocket. ‘thank you.’

nick passes by the two of them and runs a leathery hand over the glass of one of the pods. ‘from what i understand, we’re jumping into kellogg’s memories. sounds crazy, but knowing the institute - ’ he looks to her. ‘you ready?’

the pod looks like the one she stepped into two hundred years ago, though cushioned and inclined. the top half is entirely glass, with a single monitor hanging from the top. static hums on the screen.

whisper takes one step toward it, then freezes. what if it doesn’t open when it’s over? what if she’s stuck again, two hundred years - she grabs deacon’s hand without thinking, grips it like she’s holding on for dear life.

maybe she is.

‘we’ll all be right here,’ he reassures her. ‘it’s just memories. kellogg can’t hurt you in there.’ he turns to someone walking by, and she sees dr. amari has joined them downstairs. ‘he can’t hurt her somehow, right? this is just routine memory viewing?’

dr. amari sighs. ‘routine is not the word i’d use. unorthodox, yes, but no more dangerous. mr. valentine here is the only one in danger of complications.’

‘nick - ‘

‘it’s all right, doll. i agreed to this.’

she sighs heavily. deacon leads her over to the pod and doesn’t let go of her hand until it begins to close. it hisses shut, the hinges clicking as it locks. locks.

‘your heartbeat spiked. i need you to calm down or the memory sync won’t work,’ comes dr. amari’s voice from a small speaker near her head.

calm. breathe in, breathe out. count to ten. breathe in - deacon taps on the glass next to her. the closed pod muffles the sound of him dragging a chair over next to her. i’m right here, she reads his lips.

‘that’s better. this is your first time, so i have to tell you: it might feel a little strange. the static on the monitor is white noise, that’s all. you will be viewing these memories, as if you’re there. but you will be viewing them from kellogg’s perspective. okay?’

‘okay,’ whisper croaks. her voice barely sounds like her own. like h2′s didn’t sound the same -

‘no, no, calm down. we’re almost there. mr. valentine is ready when you are. are you?’

breathe out. ‘i’m ready.’

‘good. sunglasses off, close your eyes, and - ‘

whisper feels a sharp shock at the base of her skull, and the world goes black.

deacon watches whisper through the glass, eyes closed like she’s sleeping, but her eyes move back and forth rapidly. her breathing is even, at least. he props his chin in the palm of his hand, and waits.

she’s in a bedroom, looking down at child drawings on a bed, worn out crayons spread across a threadbare blanket. a woman sits next to her, smelling of cigarette smoke and something - something else, something familiar, but she can’t place it. she wants to turn her head to look at her, see why she seems so familiar, but she can’t. instead, she flinches at a loud knock on her bedroom door and a louder, male voice screaming on the other side of it.

the woman slides a gun into view, the revolver she’ll come to know, and places a hand on hers. ‘connie,’ the woman says, and finally she looks up. mousy brown hair, bruises on her face, a split lip. ‘you can’t rely on anyone else, honey. this is the only thing you can trust.’

the gun is heavy in her small hands. the man bangs on the door again. she aims the revolver at the door, hands shaking. the man screams and yells, and she doesn’t pull the trigger.

i ran away from home, kellogg’s voice is soft in her mind. i think she wanted me to kill him, but i didn’t realize until i was older and it was too late. don’t know what happened to her. maybe she got out.

oh, whisper thinks.

‘that’s not it. we’ll move on to the next memory.’

she’s older now, a prominent scar on her face and leather jacket reflecting in the kitchen window. she watches her wife clean up after breakfast. she has a job to get to in the afternoon, but until then - she wraps her arms around the woman’s waist, presses a kiss to the top of her head. sarah, this she knows. she remembers her, because how could she possibly forget her? her face, the sound of her voice.

and then their daughter coos from her high chair, tosses around crumbs sarah will be finding around the kitchen for months. mary. almost two years old. thank god she’s got her mother’s face. don’t know what she’d do if mary inherited this mug.

surprised to find out i had a family, once upon a time? we aren’t so different, you and i.

‘another memory, then.’

she stalks down a hallway like death. she’s the reaper. she’s deliverance. justice. revenge. there will be no mercy when she finds them. the revolver fits perfectly in her hand. a voice calls to her overhead: ‘they died like dogs. and you weren’t there to protect them.’ she knows this voice. she hates this voice. she’s going to tear his throat out with her teeth. she kicks down a door and fires. one, two, three, four, five, six. one was enough. two through six were for sarah and mary. it doesn’t bring them back, but it feels fucking good.

not so different.

‘getting closer.’

she nurses a beer. or was it a whiskey? maybe it’s rum tonight. she doesn’t know the name of the bar, but it never matters. what does matter: there’s always a drink.

this was the start of it, she remembers. remaking a name for herself. answering to no one but herself. having someone else lord over her makes them think they own you. and, well, when you have something they can take away?

she takes the job from the drifters. kill some family upriver. names don’t matter. caps do. keeps the liquor flowing.

kellogg is quiet, contemplative. all she gets is the soft buzzing in the back of her mind, and then she’s shuffled off to the next memory.

she stands in front of a woman in a clean, white suit. not many people like that around here, anymore. and she’s got two robots flanking her with a third hovering just over her own shoulder. she’s already calculated every way to make it out of this alive if it goes bad.

institute. boogeyman. and apparently she’s gotten on their bad side. not her fault, really, if the institute’s been pissing off people with enough caps to buy her help to get back at them. the only solution she can see: the institute pays her more than that. no more problem.

so the scientist doesn’t believe her at first, that’s fine. she believes after she single handedly takes out three of their skeleton-looking synths before any of them can get a shot off.

minutemen for you, institute for me, kellogg says. how close we were to becoming the same person.

‘manual override initiated. cryogenic stasis suspended.’

no. no, no, no. please, she can’t watch this again.

she stares at the faces of the people as they begin to wake up. first, the confusion. then, the panic. they don’t need to open any of these pods. just one. a man wakes, a baby held in one arm. that’s the target. the man looks at her, then past her, and when she turns, she sees - herself. the back up. the pod hisses open, and the man coughs and sputters, never letting go of the child.

cruel. she wonders what the fuck she did to the institute to deserve this job. the old man could have done this himself. not hard to steal an infant from a man whose muscles have been held in stasis for two hundred years.

she raises her revolver when he won’t let go, though, and maybe that’s why she’s-he’s here. do the hard job no one else wants to do. she pulls the trigger, and the man slumps forward. the scientist with him takes the baby who cries loud, echoing off the vault walls. she wonders if that’s what mary sounded like when they took her. oh well. that was years ago and she was a different person, then.

she looks to the woman with murder in her eyes. she grins. this woman would be her justice. her deliverance. her reaper. if only they’d let her go. as it is, she’s the back up. the other scientist down the hall puts her back to sleep. the other poor suckers stay trapped in their pods, forced to suffocate until their end.

‘are you okay? your heart rate increased again.’

‘dr. amari,’ she whispers, throat laden with tears, ‘next memory.’

their little house in diamond city has started to become a home. shaun has started to pin his drawings everywhere. some of her, down to her distinct scar. some of his parents he can barely seem to remember. she hasn’t had the heart to tell him what she did. because she’s rather enjoyed - this. what she could have had. shaun’s got the floor covered with his comic books now, and he knows he’ll have to clean them up before dinner.

he’s a good kid. looks like a perfect mix between his mother and father. shaun laughs at travis rambling on the radio, or maybe it’s something he’s reading in his books. she’s busy cleaning her revolver, breathing in the moment.

it ends, though, as do all things. the institute’s courser steps through the door, and everything changes. shaun is to go to the institute, for good. and she’s to hunt down virgil, hiding out in the glowing sea. shaun looks up at her with confused, but understanding eyes. she doesn’t even get to say goodbye before he and the courser disappear in a flash of blue light, teleported back to the institute.

she spins the chambers on her revolver, listens to it click and whir. with a flick of her wrist, it’s done. she’ll set up in fort hagen for now. the old man will have her house cleaned out the moment she leaves, so she packs only what she needs. her guns, ammo, armor. her favorite cigars and booze, because if she’s going to the glowing sea, she’s going to enjoy herself before setting foot in that radiation bath.

she picks up shaun’s pile of comics and stacks them neatly on the desk. maybe whatever courser that cleans her place will take them back to shaun. she laughs, realizing how stupid that sounds. so she picks up the stack herself and throws the entire thing into the trash can.

she shoulders her bag and turns off the lights, locking the door behind her. at least she had the taste of her perfect little family.

good riddance.

now get out.

‘that’s it!’ amari shouts, but deacon isn’t listening.

he’s watching whisper wake up slowly, electrodes at the base of her skull falling as she pulls away from the chair. she touches her cheek, follows the trail of her tears from earlier. whatever she saw bothered her. a lot. she practically jumps when the pod clicks open, and he’s there in an instant, helping her out of it and steadying her shaking legs.

‘that’s why we could never find an entrance to the institute. there isn’t one. at least not an obvious one.’

‘teleportation - that’s,’ whisper starts slowly, tries to reform words. ‘how?’

‘i assume that scientist the courser - ‘ deacon stiffens. ‘ - mentioned, virgil, will know something. he’s your best bet. the glowing sea,’ amari says to him, the only one not privy to any of this, ‘that’s where you’ll find him.’

the glowing sea. a heavily irradiated expanse of land. great.

‘where’s nick?’ whisper asks.

‘he was up before you. i’m going to check on him, make sure there’s no side effects from that procedure. then i need to get ready to move h2. excuse me.’

amari leaves in a rush, but whisper stays where she is, looking dazed. he remembers the first time he used the memory pod, and he ended up much like this after it. though reliving the memories of an institute hitman couldn’t have been easy on her.

‘whisper,’ he tries, bringing her focus back to him, instead of the chair she’s burning a hole into. ‘you okay?’

‘deacon,’ she stares up at him, eyes wide. she opens her mouth to speak, cups his face like she’s trying to see if he’s real, and then her eyes shift down, and suddenly she’s kissing him.

his hands instinctively go to her hips, but the rest of his body is two steps behind his brain that is currently short circuiting. it’s over, as quick as it was unexpected, and he has a hell of an internal war trying to convince himself that he isn’t disappointed.

she pulls away slowly, eyes half-lidded, and she whispers, ‘thank you,’ against his lips, still so close he can trace out the syllables. whisper comes back to herself, eyes back to his, bright and hopeful. ‘thank you, thank you,’ she repeats.

‘wait. what?’

she’s still grinning when she bends down to pick up her sunglasses, fallen to the floor of the memory pod, and it doesn’t fade even as she drags him back upstairs to the main floor of the memory den.

#siri drabbles #oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #otp: i'm in your corner #i had a lot of fun with the memory section actually #79k words and they finally kiss. jesus.

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gold-and-rubies · 3 years

Text

In It For The Long Haul - Chapter 15

Claudia POV

Claudia sighed as she stepped out of the power armor. As stiff as she would get wearing it for a prolonged period, the warmth was enough to not want to leave it.

The trip to The Castle had been incredibly successful. It looked like it was doing well, they had found schematics for some artillery, and Ronnie Shaw… she was something else. Despite MacCready’s opinion, she quite liked her. Though, she did not blame him. He did not seem to care for most forms of authority.

She stretched out her back and neck before turning to speak to MacCready. She could have sworn he had been looking at her, but his eyes were fixed on their shared house. She turned to look at it, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Did you see something?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh, oh no. Just a um, a trick of the light,” he sputtered.

She swore she saw him blush, though she was unsure if it was just the cold. She raised an eyebrow, confused. As she opened her mouth she was cut off by the sound of footsteps. A voice spoke before she turned around.

“Dia?”

She paused. She did not turn to see who it was. Too scared to be wrong. Despite the raspiness it was so familiar.

“Dia, is it really you?” he asked.

She looked at him slowly, already on the verge of tears. The necrotic face of a ghoul man met her eyes. Behind the age and dead tissue was a face she loved and knew very well. Her ghoulified brother was standing in front of her.

With a broken sob she almost tackled him with a hug. “Andy,” she cried.

He held her tightly without a word. She sobbed into his shoulder. She had accepted that her family was likely long gone, or at least she’d probably never see any of them. But now she was holding on to her little brother like if she let go he’d turn to dust.

It felt like everything he had been burying for the past few months broke out of her. All that pain finally made its way out of her. He cried too, which just made her hold him tighter. After all she was still his big sister.

They stood sobbing with a mix of emotions in each other's arms. She was unsure how long they stayed like that, but she did not really care.

When they did finally pull away, she still held onto his arms. Afraid to let go. She had to tilt her head up to look him in the face. He had grown a bit since she had last seen him. He was now at least a foot taller than her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice was almost as hoarse as his.

“It’s a long story, but the shorter version is I caught word that the Minutemen had a new general. Last name of Flynn. I was curious to see if it was one of your descendents. But the more I heard, the more it sounded like you, but nothing said you were a ghoul, so I was confused. I had to see for myself who you really are.”

“Well, it’s me,” she laughed weakly.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he smiled, “and as relieved and happy I am to see you, how do you still look like you?”

Her smile turned to a frown, “Cryostasis vault.”

“Some world you woke up to.”

She sighed, “No shit.”

He laughed, “At least you didn’t have to live through the early days. Especially back in California.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. Andy, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. None of it was your fault.”

“Still, it must’ve been hell.”

“It was, but we can talk about that more later. You have to introduce me to your… friend,” he smirked slightly.

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. She was not fond of how he said that. As much as she loved him, he could get on her nerves pretty quickly.

“Right,” she cleared her voice and turned to MacCready, “Andy, this is MacCready. MacCready, this is my little brother Andrew.”

“Little?” he exclaimed, “I am at least a foot taller than you, and I’ve actually aged, unlike you!”

“I’m still older than you. That’s never going to change.”

He rolled his eyes, “Okay old woman.”

“It’s only two years.”

“Says the one who insists it matters.”

She rolled her eyes, “Whatever. Anyway, this is my brother.”

“Nice to meet you, MacCready,” he held out his hand.

MacCready shook it, “Nice to meet you too.”

“So, are you one of the Minutemen?”

“Not exactly. He’s a mercenary I hired. I needed help getting around. Ended up becoming one of my closest friends and kinda part of the Minutemen,” she explained. She felt more comfortable telling Andy the truth, than she had with Ronnie. She trusted him not to judge either of them too harshly.

“Not the worst thing in the world. A friend of hers is a friend of mine. Anyway, you two just got back from… somewhere, right? I’ll let you get settled.”

“We should talk later.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said sarcastically, and walked off towards one of the other houses. Some things never change.

She looked at MacCready. His face was unreadable. He scratched the back of his neck.

“I, uh, didn’t know you had a brother,” he paused for a moment, “but I don’t blame you for not talking about him. I know how hard it can be to talk about family….”

“I have a feeling we’re going to have to have a hard conversation,” she sighed, “but it’s good to have him back.”

***

“Where are you going?” Claudia asked from the couch. MacCready was standing in the hallway with his rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Target practice. I figured that this is probably going to get personal, for both of you, so i wanted to give you some space.”

“Oh, well, thank you.”

“‘Course,” he nodded, “Besides, even though I’m probably the best sniper in the Commonwealth, I could use practice.”

She scoffed at him as he left. A few moments later there was a knock on the front door. Andrew was waiting for her when she opened it.

“Come in.”

He came in, and made a beeline for the couches where an old stove had been converted into a fireplace. It was a piece of her own handiwork that she had made in some downtime.

“I saw MacCready leave. You two live together?” he asked.

“Yeah?” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“You sure you guys are just friends?”

“Yes, Andrew, I’m sure. It’s not like we’re sharing the same bed every damn night.”

She had a feeling that was why he was smirking earlier. Drawing conclusions that did not exist, as usual. She remembered every time she brought up a guy he would insist that she liked him. He was rarely right.

“You’ve shared the same bed?” he asked. Save for a raised eyebrow, his face was completely straight. She could hear the humor in his voice though.

“Andrew,” she glared at him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

She sat in the armchair to the right of the couch. Despite the familiarity an awkwardness hung in the air. She did not know where to start.

“So… cryostasis, huh? How long have you been out of the vault?”

“A little over two months.”

“Not many stories to tell then. Two hundred ten years… where do I start?” he sighed.

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

He shook his head, “No, I want to. It’s just hard,” he was quiet for a moment, “When the bombs dropped we didn’t have a vault to go to, but the nearest bomb dropped in the bay, so radiation wasn’t too bad for us. But those first years were, hard is an understatement. Mom died five years later due to some asshole thieves. Dad died eight years after her trying to save some people from a pack of feral dogs. I started turning into a ghoul at that point. Radiation was making its way inland.”

“Stayed in California for the few friends that were still alive. Stayed a while longer after they died. Then all of the shit with the Master and the mutants happened. That bastard is the reason for the mutants in the west. A lot of other stuff happened, but now isn’t the time for a history lesson….”

“You want something to drink?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He continued as she got drinks, “After that mess I decided to head East. I wanted to know what happened to you and Grandma. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened, would you?”

“No,” she sighed, “She was doing some shopping when it happened. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I made peace with her death a long time ago.”

She handed him a can of purified water.

“Anyway, it took me about a year and a half to get to Boston. Saw a lot of stuff. I spent a lot of time here looking for you, trying to figure out what happened to you. I never found any bones or anything, so I hoped you had made it into a vault. I would’ve investigated them, but I’ve never had a Pip-Boy, so I couldn’t get in if I wanted to. Probably for the best. At best they’re control vaults, at worst they produce super mutants.”

He took a sip of his water, “Couldn’t handle being here, so I headed south to the Capital Wasteland. Ended up leaving and bouncing around areas between here and there eventually. Mostly due to the Brotherhood and the Enclave.”

“Enclave?”

“I’m not honestly too sure. All I can say is overly corrupt remnants of the government. They’re gone now.”

“Anyway, last place I was at was an inn of sorts. I was working as their handyman. Then I got word of a new general of the Minutemen. General Flynn. I couldn’t help myself. I had to know if she was one of your descendants. If you made it into a vault. Never expected it to actually be you,” his voice broke with a sob.

She got up from her chair, and sat next to him. She pulled him into a hug, fighting back her own tears. She let himself cry into her shoulder. She could not imagine what he had been through. Two months had been tough, but two hundred years… she tried not to think about it. Right now all that mattered was that they were both alive, and even after two hundred years she was still the big sister.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #claudia flynn #maccready #fanfiction #fanfic

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