#it’s literally just a stab wound to the bicep

[thalassic-p4rk]

i have no impulse control and this sound was a vocal stim for like. way too long last(?) year and boom this is happening.

[websterss]

UNFILTERED — ETHAN LANDRY

REQUEST: Secretly dating Ethan for months but you get caught bc you walked with Ethan back to his dorm. He kisses you goodbye before realizing Chad is there.😭

WARNING(S): SPOILERS, um cussing again lmfao. Implications but its pretty okay i guess...

WORD COUNT: 1,162

PAIRING: Ethan Landry x fem!Reader    

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

“You sure you don’t want to stay tonight? I can be the little spoon this time.” Ethan offered. His back pressed against the open door of his room.

“The last time we tried that you fell off the edge. You’re a giant Ethan. You hardly fit on your twin sized bed.” You pressed a fist to his bicep. The doorway was filled with echoes of your laugh combined with Ethan‘s grimace then followed chuckles.

“That hurt by the way. I swear I thought we could fit.” His eyes crinkled with an apologetic smile.

“Well, your calculations were wrong. I fit just fine. It was your dumbass who’s legs hung off the foot of the be-“ You were cut off by Ethan’s assaults of tickles. You squirmed in his grasp trying to push him away.

“Stop, stop, stop. Pleassse no more…no more no more no mor-'' You break out into another fit of giggles.

“S-Say you're sorry.” Ethan couldn’t contain his own fits.

“No-“ Your head falls on his chest in defeat. “Okay, okay. Fine, I’ll stop. I’m sorry...” You thank him out of breath. Patting his bicep graciously. “God, you’re mean.”

“I’m not mean.” He chuckles. “Just right.”

“Yes, mean. And you are wrong. Like half the time despite having a gorgeous brain.” You look up and push back his curls.

“My brain’s gorgeous now?” He nodded, a teasing raise of his eyebrows.

“Only when you're not being a dumbass.” You wrap your arms around his neck. You leaned in and pressed your head against his. Sighing as he pulls you closer up against him.

“Stay…” He mutters softly. “Or at least let me walk you.” He suggests.

“I’m literally the building next over.” You scoff out a laugh. Pointing into the hallway for the dorms.

“A lot can happen within that walk.” He shrugs.

“Like what, getting stabbed by ghost face?” You mock with a laugh. Though seeing his shoulders slump let you know otherwise. He didn’t find it in the least bit amusing.

“That’s not funny.” He dipped his head.

“Oh, would you stop worrying. I’ll be fine. I’ll even text you when I’m safe and sound in my dorm…not bleeding out from a stab wound.” You smirk and press a sweet kiss to his cheek. He leans into your lips. Then gives up trying to convince you to stay. He leans against the door again.

“You’ll call me right when you get there?” He starts letting the idea of you walking to your dorm process.

“I’ll even FaceTime, which you know I hate doing it. I’ll even do the BeReal shit, or whatever it’s called just for the kick of it.” You now hold him at arm's length. “I’m gonna be fine. Just like I’ve been fine for the past few months. I’m invincible.” You raise your biceps, trying to show your very visible lack of muscles. Ethan’s eye roll only makes you laugh further. “Now, shut up and kiss me stupid, so I can be on my merry way, and begin my daydreaming about you, and those muscles, and that hair I like to pu-“ You moaned in delight as he cut you off with his lips. He turned you guys around and pressed you up against the door this time. Your arms now pinned over your head. He kissed you hard and rough, and god it was fucking hot. You thanked all the women that rejected him prior to meeting you. The universe had really been looking out for you, blessing you with a six foot tall, hot brunette, gorgeous brown eyed loser of a boyfriend. But goddamn was he no loser in bed. You were truly blessed.

You pulled back with a gasp. Head tilted as he left trails of kisses up and down your neck. “Fuck…” You let out shaken and rocked to your core.

“Still wanna leave?” He breathed out with shit-eating grin.

“Please leave.”

The yelp you let out was quite embarrassing. You had jumped one inch off the floor, and you had never seen Ethan pull away from you so fast. Yours and Ethan’s head snapped to the source. You both walked further into the room. Your eyes widening as they fall upon Chad, curled over a text book. He wasn’t looking directly at you but he was highly aware that the doorway was being corrupted.

“H-How long have you been sitting there?” Ethan closed his eyes, as mortified as you were in that moment.

“Enough to know you two are into some kinky ass shit. By the way, what the fuck?” He scooted his chair back and looked at you two incredulously. “When the fuck did this happen? And please tell me it hasn’t happened in the sacredness of our room…”

You and Ethan exchange a look at each other then grimace and wince at Chad who looks at Ethan’s bed grossed out.

“I think imma throw up, but also, why didn’t you just tell us. What’s with the sneaky around?”

“Cause you and Mindy are fucking nosy as hell! Plus I didn’t- We didn’t want the group to meddle into our lives. I don’t need Mindy schooling us on the basis of scary movies 101 every second we want some time alone. Okay? We just wanted to enjoy the peace while it still lasted. That’s if you can keep your fucking mouth shut though.”

“I’m offended.” He touched his heart.

“You’re a goddamn blabbermouth.” You smack him upside the head. Ethan chuckles amused by this whole ordeal. Chad shakes his head. Then looks between you.

“You trust him?”

“I let him deflower me for three months. I wouldn’t let someone go that easily….but yeah I trust him.” You nodded surely. Arms crossed over your chest.

“Don’t ever say deflower again please. For the sake of our peers and my ears.”

“You want me to say he fucked me then?” You let out a small chuckle. “Defiled, corrupted my insides? I’m an English major dude, I’m loaded with synonyms.” You gesture to yourself.

“No!” Chad exclaims, mortified. “Don’t fucking say shit period! Get the fuck out already!” He points to the door but laughs nonetheless.

“Alright, I’m going!” You lean over and press a kiss to Ethan’s cheek. “I’ll call you later, okay.” Your hands separated as you walked to the door.

“You’re fucking unbelievable…You put up with her willingly?” He laughs up at Ethan.

“Everyday...” He nods. “You just have to catch her on a good day though.”

“See even Ethan’s done with your shit!” Chad leans over to see you halt at the door.

“Not when I’m offering up my pu-” You shimmy, but dodge out the way as he throws a football at you. Your booming laughter echoing in the hallways.

“Fuck you!” Chad yells after you.

“You wish!” Your voice could be faintly heard.

“That’s your girlfriend, Landry.” Chad points to the open door. “You’re unfiltered, crazy ass girlfriend.”

“That’s my girlfriend...” He laughs out loud.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

somewhere in the haze got a sense ive been betrayed

pairing: ethan landry x reader

WC: 1.3K

warnings: blood mentions, stabbing, this is a scream fic its a little violent and graphic. SPOILERS LIKE ACTUAL CHARACTER SPOILERS DONT READ UNTIL YOUVE SEEN THE MOVIE

summary: people aren’t who they always say

A/N: i freaking loved scream6!!!!! literally wrote this the day after i watched the movie. gonna try and pop out a mix of angst and fluff for ethan cause i love my nerdy boyfriend. lowercase on purpose, sorry if that bothers you. if the chase scene sucks... mind your business, just skim the words.

masterlist

“hello?”

“hello… y/n. i’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

it was like you heard the stereotypical horror movie music play in your mind. your blood went cold and your body seized up from the bucket of ice water that just splashed over your whole body at the voice of the horrific ghost face. the way he spoke your name made you feel even sicker.

“what is it now? gonna sweet talk me for a second before you start saying vile words and then pop out from a corner ready to stab me?” you took slow steps through the living room, trying to scope out where the killer could be lurking.

he just laughed, “well you do know how this works. after all, you already went through round one in woodsboro, somehow surviving multiple stab wounds to your stomach. impressive.”

the deep drawl of his voice only caused nausea to roll over you in waves. with quiet steps as you listened to the narcissist as they just talked and talked, you hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife from the wooded block.

“honestly why don’t we just do this dance, huh? i was in the middle of a very good book and i would like to get to the part where the love interest resolved their differences and had hot sex. plus i’ve done this before and i’ve been working out.” you just started to blurt things out, your anxiety kicking into high gear.

ghost face didn’t say anything back and it only caused your fear to grow. so you just hung up and speed-dialed sam knowing she always answers her calls.

“come on, sam. please please plea-“

“y/n? what’s-“

“he’s in the apartment. please get here fast… i love you guys.” you hung up placing your phone in your back pocket. you hoped to make it alive again, but as mindy said, you're all expendable in sequels.

the noise of something crashing to the ground made you flinch high in the air, a small gasp slipping from your lips. the grip on the knife readjusted to get a firmer hold as you peeked around a corner, seeing nothing suspicious. so you started to make your way towards the front door, hoping you could escape the killer before he gets you.

as just as you passed quinn’s room you stepped on a creaky spot. you froze for a second before running to the door, fumbling with the five locks. and just as you were on the last two, sweat causing the metal to be slippery, your roommate's door burst open and ghost face, dressed in his black cloak and the dirty mask came dashing at you with the classic knife held high.

you screamed and ducked away needing to circle back to the door. you were able to get a quick swipe to their bicep before running to sam’s room and closing the door closed. you took a breath until loud banging slammed against the wooden frame, almost bending the door in half from its weight.

with ghost face distracted on the door, you ran through the shared bathroom, shutting and locking each door as you entered quinn’s room. you pushed her dresser against the bathroom for extra hold. when it was in place you ran, knife still in hand, and went back to get the last locks on the door free and ready for your escape.

just as you pulled the door open, ready to dash down the steps, you were pulled back with arms around your waist and pulled into a solid chest. you screamed and kicked, the knife falling to the floor. ghost face threw you to the ground, back hitting the living room chairs. you turned to your stomach to try and go for a push-up into a run, hands tight on your ankles pulled you back. your hands scrambled for purchase on something solid.

then suddenly the most blinding white hot pain shot through your right thigh pulling a high-strung scream from your vocals. then he gave the knife a twist making the pain shoot to your spine, you felt frozen. he pulled the dripping knife out and his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you further down before flipping you over and straddling your waist making you immobile.

you tried to push his arms away, but his strength was must higher than yours as he plunged the knife into your stomach then pulled out then back in. in and out, in and out. multiple more times that you knew you wouldn’t survive this one.

you tried using your last bit of strength to push his looming face away. with a solid hold, you ripped the stupid mask off the killer's face and the sight before you taking the last bit of air from your lungs.

“e-ethan?” you rasped out, blood dripping from your mouth.

your loving, sweet, handsome boyfriend of five months now stared down at you with a sickening twisted grin on his lips, teeth poking out like fangs. his thick head of luscious curls that you would run your fingers through when making out or just laying with each other were matted down with sweat, and the urge to touch them came back on instinct.

limply you lifted your left arm from the floor and cupped his cheek, you saw the look in his hungry eyes switch for a second before snapping back into place. “e-ethan… wh-why? i- i thought you lo-loved me.” with a gentle swipe of your thumb over his skin, his eyes involuntarily slipped closed at the comforting gesture.

“i do love you, sweetheart. but i have to do this.” a gloved hand held the one on his face, you were scared and confused by everything.

“i- i don’t-“ “i need to complete my brother's movie.”

you decided if you could keep ethan talking maybe the others will show up soon and save you, “br- brother? you- you said you were an- an only child.”

“sorry sweetheart, but i lied. had to get close to you and your friends somehow, and having a fake identity helps.” he whispered, “landry isn’t even my real last name.”

your anger was spilling over the brim. ethan used you to get closer to your friends, you were just a pawn in this stupid fantasy of his. and it hurt because you thought he was the one, the goodness that you needed in your life.

with both hands you held his cheeks then slid them slowly up into his sweaty curls, nails dragging over his scalp pulling a groan from his throat and usually, you loved the noise but now all you saw was red. so with a good fist full, you pulled his hair hard and then slammed your head together.

it caused ethan to fall back, dropping his knife. with the last of your strength, you tried to slide away from him, tried to grab your phone and call sam or chad, anyone at this point. but your luck had run out and ethan gained back his upper hand.

he grabbed a chunk of your hair, head pulled back with your eyes pointed at the ceiling. ethan leaned over your left shoulder and whispered in your ear, “i did love you. but family is family, gotta stick by them. so, any last words, y/n?”

with tears streaming down your face, and blood closing off your throat, you sniffle out your last words, “i loved you too,” you said with every bit of honesty, “but you're gonna get killed like the pussy you truly are.” you seethed with a blinding anger.

and the last thing you heard was the roar of ethan’s cry as you felt the cold metal slice your throat open and your head slumping hard on the wood flooring. you died at the hands of the first boy you truly loved in this twisted world.

love does kill you in the end.

...

[lyledebeast]

Since rewatching Gladiator the other day for the first time in many years, I've been thinking how oddly similar the fight between Maximus and Commodus is to the fight between Benjamin Martin and William Tavington in The Patriot, with one jarring difference. In Gladiator, it is the villain who wounds the hero prior to their fight to give himself an advantage and yet loses the fight anyway. In The Patriot, the hero does exactly the same thing. I am by no means an expert on fight choreography, but I believe a good fight scene, like a good sex scene, is one that provides the audience with greater understanding of the characters involved. Gladiator's fight scene does that. I'm not sure The Patriot's does, or at least not in the way the filmmakers intended.

Maximus and Commodus's fight is a piece of theatre orchestrated by Commodus to help him win the affections of Rome's citizens away from Maximus. He doubts that he can defeat Maximus purely based on skill, so he stabs him in the shoulder blade while Maximus is bound just prior to their appearance before the crowd in the Colosseum. Even gravely injured, Maximus is able to get the upper hand through his superior skill as a fighter and force Commodus to drop his sword. Commodus immediately demands another sword from the soldiers surrounding them, expecting another chance at victory to be literally handed to him. While this demand is made and refused, Maximus watches. He does not take the opportunity to kill Commodus while he is unarmed; he even drops his own sword. When Commodus pulls a surprise dagger out of his armor sleeve, Maximus again outfights him, getting control of the blade and stabbing Commodus in the throat.

Commodus's plan drives home what we've already seen of him in his relationships with his father and sister. He expects love purely on the basis of who he is, just as he expects the Roman people to transfer their affection to him for no other reason than that he has killed their hero. He fails to realize that the people do not love Maximus only because he wins. They love him because he wins against overwhelming odds, he's a good leader, he's resourceful, he's fair and even merciful. And he is a hell of a fighter. Most of these qualities are also on display in his fight with Commodus even as he is seeking vengeance for the wife and son Commodus murdered. Even though Maximus is as dead as Commodus at the end of the scene, finally having bled to death from his shoulder wound, it is his body that is carried from the arena with honor.

Martin and Tavington are more fairly matched than Maximus and Commodus; scenes prior to the film's climax show that they are both skilled fighters. But it is quite clear from the beginning that Martin has no interest in a fair fight. When they meet on the battlefield, they charge, Tavington on his horse and Martin on foot, holding the American flag repaired by the son Tavington killed like a spear. Just before they come into contact, Martin drops to his knee and stabs Tavington's horse in the chest. Horse falls, Tavington flies through the air and into the oncoming line of British soldiers. Once the fight is in progress, Tavington's bleeding from the mouth is better accounted for by this fall than any of the other injuries he recives. When he gets up Martin is waiting to shoot him with a ball made from a boiled down toy soldier belonging to his other son that Tavington killed while Tavington is disoriented from his fall and his hands are empty. Fortunately for Tavington, a cannonball hits just behind Martin and causes him to hit Tavington in the bicep, not the chest. And then it's on.

In addition to being absolutely awash in kitsch and sentimentality, there is something going on with Martin's development here. Throughout the film, he has been torn between two roles: the father and the fighter. For most of the run time, it is the role of fighter that he chooses. His choice to stay out of the war and protect his children is met with revulsion by his peers and oldest son, and later Martin himself regrets it. "I have done nothing, and for that I am ashamed," he says. But when he gets his ass whooped by a wounded British officer he had hoped to shoot while unarmed, his being a father becomes very important again. Tavington, having knocked Martin's weapons out of his hands and beaten him to his knees, takes a moment to gloat: a long one. Then two things happen almost simultaneously. An American flag drifts into Martin's field of vision, reminding him of the son he is meant to be avenging--the flag son, not the toy soldier one--and Tavington, theatre queen that he is, announces his next move: "Kill me before the war is over will you? It seems you are not the better man." He swings his sword, Martin ducks, swings around, and stabs him through the torso with a bayonet. "You're right," Martin growls. "My sons were better men." The he stabs Tavington through the throat because that was all the rage in 2000.

Up until that sudden turn of events, the clearest understanding the fight gives us of Martin's character is that when he made his promise to kill Tavington his mouth wrote a check his hands couldn't cash. Tavinton may be a child-killer and a woman-burner and executor of surrendering/wounded soldiers, but the only thing this fight tells us about him is that he is a Bad Bitch on the battlefield. His gloating is consistent with earlier behavior--the man does love to make a speech--but Martin's response is consistent only in the narrative handing him triumphs he has done nothing to earn.

In Gladiator, the fight itself is important. The way the men fight tells us important things about them. In The Patriot, it does not really matter who fights well, or fairly, or even who wins the fight. The only thing that matters is that the hero lives and the villain dies, which makes the fight between them feel a bit gratuitous. I find it satisfying to watch, though, if only for the look of shock and anguish on Mel Gibson's face when he realizes he is losing. Joaquin Phoenix's expression at the same point in his fight with Russell Crowe is quite familar: This can't be happening. Doesn't he know? I am Too Special To Lose This Fight!! The difference is that in Benjamin Martin's case, the story agrees. He is too special to lose this fight.

[a-beetle-writes-whump]

Whumperless Whump Event, day 1

@ whumperless-whump-event

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / "It's just a scratch, I've had worse." Fandom: FNaF (movie) Character: Vanessa Shelly CWs: Self-done stitches… obviously, blood, pain… this one’s pretty tame ngl

Stitching her skin back together couldn’t be that different from sewing together a hole in her sleeve, right?

Vanessa wished.

First of all, she doesn’t remember much about her mother, period. She was always just a voice in the back of her head and a fuzzy memory. That made trying to recall how to sew in the first place very hard. Second of all, Vanessa had never paid too much attention to what her mother was saying or doing, she would just sit and watch the way the cloth came together again after being torn apart. It was like magic to her little toddler brain. Third of all, she couldn’t see under her skin. On a blanket, she could flip the fabric over and over, as many times as she wanted, no matter how tedious it got. She couldn’t exactly flip her skin inside out. Not comfortably, at least.

And lastly, stitching her skin back together hurt like a bitch. She’s pretty sure sewing a blanket was never meant to hurt this bad.

Every pierce of her skin with the needle sent a soaring pain up through her arm directly to her brain. Her neck ached with the awkward angle she had to force it to see the wound in the first place. It was on her bicep, almost on the back of her arm, but not quite. Enough that she could still see all of it, but enough to force her into such a position.

Vanessa sucked in a breath, telling herself that this next stitch wouldn’t hurt so much. Wrong. It sent the same shock of pain up to her skull, contributing to her building migraine. She didn’t have any pain relievers on her. She wished she did. She’d take Tylenol at this point, for heaven’s sake! Anything to lessen the ache in her brain and searing-hot pain from her arm. It was becoming unbearable.

But the blood wouldn’t stop flowing. Sure, it wasn’t in a vital spot, but she would be out here with no contact for at least another three days, and she’d like to not have a gaping wound in her left bicep. It didn’t bode well for her productivity. She was on a mission, literally.

So, Vanessa sucked in yet another breath, steeled herself, and moved the thread through the hole she’d made. If the pain wasn’t bad enough, the feeling of thread pulling through her skin was utterly revolting. The pain was at least good for something; it took precedence over the jarring feeling. She was grateful for that much.

Vanessa’s cheeks were tear-stained by the time she finished. One-too-many times did she stab the wound directly with the needle. She was pretty sure the needle was beyond sanitarily safe by the time she made her fourth stitch. She’d never been good at textiles, after all. Wrapping the thread around her finger after creating a sizable knot, Vanessa tugged and, thankfully, the thread snapped, putting an end to her torment. Her skin around the wound was all red and puffy, irritated by the constant intrusion of the needle. She’d really need a proper nurse to take care of this when she got back. She’d be lucky if her arm didn’t get chopped off due to infection.

For now, Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief.

(This is a repost from my old account.)

[eren-the-eldritch]

I have compiled a list of Arthur’s scar leaving injuries so people(me) don’t forget(still me) to draw them (i’ll update this when new significant injuries happen and at the end of this i’ll do a tl;dr of what Arthur’s current state might look like now, leaving out uncertainties and including things like starvation and shaving.

Part 1 “The Dark World”

There were no blood mentions regarding Parker’s body and I’m taking a shot in the dark and saying the method was strangulation (unless John just used some weird magic and not Arth’s body). When being strangled, most will panic and claw at the aggressors wrists- But then wouldn’t there be blood? Maybe enough time passed for it to dry and remain hidden under Arthur’s sleeves. I dunno I just like the idea of that moment leaving scars.

Part 3 “The Mansion”

There was a car crash (surprising it only happened on the duo’s 2nd drive..). Arth literally had to climb through a seat to get to the baby in the back however the baby remained unharmed so maybe he could’ve been unharmed as well? Buutttt he did black out for a split second and said he couldn’t think straight. I believe a small superficial head scar to be possible along with some tiny other facial scaring all, caused by the glass windshield shattering a bit due to the crash. After all, there was sound of stepping over glass when he walked away from the wreck..

Arth also fell through a wooden stairway but no attention was drawn to any possible injury on his body and I realllyy doubt that he wasn’t harmed in some way.. maybe thin scars were created by the wood scratching thin areas like the hands and ankles or areas that scar easily but you just happen to be able to ignore it in the moment, y’know?

Part 4 “The Voices”

Near the end of this episode, Arthur gets huge damage to the stomach causing it to bleed. Pretty sure it was inflicted by a kitchen knife or something larger. Art said something along the lines of his entire waistline feeling wet with blood and it was enough damage for John to say the words “if this is the end…” and some sappy shit. Definitely a deep cut.

(Wow… dying from a botched c-section… not unbelievable but very uncommon for a man who, unless I skipped an episode, was not pregnant…)

Part 9 “The Boat”

Everyyyyone knows about the 3 shots Arthur took to the chest but i’ll mark it anyway. The first two shots seemed to only be like “OW” but he could probably keep going. By that excellent deduction I conclude they didn’t hit the heart. The third one probably did tho, sounded like he was seeing the light- or well, the dark at that point.

Part 12 “The End”

These little tadpole guy things tries to slither into arthur’s arm, arthur has to press lighter against skin to stop the thing from getting further in, bleeding a bit, possible scar + burn scar.

Part 13 “The Dreamlands”

Now it’s time to bring up the wooden pinkie. The duo bit it off to give the trees a friend, cauterized the wound, and a wooden pinkie grew out. There could be burn scarring where the wooden replacement pinkies grew out.

Part 15 “The Storm”

The injury caused here is kinda the entire reason I decided to go back through all the episodes and check because I forgot about this one entirely. Here the duo just barely escape a dark storm by hiding behind a large boat bitten by rust. The wind tore off some skin on the right side of Arthy’s face and it was apparently difficult to see out of their right eye until they cleaned it.

Part 17 “The Fall”

The monster thing threw a rock at Art from ceiling which resulted in a deep cut in his bicep. His shoulder dislocated on the same arm and from the fact that Arthur (who only has control of the right hand) had to set it back I think the damage was on the left arm.

Part 20 “The King” + “Coda”

Arthur got cut by one of the King’s dancer’s cut Arthur although it isn’t clear where it sounded like it drew blood (aka it scarred). Arthur also stabbed himself in the throat, just missing his jugular. That definitely left a kayne-knife-shaped scar.

Part 23 “The Past”

A piece of Arthur’s right ear was torn off, ouch.

(gonna include this here because I don’t want to go back and check which episode this happened in but Arthur did shave at like the beginning of the season after he got to the weird bar. I remember because he kept going on about deserving a wash and a shave and yellow was so pissy about it)

Part 27 “The Roots”

And now everyone’s favorite episode! We know Arth isn’t gonna die so i’m considering what the marks left by this near death experience may be. Arthur gets pierced by some tendril thing through the stomach so depending on what means through which it heals, there’s gonna be a huge scar there (i can’t imagine it just stays an open hole.. or it could, who knows!) Also, based on how the creature thing cut it out, there should be a gash in Arth’s head from where john cut the monster thingy’s tendril out.

tl;dr

Arthur is (circa part 26 not 27) a very thin, clean-shaven man showing signs of starvation covered in scars with the most significant being the superficial scarring on the right side of his face, a deep scar across his stomach covering the entirety of his waistline, 3 small wounds to the chest caused by bullets, a wooden pinkie on his left hand, a deep scar over his throat, a deep cut in his left bicep, a piece of his right ear bitten off, a burn scar on his arm where he had to burn a tadpole out of it.

[jeysbvck]

Tension - Adrian Chase x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: i've said this before, but this definitely ran away from me. it's my longest work so far, and i love writing all your requests! please let me know what you think!<3

Request: 'only one bed', 'sexual tension while tending to a wound' & 'make me.'

Warnings: Smut (MINORS DNI), language.

Word Count: 2.3k

Taglist: @rosescovenwrites @vigilvntes @myguiltypleasures21 @aprilfire18 @lindenvale @themartiansdaughter

Adrian burst through the motel door, dragging you along under his arm. You struggled, but between your injuries and how ridiculously strong Adrian was (which you wouldn't have guessed looking at him), you had no chance.

"Adrian, will you chill out, I'm fine!" You pseudo whisper, still attempting to get out from under him.

"Adrian? Whose Adrian? I don't know anyone named Adrian. It's so weird you'd call me that!" He said loudly. He helped you onto the one bed in the room, because of course Murn couldn't spring for a room with two beds and then kicked the door closed before glaring at you. "I've told you not to use my real name! I have a secret identity for a reason, you know?" He chastised as he pulled off the Vigilante mask and threw it across the room aimlessly before taking your shoes off. How could this action make the butterflies erupt in your stomach?

You rolled your eyes as Adrian lifted you up slightly so he could fluff up the pillow, taking this moment to study his face. His green eyes always seemed to sparkle, his tongue poking out through his lips slightly as he concentrated. You thought his face was absolutely flawless and you had to look away before you thought of how flawless the rest of him must be.

"You know we're literally the only people staying here, right? This place is disgusting." You said as he started to search the bags you both had brought for the mission.

"Yeah but they have ears everywhere, I've seen the films." He replied.

"What films?" You scoffed. "Besides, on the off chance anyone overheard me, they wouldn't know who you are based off your first name! Do you know how many people in the world are named Adri..." You trailed off, raising your eyebrow at the way he pulled and threw everything out of the bags. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for the first aid kit!" He replied. As he made a mess, your eyes traced his body and the way it looked in the suit. It was tight, and you could see that, although he was a skinny guy, he had the muscle. You already knew that, you'd seen him fight and he'd practically carried you to the room, but still. There was something about the outfit, maybe it was the leather, or maybe it was because teal was totally Adrian's colour. Or maybe, it was just the man inside the suit. The ridiculous, sweet, beautiful man. The sinful thoughts crept through, your mind was clouded with thoughts of what it was like under there, running your hands over his toned abs, over his biceps, over his...

"How many?" You heard him ask, pulling you from the dirty thoughts.

"Um, what?"

"How many people are named Adrian? You know, in the world?"

"I don't know Adri-" He turned and glared at you, and you sighed. "-Vig. That's my point."

"Oh, okay." He shrugged. "Ah, found the kit!" He cheered, waving it in the air.

"Great, give it to me." You replied, reaching out to take it.

"Um, no?" He replied. "I'm doing it."

Your mouth dried up pretty quickly, the thought of Adrian being so close to you, cleaning the wound that was on the stomach, so close to your sex. He was making it so hard to ignore the thoughts that you had spent so long pushing away. It was bad enough you had to share a bed with him, because God knows you weren't going to sleep on the disgusting floor.

"I told you, I'm fine. I can do it myself."

"You were stabbed!"

"Lightly stabbed." You countered. "Anyway, you've been stabbed before, you know it's not a big deal."

Adrian leaned over you, making you arch your head up so you could look up at him.

"That's completely different and we both know it." He replied, flashing you a smile. "And even then, you still insisted on cleaning me up, now it's my turn. Payback, bitch!"

You raised your eyebrow as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

"Um-yes? But I meant it more of a 'hey bitches!' kinda way, not a 'oh em gee she's such a bitch' way!"

You chuckled, completely enamoured by how he was so unaware of how utterly charming and handsome he was. You wet your lips with your tongue, hoping Adrian didn't notice; if he did, he didn't let on.

"Um, I need you to-uh-" Adrian stumbled over his words, gesturing at you to remove your jacket. You nodded and attempted, but the fact you were stabbed was making it difficult.

"Hey Vig, could you...help me?"

Adrian dropped the box on the other side of the bed and jumped up. He gently took your jacket off and when that was done, he sat back on the bed and gulped. You watched his Adam's apple bob and bit your lip, shaking the thoughts from your mind. This can't happen, this can't happen.

Adrian inhaled through his nose, then slowly lifted your vest top up. His fingertips grazed your skin, almost sending you into a frenzy. His touch was barely there as he did so, but your skin was on fire. Your whole body was on fire. When he finally started to clean the wound, humming as he did -he was always fucking humming- you sucked air through your teeth and groaned, making him bite his lip before smirking.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Adrian teased.

"Still tougher than you, Vig." You quipped back, earning a grin from him. Even before you started crushing on him, his smile was the one thing that knocked you off your feet.

He taped the bandage to your skin and patted your thigh triumphantly, your eyes fixated on it, how it looked, how it felt. "All done." He confirmed, completely oblivious to how much he was driving you crazy. When he turned his back to throw the bloodied wipes away, you took the opportunity and stood up, grimacing as you did.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Adrian asked, standing up with you and grabbing your hand as he did. "You need to relax and rest.

How the fuck could you relax right now? With his large hand engulfing yours, you wonder what it would be like wrapped around your throat. You bite your lip hard, the metallic taste of blood hitting your tongue. Shit.

"I just need some air, Vig."

"Then I'll open a window." He replied, tugging you gently back towards the bed.

"Seriously?" You plant your feet, refusing to move.

"Deadly. Now be a good girl and do what you're told." Adrian said. Your eyes widened in shock as arousal pooled in your underwear.

Before your brain had registered anything, the words slipped out of your mouth.

"Make me."

Within seconds, Adrian had scooped you up bridal style, like you weighed absolutely nothing, and pinned you beneath his body on the bed. His eyes darkened as his hands rested either side of your head, careful to avoid your wound as he straddled you. You looked up at him, your hands had snaked around his neck, twisting the curl at the base of his neck around your finger. His tongue flicked out for a moment, wetting his lips as he leaned his head towards you. You held your breath, was he about to kiss you? Then, without warning, he rolled himself off you and sat on the other side of the bed, silently undressing out of his armour.

You couldn't take your eyes off his broad shoulders and his naked back, resisting the urge to drag your nails down it; his biceps you were fantasising about before now mere metres away from you. It wasn't like Adrian to be silent, usually if he wasn't talking, he was humming, sometimes even singing. This was different.

"Adrian? Is everything okay?" You asked gently. You sit up on your knees and inch towards him. You place your hand gently on his shoulder blade, making his head whip towards you.

"I-uh-I think-think I'll sleep on the floor." He mumbled, and you frowned.

"Why? You don't wanna share the bed?"

"Oh no no, I do, fuck, I really do. But you're-"

You don't know what comes over you. Maybe it's the way his eyes darkened again as he cursed, the way his body tensed up under your hand, but you ran both your hands over his shoulders and down his chest, stifling a moan as you finally feel his perfect abs. Adrian shifts slightly, and you hold back a smirk when you see he's semi hard.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor, Adrian." You whisper in his ear. "I don't want you to sleep on the floor."

Adrian gulped and started to stammer out a sentence. A wave of guilt and regret washed over you, you realised you had no idea if you were making him uncomfortable, and you removed your hands. Adrian let out a little whine, making you grin. "You want to share a bed with me?" He squeaked.

"Yes."

"So, you want to sleep with me? I mean-not like that, obviously, although I definitely wouldn't say no! Like, look at you, you're so fucking hot, I definitely haven't thought about you while getting myself off."

You knew that Adrian didn't have a filter, especially when it came to his anxious rambling, but holy fuck, he had no idea what his words did to you. All night, your thoughts had been filthy, and you'd been trying so hard to ignore them, but now, you didn't want to. You wanted to indulge those thoughts.

"Adrian, I need you."

Adrian didn't need you to say anything else. He didn't even care that you'd called him by his name. He once again pinned you to the bed, but this time, his lips crashed against yours, and as your tongues danced, you moaned. Adrian's hands pulled your vest top down, bunching it under your breasts, kneading them, pulling at your nipples. His mouth left yours and found your neck, feverishly nipping and kissing your sweet spot as you threw your head back, your hands tangled up in his hair. One hand trailed down your body, the goose bumps following it down, until he hit your leggings.

"Can I-?" He mumbled against your neck, but you were already lifting your hips up. He pulled them down and in one motion ripped your underwear off your body, before throwing them behind him. He looked into your eyes and grinned, god that grin.

"Sorry." He said, and you both giggled. Without breaking eye contact, two fingers found your cunt and you bucked your hips again. "You're so wet for me." He said, his voice low.

"I have been all night." You replied and a guttural moan left his mouth. It was the most amazing, filthy noise you'd heard, your moan just as bad as he pushed his fingers into you. As he worked you, you threw your head back in ecstasy . In all of your dirty dreams, Adrian had been great at sex, knowing exactly what to do and how to get you there; but this was so much better. His fingers curved inside you, his free hand clutching your throat and you almost orgasm right there and then. Almost. Your back arched and you grabbed tufts of his curly hair as his mouth latched onto your breast, rolling the nipple around with his teeth.

"Ffffuck," you said, strangled. His fingers work faster and when he introduces his thumb to your clit, it sends you over the edge. You writhe as Adrian pins you down, kissing your breasts, your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, ending with a deep, slow kiss on your lips.

"I need to fuck you." Adrian mumbled into your lips before kicking the rest of his Vigilante suit off. "Right now."

You nodded, then smirked at him before flipping your positions, so you were now on top of him. You slid your hand in between your bodies and gripped his hard cock, grinning at the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"Please, I-"

His sentence was cut short by you slipping his cock inside yourself. The groan that escaped his lips was unlike anything you heard before, but you knew you needed to hear it again. It was sinful, the noises you could bring out of him, and you loved every single one of them. Both your moans echoed through the room, possibly out of it too, and you knew it wouldn't take long for either of you to finish; but you didn't care.

"F-fuck, you feel so good." Adrian muttered as he attempted to buck his hips. You put your hands on his chest and he reached for your throat and your hip with his own. "I'm gonna -fuck- I'm gonna cum."

You quickened your pace, his cock hitting you right in the sweet spot, and you dragged your nails across his chest while his dug into your hip. Your head nuzzled into his neck as you both finished together and, with his arms now wrapped protectively around you, you rode out your wave together.

He put his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up, giving you a soft, gentle kiss, nothing like the ones you'd just shared, before he rested his forehead against yours.

"That was fucking amazing." He said with a grin. You hummed in agreement and he kissed your nose again. "We can do it again, right?"

You giggled. "You're insatiable Adrian." You replied as you carefully climbed off him and lay next to him, while he rested his head in the crook of your neck.

"Oh, how's your...?" He gestured to your stomach, then stabbed the air. You rolled your eyes and giggled.

"I'm fine, it's fine." You reassured him.

"So..." He drew circles on your sternum. "Are you ready for round two?"

[generalfoolish]

An Extrapolation of Heavy Shit

Summary: In which Adrian admits something important

Pairing: Vigilante (Adrian Chase) x GN!Reader

Warnings: *All of my works are M for mature so 18+ please; language, language, language, canon typical violence, sexual themes, eating, moral contemplations, mentions of pain, blood, cuts, etc.

Word Count: 2.5K

Request: "i hope you're having a good day/night whenever you see this!! had a request for adrian x reader where they both are exhausted, sore, wounded, and hungry after a mission and both have a really tender and intimate "not a date" while taking care of one another that makes him realize how much he likes her and he's just so whipped?"

A/N: Sorry this took a minute to be written; I put off so much actual work to just dive into these feels. Hope you enjoy <3

Masterlist | Taglist

You shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, trying to maneuver your suit off while avoiding moving your left arm, partially because of the searing pain radiating from the gash in your bicep, but also because you were trying not to hit Adrian as he undressed beside you. You hissed and stopped with the long sleeve tactical shirt half on, leaving your right arm pinned awkwardly and your left immobile from pain. You began to open your mouth, to beg Adrian for his help, when he batted your hand away and began to slowly peel the sleeve away.

You focused on the way his tongue flicked out in concentration, how his glasses slipped down his nose, and how his curls were plastered to his forehead from being mashed down by his helmet. You found him endlessly endearing, but more than that, you found yourself irritated at yourself. You couldn’t help but feel everything for him, all the while knowing that he likely felt nothing for you. You focused on that pain, instead of the ripping of fabric from the partially clotted wound, but still cried out as Adrian worked.

He stopped, absolutely panicked, and met your eyes with a frenzied look.

“I’m sorry.” He rushed out, the apology a breath between you, and then finished the pull. You grunted out in frustration and pain, and he pinched your cheek.

“You did so well, buttercup.” Adrian praised, returning to his own armor plates. You cut your eyes at him, at the nickname, at this whole ruined night.

“I can’t believe I got stabbed.” You lamented, your muscles aching in protest as you finished undressing in the confined space. It wasn’t the first time you’d hurriedly gotten changed in Adrian’s Sebring, though it had never been for any remotely sexual reason. Adrian always insisted on driving you, anywhere, really. It had been charming, and you had enjoyed his company. Of course, you had to go and fall for him, making the whole thing uncomfortable.

It was one thing when you only knew him as Vigilante. He was so damn cocksure with that mask on, just an absolute, swaggering shithead. It was easy to be attracted to him then. It was the constant flirting, the deadly accuracy, the minimal effort with which he maimed, that had riled you up. Which, may have been fucked up, but hell you were on a Suicide Squad before Task Force X, so all things considered, your taste in men was probably on the come up.

But when he’d taken the mask off, when you’d seen that head of curls and those shining green eyes, your heart had exploded. Not literally, unfortunately. That would have been an expected fate for you, having lived on the razor’s edge for so long–what was falling off the side? But this? This? Him? It just hadn’t made sense. You had fought it for a while, before finally giving in. You let him drive you places, and listened to his shitty, but specifically curated, Spotify playlists. You let him call you pet names, like buttercup. Hell, you had even blown off a date to help him take down a small-time gang. Which of course, had got you fucking stabbed.

“You should have had your head in the game, dude.” He shrugged, unclipping his leg pieces and tossing them in the backseat. You rolled your eyes, knowing he was right. Your head wasn’t in the game. Your head was checking him out as he took down three gang dudes so fluidly that if you had blinked, you would have missed it. What you had missed was the guy creeping up with a knife, and how he shoved it through your fucking bicep before you noticed. Even then, Adrian was the one who threw the knife that took the guy down. He was the one who had tourniqetted your stupid arm, before pulling the knife out. He was the one who applied pressure while you shot the two remaining guys with your right arm.

“You owe me dinner, dude.” You grumbled, slipping your jacket on, thanking your past self for bringing your zip up. You felt his eyes on you, and you looked up in confusion.

“What do you want?” He asked, seemingly confused by your words, which made you hesitant in return. On occasion, things got tense between you. You attributed to your pent up sexual desire, and his awkwardness. This felt like that. Probably.

“What do you want?” You asked, meeting his gaze under the dim street lights.

“If I owe you, then shouldn’t you pick?” He furrowed his brow in thought, parsing the words out as if they weren’t coming to him very easily. You considered it, and actually agreed.

“Fine. Something meaty.” You relented, shifting your arm slightly to rest differently. You bit your lip to stop your obvious groan.

“Meaty?” Adrian echoed, drawing your focus back to him. He looked unconvinced.

“Like a steak or something.” You said, leaning your head against the seat rest.

“Oh. Okay, I know a place.” He announced, putting the car into gear. Your eyes were closed, but when you felt the car begin to turn to the right, you shot them open.

“Don’t you dare take me to fucking Fennel Fields, Adrian. I swear to Batman.” You warned from gritted teeth.

“Oh. Okay, then, I actually don’t know a place.” He declared, tone sullen. You shook your head.

“Adrian! You can’t have every meal at Fennel Fields.” You exclaimed, rolling your eyes.

“They have what I like! And I have a raillery with the waiters!” He argued, pulling up to a red light, before looking at you.

“I hate it there! Just go to Outback or something, Christ.” You mumbled, leaning against the window. You heard him mutter under his breath about “Fennel Fields being goodman delicious,” but you decided to let it go.

You jolted awake when you felt the car pull to a stop, and whimpered when the sudden movement jostled your injured arm.

“Hey, hey, dummy. Stop moving.” Adrian told you, pushing you gently against the seat. You looked at him, groggy, but becoming increasingly aware of what was happening.

“You fell asleep. Let’s go eat, yeah? Some yummy steak for a grumpy, grumpy hippo? Not that you’re a hippo. God, just like the hungry hippo game. You aren’t a hippo at all, you’re like very attractive actually. I guess hippos are cute, and pretty deadly, which is like you. But like, you aren’t as big as a hippo. OR at all, really.”

“Adrian, shut up.”

“Yep.”

You opened the door, and slowly made your way out, taking Adrian’s hand when he offered it. You wished, not for the first time, that you had healing abilities. Instead, you were graced with mind control. Not that you had had reason to use it in ages. Not that it hadn’t crossed your mind to use it against Murn, or Waller, or Flag, or Harcourt, or anyone else that was keeping you here. Of course, the real reason you stayed was because instead of healing abilities you had heart eyes for the guy who was leading you into a mid-tier chain restaurant after you took a knife to the arm because you had demanded he do so. A real charmer, is what you were.

Adrian grabbed the door, and let you go by him, but in doing so you were able to see his leg, which under the lit patio of the restaurant showed the dark, wet patch on his thigh.

“Were you stabbed?” You asked, pausing in the doorway, searching his face. He managed a sheepish smile at you, and shrugged.

“Yeah, one of those guys got a nice cut in right away.” You stared at him, hard, looking for an answer or an explanation, or something, telling you why he would sustain a wound himself and then turn around and treat yours with utmost priority. You found nothing, just bright, green eyes staring back at you from behind his smudged lenses. He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose, and nodded at you. You shook your head before walking into the place. The hostess sat you quickly, keeping her eyes averted, to avoid looking at you both. You must have looked worse than you felt.

Under the cozy lighting, you regretted the choice. Of course, Adrian looked stupid hot. His hair was disheveled, and he had slipped on that old sweater you loved so much, the one that made him look like a soccer dad. You took a deep breath, what the fuck was wrong with you?

The waiter took your orders, and dropped the bread on the table quickly. You both eyed it, the palpable tension shrouding the table once again. It was just Adrian, you reminded yourself. One of your only friends in Evergreen. You ate pizza on his couch and watched shitty television. You blew shit up in the woods with him. You got too drunk on cheap beer and played DnD with him.

None of that helped, of course. You found yourself doing shit you’d never do with, or for, anyone else. Like this, hesitating over the bread? You’d literally manipulated dates to not want any bread so you could smash the whole loaf yourself. Was that super chill of you? Of course not. Had you learned your lesson? Absolutely not. But, with Adrian, you felt nervous, and that nervous energy must have set him on edge too.

You reached out and tore off an edge, before he did the same at the other end. It was too weird, too awkward.

“Wha–” You began, with the intention of clearing the air.

“I have–” He started, before clearing his throat. You watched him roll the torn bread between his fingers, and red splotches began to pop up on his throat, spreading quickly to his cheeks.

“What?” You asked, shoving the bread into your mouth. It was so rare that he was quiet, normally his mouth was running constantly, and it was even rarer that he was literally speechless.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Well, go ahead.”

“I think I lo–”

“Who had the medium?” The waiter asked, carrying a loaded tray. You cut your eyes at him, before raising your hand. He sat the plate down unceremoniously in front of you, and you met Adrian’s gaze over the table. He looked downright uncomfortable. The waiter asked if everything looked okay, and you dismissed him with a quick yes.

“You think you what?” You demanded, leaning forward, ignoring the shattering pain in your arm. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting this confession, because if he was going where you thought then maybe you weren’t delusional.

“I think I located the leader of the gang.”

“Oh.” You sat back, wincing at the creeping pain, at the rejection, at this whole stupid false reality you had created. Adrian didn’t love you. You knew that. You knew that. But, stupidly, you had wanted it so badly that you had colored his actions. You had manipulated yourself, this time. Not the first time. But it was no less devastating. You turned your attention to the meal, focusing completely on cutting the steak, a painful task that had tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. Or at least you told yourself you were crying from the pain.

“Here, let me.” He offered, sliding the plate closer to him and cutting the steak up for you. You watched the knife slide across the cut of meat, and focused on the movement until you felt the moment pass. You’d be fine. You just had to put some distance between you and him. You’d stop taking him up on his offers, whatever they were. You needed to untangle yourself. You’d start tonight. After this meal, you decided. You’d walk home.

He slid the plate back across the table, and smiled at you.

“I’m sorry about your arm, buttercup. I can throw a few stitches in it when we get home.” He offered, taking a bite of his meal. Your eyes went wide, confused.

“When we get home?” You asked, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously. He smiled again.

“Yeah, you know, back to my place? I figured you’d crash again.” He explained, shrugging casually.

“I can’t stay.” You replied quickly, picking at your plate.

“Oh, okay, then. I’ll just drop you off at your apartment.” He tried, taking a drink.

“I’ll walk.” You muttered to the baked potato, not meeting his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You felt his frown without seeing it.

“Nothing.” You offered, glancing at him.

“Not nothing.” He demanded, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I had a date tonight.” You admitted, regretting the words as soon as they were out.

“What?” He asked, his tone muted.

“I had a dat–” You tried to say again, but he cut you off.

“I heard you. I meant why?” His tone was clipped now, and you realized he was pissed.

“Because I…I don’t…” You tried to explain, words failing you, as they often did.

“You don’t what?” He demanded, his fist clenched on the table.

“The guy I like doesn’t like me back. I wanted to get him out of my system I guess.” You shrugged, finally meeting his hard gaze.

“He’s an idiot, then. You’re the whole freaking package.” He told you, his voice suddenly dripping saccharine.

“Yeah, I guess.” You mumbled.

“No, I’m serious. I would…well, I would…” He looked at the table, his face scrunched up.

“Would what?” You asked, wanting to smooth his brow.

“Die if you loved me. Probably. You’re everything, buttercup. You know, I…I’m different, right? Well, when you’re with me, it’s like the world’s not so loud. You calm the noise, and that means something to me. I hadn’t thought about it, not until you said you had a date, but like, fuck, I love you. I don’t know a lot, but I know that. Just the thought of you out with some guy is driving me crazy. Fuck that guy. Stay with me, be with me, instead. If you want. I know you like someone else, but if you wanted…” You watched silently, your heart pounding against your ribs. You couldn’t believe it.

“Adrian, it is you.” You told him.

“What is?” He asked, his head dipping to the side like a confused puppy. You could have screamed, or laughed, or cried. Too many emotions were threatening to spew out.

“The guy?” You hinted.

“I do like you, though?” He argued, missing the point. You should have known.

“Yeah, I know that now.” You told him, rubbing your palm across your face.

“Oh, yeah. So, like, you will come back to my place then?” He asked, beaming at you.

“Yeah, sure.” You agreed, smiling back.

“Sweet, I’ve got Fargo DVR’d.”

tagged: @michi-reads @strawberriesandknives @uncle-eggy@fictionlandslanddreams

[shyficwriter]

Hey! Love your work! Can I request a fanfic peter x reader, comforting you after you got messed up by a battle? Thank you!

Thank you! And Sure! Thanks for the prompt, enjoy!

Word count: 987 Warnings: Mention of injury and stitches.

* * *

"Hold still."

It wasn't harsh when he said it. There was almost a gentleness to his voice as he gripped your arm a little tighter and continued to clean your wound.

You had gotten stabbed on the mission. Right in the bicep. It was survivable, and you wouldn't lose the arm, but you knew you would be required to not use it until the muscle healed. Understandably, you were a bit upset, and for more than just this reason, but you tried not to let Peter see how it was getting to you.

"Sorry," you replied softly, wincing when Peter applied the sanitizing alcohol again.

Peter thought he heard something in your tone. Something melancholy. He had an inkling that you were feeling kinda down about what happened out there. "It's alright," he said, giving you a longer stare than you'd have liked, one that told he had more to say.

You look away from him, down at the floor.

"It really is alright, you know. That could've happened to anyone."

You sigh, but don't answer him.

"Look at me."

Hesitating a moment, you do.

"It could have happened to anyone. And we won, so it's not even a big deal."

"I really doubt it could have happened to anyone- and what if we hadn't won? Then it would have been my fault! If Drax hadn't stepped in and that guy got the- He could've-" You trailed off in a frustrated whimper and turned to look away from him again. Tears started to prick at your eyes and you blinked rapidly, trying to will them away.

Peter sighed, but it wasn't out of frustration. He wanted to hug you, it was clear you needed one, but right now wasn't the best time as he was still working to close your wound. He grabbed the suture kit and spoke again.

"No one blames you, and no one would have blamed you if that had happened. I saw the whole thing. That guy literally came out of nowhere."

The needle pierces your skin, making you wince.

"It's ok. You did good." Peter glances up to see you still looking away from him. "Hey, look here."

You shake your head.

With a slightly scolding tone that leaned more towards a beckon than a true scold, he repeated himself, telling you yet again to look at him.

You shake your head again.

Peter frowned. "Are you crying? Is that it?" Peter knew you hated to let anyone see you cry, so it was a fairly good guess, but it pained him to think that you were, especially for something that seriously wasn't your fault. "Look, don't cry. I mean it, you did good."

With another shake of your head you finally speak. "No, I'm not. And it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I... I don't want to see. I don't wanna watch you putting the stitches in," you admitted sheepishly. "I don't know why, but seeing the needle go in and out just freaks me out."

A smile cracks Peter's face and he softly shakes his head. You being creeped out by the needle was better than you crying, that's for sure. And if this took your mind off being sad about what happened, even better. "Well, I'm almost done. You only needed about seven."

A shudder runs through you that you can't quite suppress, and Peter teasingly scolds you.

"Hey! Don't do that. You'll make me poke something I shouldn't." He holds the needle deliberately further from your skin, anticipating his words might earn another shudder from you. He was right, and he jokingly scolds you again for it.

"Well stop talking about it!" you bite back, this time with a hint of laughter lacing your voice.

Peter threads another stitch. "This will probably leave a cool scar, wanna see? I only got a couple more stitches to go..."

"No, I don't wanna see!" You were practically giggling now. "I'd smack you if you weren't currently fixing me!" Your head still stayed turned well-away from him as you complained, which only amused Peter.

"You sure? It's not that gross..."

"Peter!" You whine at him, begging for him to quit it.

He does, but only because he needs you to be still to get the last stitch in.

"Ok, I'm done. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

You finally turn to face him, only to give him a pouty look that makes him laugh.

The two of you stand together but before you can walk away he pulls you into a hug, being careful of your stitches. You are caught off guard, but accept it, burying your face into his chest for comfort. A relaxed sigh finally leaves you and Peter gives you a gentle squeeze before finally pulling away so he can look at you.

"I'm still serious. You did good, and it wasn't your fault. Ok?"

You sigh again, but finally nod. "Ok." Your gaze falls a little. "Thanks."

Peter smirks. "Well, someone had to stitch you up. You probably would have cried and passed out if you had to do it yourself." Peter chuckled. He knew what you had meant, but he lived to tease you.

You huffed and swatted at him, trying and failing to suppress a smile. You also knew that he knew what you meant.

Peter just smiled at you in response, ruffling your hair. "Come on, let's go join the others and grab something to eat." He then made a tease asking if you thought you still had the stomach for it after 'all those stitches' that made you roll your eyes at him with a grin as you followed him.

He was such a brat sometimes, but he was still your friend, and you knew you could count on him when you needed him, even when you didn't realize it yourself.

He always found a way to make you feel better.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

If I Go Universe - Tattoos All In Black (Rick Flag x OC)

Summary: Rick has several tattoos, but there are three that he is particularly fond of.

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 2320

Warnings: language, the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff, too much love maybe, breastfeeding stuff

Timeline: 2016 | 2019 | 2023

if i go masterlist

2016

The mission had been a brutal one. Many team members died, they still failed despite their best efforts, and Rick had been injured — a stab wound to his side that had left Delphia sitting at the edge of her seat in the control room.

He was back home now, stitched up and resting in bed. Delphia had made sure to make him a healthy dinner, bringing it to bed for him. He smacked her hands away with a grin when she tried to spoon feed him, telling her he was fully capable of doing this bit himself. After she cleaned up the kitchen, she went back to the bedroom and put on one of his favorite movies. But neither of them really paid attention to the screen. As soon as she laid down beside him, Rick was pulling her to practically lay on top of him — right hand tracing over her back as he closed his eyes.

His left arm was propped up behind his head, keeping him in an upright position. Delphia’s eyes danced over his face, thanking whatever was out there that he was back home with her and safe. He was nearly like a renaissance panting. The way his muscles curved and caught the light, her eyes were simply drawn to follow. To trace the curve of his strong neck, down across his collarbone that she loved to kiss, up his tricep to his —

“What the fuck is that?”

Delphia scooted up his chest, eyebrows furrowed and mouth dropped open in confusion. He had a new tattoo. The skin surrounding the black ink was still pink and irritated. And it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever seen in her life.

“What? What?” Rick’s eyes suddenly snapped open, looking around the room like there was a threat he needed to eliminate.

She poked him in the arm, right on the tattoo that was so fresh it made him wince. “That! What the fuck is that!”

Still confused, he looked towards his inner arm and immediately blushed, eyes shifting to understanding as he looked over at her sheepishly. He had to admit, it wasn’t the best tattoo he had ever gotten. SKWAD in stark black ink, crooked letters and shaky lines, was now splattered across his inner bicep.

“A tattoo?” He tried to play it off.

“Uh — no, no, this is a new tattoo. When the hell did you get it and why?”

Delphia was not backing down, as he should have guessed she would. She got nose to skin with the tattoo and then looked over at him like he had lost his mind. The comedy of it was not lost on either of them, as giggles began to bubble out of each of their mouths.

“We had — We had some — “ Rick tried to speak around his laughter, coughed, then tried again. “We had some down time on the mission, got kinda drunk. Lawson practically dragged me into a tattoo shop and gave it to me.”

“Deadshot? Deadshot gave you this tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, my God.” She looked back at it with a dumbfounded smile. “He didn’t even spell it right.”

Rick’s brow furrowed as he finally craned his neck to get a good look at his new ink. Something he had apparently not done until just now. He groaned loudly as he looked at it clearly for the first time, smoothing his fingers over the flesh and then flopping back onto his pillow.

“Son of a bitch.”

Laughing so hard there were literal tears streaming down her face, Delphia rolled onto her back beside him. Her legs tangled up in the sheets, her arms crooked up at her chest as she hid her face in her pillow. Trying so very hard to stop laughing but finding that she couldn’t. The situation was just too good to be true. Rick got drunk, let a criminal give him a tattoo, and hadn’t even taken the time to look at what had been permanently marked on his body until just now.

“God, that’s so fucking funny,” Delphia sighed as her laughter reduced to sparse giggles, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“You are such a little shit,” Rick chuckled as he pinched her side, forcing her to scramble away from him to the edge of the bed.

“What? I’m not the one who got something put on my body forever by a master assassin!” She smacked at his hand as he tried to pinch her again.

Rick lifted his arm and looked at the tattoo again with a sigh. “I still like it though. Reminds me of everybody we’ve lost. Keeps ‘em alive in some way.”

Delphia’s expression softened. “I can’t make fun of you for that.”

“Come over here,” Rick said with a smile, opening up his arms to her.

She instantly dove into him, snuggled into his uninjured side. Just like how she was always supposed to be.

2019

Delphia woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, the warm summer sun streaming in through their bedroom window. It was one of those mornings where she really didn’t want to get out of bed. The past week was tough at work. Waller was extra cranky and extra demanding, nearly pushing Delphia to the brink of tears even though her assistant was entirely used to her attitude. But despite the blankets pulling her in like quicksand, she managed to pull herself from the mattress and wander her way into the kitchen.

Rick was standing at the stove wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and nothing else. The sunlight from the living room window was splashed across his back, making his tan skin seem to glow in an ethereal sort of way that made her sigh. The muscles of his back worked this way and that as he flipped the pancakes and turned out the bacon. The man loved his breakfast food — always made sure she ate one before work. And today was no exception.

“Mornin’, baby girl,” his gruff, sleep soaked voice called to her over his shoulder.

“Good morning,” she whispered back as she tiptoed further into the space.

She was drawn to him like a moth to the flame. Knowing it would be the death of her but honestly? What a beautiful way to go. She didn’t go for the coffee like her body desperately craved, instead she went straight to Rick. Wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed him so tight it made a chuckle burst out of his lips.

“That rough, huh?” he asked, smoothing one large hand over her forearm as he checked the underside of the pancakes currently cooking.

All she could do was nod against his spine. She vaguly remembered coming home late from a meeting the night before. Rick forced her to eat something, she couldn’t even recall what, before collapsing into bed. Waller really had been testing her limits all week long. But it was done now. She no longer had to think about it. At least for another forty-eight hours, they were both free of Belle Reve.

It was comforting to feel the heat of Rick’s skin beneath her cheek, like a furnace burning in her arms. She made a noise nearly like a purr as she burrowed herself deeper into him, hands coming up to scratch lightly at his chest. Her eyes opened after a moment, content and relaxed for what felt like the first time in a long time.

And that was when she spotted it.

There, on his left shoulder, was her name scrawled across his skin in permanent ink. It had never looked so beautiful. As she looked at it, her heart was beginning to feel like it was too big for her chest — tears welled up in her eyes as her eye danced over the swirling letters. He really did love her, didn’t he? Loved her enough to have her name on him forever. Not even in a place he could see but so that everyone else would know that she had him, body and soul. With a breath to control her emotions, mostly her tears, she unhooked an arm from around his waist and brought the tips of her fingers up to trace the tattoo.

“This one’s new,” she whispered, sounding breathless.

Rick looked over his shoulder, a grin quirking his lips and one eyebrow raised.

“Like it?” he asked.

“I love it.” With a grin she planted a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You’re too sweet to me, Colonel Flag.”

“I don’t think I could ever be sweet enough, baby girl.”

2023

Infant wails rang through the midnight air. Delphia stirred in her deep slumber, brain barely able to register that her son was crying in his room down the hall. But soon enough, her body was kicking her into gear — swollen breasts leaking at the sound of her child calling out to her.

“Ah, shit,” she mumbled as she sat up in bed, blearily rubbing at her eyes.

For a moment she was confused. Rick wasn’t in bed. The covers on his side of the bed were thrown back and an indent left in his pillow where his head should be. She touched the sheets, wondering where he could’ve gone, and they were still warm. He hadn’t been up for long. Leo’s cries echoed anew, somehow louder and more distinct, and Delphia finally pulled herself from bed. He was probably hungry. At three months old he was guzzling down milk like it was his job. Which it kind of was. He was a big baby, a “chunky monkey” as Harley liked to call him, and he was only going to get bigger. He was healthy and strong and slept through the night and honestly Delphia and Rick couldn’t have asked for a better son.

Delphia thumped down the hall, still trying to rub the sleep from her eyes, but when she rounded the corner into the nursery she stopped. She couldn’t go a single step further, even though her breasts ached to feed her baby, because the sight before her was just too sweet.

Rick stood in his briefs by the large windows that overlooked the backyard, curtains pulled back to reveal the dark night sky. He held Leo close to his chest, swaying back and forth to try and get him to stop crying and go back to sleep. His efforts were valiant, but to no avail — Leo continued to wriggle and scream. Leo was a big baby, but he looked so tiny wrapped up in his father’s arms.

“Come on, big guy, your momma’s gotta get some sleep,” Rick muttered as he continued to rock and bounce the baby.

“Momma’s already awake,” Delphia spoke quietly as she walked further into the room.

Rick turned to her with apologetic eyes. “Sorry, baby girl. I tried.”

“S’okay — you don’t have the boobs he’s looking for.”

She smiled up at him softly as she pulled Leo out of his grasp, his open, crying mouth already seeking out her nipple to latch on to. Shushing him, she lowered herself into the recliner in the corner. She lifted up her damp shirt and Leo latched onto her breast easily. She remembered with dread those first few weeks where getting him to breast feed was a herculean task. But now it was as easy as breathing for both of them. Leo’s cries slowly turned to whimpers as he drank from her greedily.

“He did try it with me, though,” he said as he watched them.

Delphia looked up from Leo’s chubby cheeked face and smiled. “Really? Would’ve liked to see that.”

Rick chuckled softly with a shake of his head. “Mind if I stay?”

“Course not, baby.”

He settled down on the floor, back leaned against the recliner next to her legs, with a quiet groan. She remembered too, during the beginning when feeding Leo made her cry in frustration nearly every single time, that Rick always wanted to be there. He would grumble at her when she wouldn’t wake him up in the middle of the night for a feeding. He knew he couldn’t help much, but he wanted to be there in case she needed anything. She remembered him telling her once that as she struggled to get Leo to latch, as those frustrated tears streamed down her face and their son cried, he had never felt so useless in his entire life. So now, even when everything was routine and practically effortless, he still liked to be near when she breastfed.

Delphia watched her son for a moment, a tired smile crooking her lips as she let his little fingers wrap around one of her own. His grip was tight for only being three months old. A trait from his dad she had to guess. At that thought, she looked at the back of Rick’s head.

His hair was a mess, all tussled from sleep. One of his knees was bent, arm propped up on it as he gazed out the window to the stars outside. And it was there, bathed in pale moonlight, that she saw Leo’s name freshly tattooed into his right shoulder. It was simple and clean and purposefully placed near the top crest of his shoulder just in case there were more names to add.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she pulled her fingers from Leo’s grasp and traced the letters inked into her husband’s skin. Followed the line of each stroke and line. He didn’t flinch when she touched him. Rick simply turned his head to look at her with an earnestness and love that she felt right down to her very bones. It was the three of them now. Together — always.

“I love you, Rick Flag,” she whispered to him.

“Love you too, Dee.”

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installments just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother @reysorigins @hawsx3

[syndxlla]

Part nine of the More to Love series

Summary: Plans for the ball are in full swing, the concealment of your relationship with the knight dwindles and you make a deal with one another that leads to both of you learning a new and valuable skill

Word Count: 8.9k, NO USE OF ‘Y/N’

Warnings: SMUT (oral sex F receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms), swearing, mentions of wounds

Author’s Note: and we’re back to your regularly scheduled royalty and princesscore writings. this chapter is very chill honestly, but i still really enjoyed writing it! there’s also the introduction of THE DRESS. y’all this dress is insane you really aren’t ready i am OBSESSED with this dress.

Part eight

“Are you listening, Princess?” You hadn’t even realized you had zoned out. Your cheek was bright red from resting against your palm, and your eyes had glazed over with boredom. You hoped you didn’t look too uninterested, but considering the literal Queen of Mandalore looked down at you with folded arms and one arched eyebrow, you were less than confident that you looked engrossed in the conversation.

The Queen, Lady Reeves and yourself have been inside a yellow-themed parlor all morning discussing plans for the ball. Your Knight stood patiently by the door, overseeing the entire meeting. You wore a long sleeve dress that was too hot for the summer sun, which was slowly drying out the mud and puddles from then two-day long rainstorm that no one predicted. You spent the entire day yesterday pretending to rest from the exhausting day previous, but you were really hiding your arm from everyone else. You tried to argue with Koska that a long sleeve in the middle of summer would look for more suspicious than a simple bandage on your bicep, but she disagreed to say the least. The Knight stopped limping this morning, although you were convinced he was just faking it for good measure. If others knew he was injured, it could raise suspicion that you were too. You also think he didn’t want you to worry about him. The stab wound really wasn’t that deep, but you knew it had to have hurt more than he was showing. You thought he should take a few days off to rest his leg and to really spend time with his son, but he refused to.

You look up from your emotionless stare out the window, which showed the sea in the distance. The ocean was so different here compared to what it’s like in Corellia. There are sandy beaches and the water’s warm, whereas back home, it’s often frozen over, and is lined with rocky fjords and coves. You wanted to go down to one of those beaches soon if you could. They looked relaxing and much more intruiging than a wordy meeting that you stopped listening in on Lord knows when.

“Sorry, I just… zoned out for a minute.” You clear your throat, looking up at the ginger above you. You bat your eyelashes, trying do play off innocent and truthful. She shrugged, and turned around to pull something out of Koska’s hands.

“I was saying that now that we have the food and decor arranged for the ball, we can talk about the important things.” She says as she whips around for the big reveal that you weren’t expecting: iher arms was the most extravagant, fluffy gown you had ever seen. It was a soft rose gold, the skirt was huge and round, tulle pillowing out from the bodice which had clearly been hand-beaded by nimble fingers to have five-pedaled flowers with curly vines growing out of them. There was a soft sweet-heart neckline, the lace and beading of the bodice came up past the structure to overlap where your skin would be, The sleeves were off the shoulder, which was common for Mandalorian summer gowns. The skirt had a soft hint of sparkles and real diamonds had been sewn into the centers of each flower along the gown.

You perked up as you saw the ornament, your attention being drawn from the crashing waves of the ocean to the prettiest dress you had ever seen. You think you sighed, but you weren’t really sure. Dresses have always been a part of your life, designers from all over the world would send you their best sets, and it’s rare for you to wear the same gown more than once. This isn’t the first time you had been presented with a dress that costed more than some of the houses in the kingdom, but there was something different about it. It had a special glow to it, unlike anything you had ever seen.

“Her Radiance Ahsoka brought it, it’s a wedding gift from the Woodland elves.” Koska speaks up when she sees your reaction. Both her and the Queen were amused at your childlike awe. “That’s why it has that shimmer, they used silk spinners and gold.”

“I… I can’t accept this.” You wanted to, but you were desperately trying to be humble and calm in this situation. The dresses never meant that much to you, it’s just a piece of clothing. You have always been far more into the politics that came with royalty, not the fashion, so this was a first.

“Well of course you can.” The queen chuckled, “It would be rude not to.” You wished you could tell her that wearing such an extravagance would feel in vain because you did not feel affection towards the person you’ll be wearing it for. However, you supposed she was right, it would be rude to turn down a gift from the literal elves. You stand up from where you sat, walking over the dress that took your breath away. You wondered what the Knight thought of it, and you turn around to look at him. You know that he wouldn’t show any type of reaction over this thing, especially if the Queen is watching, but you wanted to show him that you were thinking of him. You smiled, raising your eyebrows to really show how beautiful you thought the gown was, you’ll get to talk about it with him later. This is the second time Koska see’s something like this between the two of you, and she first looks at you, and the knight, raising a sharp eyebrow.

You place your hand over the fabric, running your palm over it. You did nothing to deserve this, but you were honored that it’s yours. “It’s like a faerie’s dress.” You sigh. “It’s wonderful, when can I thank her Radiance?”

“She’s out and about, she usually meditates in the gardens on sunny days, I can retrieve her, if you’d like.” Koska speaks up.

“Oh that’s alright, I’ll find her eventually.” You smile.

“Interesting that you brought up the fae…” The Queen brings up, “Allow me to ask, it is your engagement ball, is there anything specific you would like to have incorporated?” A few days ago, you would have had no answer, because a few days ago there was nothing about Mandalore worth it to you. However, things have changed. You’ve spent sleepless nights thinking about the boy in the beskar armor, and you would give anything to dance with him at that ball. You knew damn well that if you asked nicely, and maybe gave him head in return, he would do almost anything you asked. He would happily dance with you alone in the room after the events of the night, although you weren’t even sure if he knew how to dance. You did want to waltz with him, but not in that way.

So, last night you stayed up late, laying on your back with the balcony doors just cracked open to let in the smell fo fresh rain and a cool breeze into the hot room, thinking about him. You especially thought about the soft skin of his thighs and the way he shuddered when you raked your fingernails down his abdomen. But you also thought about how you could dance with him at the ball, where everyone could see. You knew that you would be dancing with far more people than Korkie, it would be many people’s last (and only) chance to dance with you before you’re married, and so you’re expected to give everyone the opportunity and attention they desired. It wasn’t your favorite thing you’d have to do, especially considering you would be dancing with a number of complete strangers and total creeps of Viziers, Grand Dukes and old viscounts who would probably whisper dirty things in your ear. And that is part of why you wanted this one thing for yourself so badly.

Dancing with a mysterious stranger wouldn’t be a problem. You wanted to share your affection towards him, and you especially wanted him to see you in your true element of balls and parties and gowns and tiaras. You knew it was risky, especially considering you can hardly control yourself around him, who knows what the crowd may be whispering as you dreamily look up at him. But after having to move and change your entire life, marry a man you resent in a kingdom that goes against everything you’ve ever believed in, you owe yourself this one thing. Just this one.

However, dancing with a literal knight would be far too suspicious and obnoxious for the biggest event in the western part of the world. And you knew that he would never remove his helmet, even if his life depended on it. It would be no easy feat to convince him to do something like that in such little time, but that’s when you got the best idea to have possibly ever cross your mind.

When you were just a little girl, your nursery caretaker would sit you on her lap when you had droopy, tired eyes, and read you a story. You can’t remember what it was called, it’s been so long since you heard it, but it was your favorite. It was the tale of the masquerade ball where the young peasant girl fell in love with the handsome magician. You were always drawn into it, because you once hoped you would fall in love with a mysterious and handsome man, too.The point of the story was that she never saw his face, as they both had on extravagant swan masks covering their eyes. If everyone had their face covered, it wouldn’t look suspicious if he did, too. You knew it would be a big thing to ask, and he may not even agree to it if the Queen approves of the short-noticed theme, but you wanted to live at least one night as the young peasant girl.

“Yes, actually.” You began to reply, “I would love for my engagement ball to be a masquerade.” You made sure to add in the ‘my’ to reinstate that it is for you. The Queen stopped to consider what you asked, and Koska looked suprised. It’s rare for anyone to ask the Queen for something like that out flat. But, she was the one who brought it up.

The Queen made you wait in suspense for her answer, and every fiber of your being wanted to turn around and wink at the knight to let him know that you asked for him, but even you, the naive princess, knew that you needed to be more careful with sharing your memories with him when others are around. “I suppose we could arrange that.” She thinks out loud, and you can’t stop the smile that stretches across your face. The Queen really only agreed because she knew it would cause more buzz and conversation around her last event as Queen. Even you could see that, but if it meant you would get a chance to share the memory with your guard, it was worth it.

“Your Majesty, forgive me, but the ball is this weekend, I fear we will not have enough time to prepare for such a change in plans…” Koska spoke up.

“Well, not if we don’t have everyone in the palace working double time,” Both yours and Koska’s faces dropped, that is not what you wanted at all. “Every servant will be required to make ten masks before the ball on Saturday. Knights are exempt, obviously.” She placed the rose gold dress back in Koska’s arms. You immediately felt guilty.

“Oh that won’t be necessary, Your Majesty, I don’t want everyone to-“

“Oh nonsense,” She interrupted, “I love the masquerade idea, it will be grand. It will be the envy of Coruscant.” Was everything a battle for her? An endless contest of who’s the best between Mandalore and Coruscant? If everyone had extra work to do on top of their usual load, you would feel absolutely terrible, but there would be no changing the Queen’s mind. “As the head of the servants, you will oversee the masks, Lady Reeves.” Your face was in shock, pale and sick. Koska shot you an annoyed glare. You tried to respond with an apologetic smile, but the Queen was speaking up again, pacing as she spoke. “Of course we need the royals to stand out from everyone else, we’ll already have our gowns but the masks will make a difference too…” She thought out loud. “Koska I would like an owl mask as per usual, there will be gems incorporated as well I trust?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” She was not amused with her new task.

“As for our little Princess,” She was referring to you, but you couldn’t even listen out of guilt. Everything you tried in Mandalore somehow backfired on you. “Her dress is lovely, but her mask must also be the most extravagant in the room, after mine, of course. It would also be best if hers and my nephew’s matched, Yes?” Koska nodded, struggling to hold the heavy dress with her small stature. “Lovely, aren’t you just full of surprises, Your Highness?” The Queen smiled at you, and you forced a polite smile. “Now, excuse me, I have a designer to meet with to get as many feathers and adornments for masks as possible.” The redhead hastily exits the room, her high guard following her, leaving just you and Koska with your knight.

“What the fuck was that about?” Koska asked afterwards.

“I didn’t mean for any of the extra work to happen, I swear.” You defensively respond.

“You just love giving me a hard time, don’t you?” She asks.

“No- that not at all what-“

“Let her be, Koska.” Your knight steps into the conversation.

“Ugh you knights are so frustrating sometimes.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, what is going on with you two?” She asks and your heart drops to your ass. Was it that obvious there was something more there? Your knight tensed up, too. “Yeah, I can see exactly what’s going on here. Would either of you like to explain?” She asks.

The two of you stood awkwardly like children who got caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. You wondered how you were going to get out of this one. Your entire world could come crashing down right now if you didn’t play this out correctly, and a thousand outcomes of this situation simultaneously played out in your head. Would she rat you out? Would it lead to your knights expulsion? Or would she keep it to herself? She seemed to have a history with your knight, although you didn’t know what that might be. Maybe she would be on your side, but you highly doubted it.

You blame yourself for all of this. You should have put a stop to all of this long ago, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. He has you tied around your finger, and you like it. You wondered what was going on through his mind, was he as nervous as you? He had to be, if not more worried about what would happen. Someone knowing about your secret relationship would only lead to you getting a tap on your knuckles and then they would try to hide it from society to keep your reputation clean, but it would be the end of his career and safety for him. You were selfish for this, and you knew it.

“What?” Is all your stupid mouth says. As if you hadn’t just had the most sporadic and stressful thought process of your entire life. After all that, the only thing you were able to come up with was “what?”. You thought your body might be shaking, but you weren’t totally sure. You wanted to look at the knight by your side, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Koska must have thought the same thing as you because after you just responded with an arrogant rhetorical question, her eyebrows raised like a mother angry with her teenage son. She scoffs, and walks to the other side of the parlor to place the gown down on a sofa. When her back was turned to you, you were somehow able to muster up the courage to look at the beskar-clad figure to your left. He didn’t look any different than, well, ever. Tall and broad and stoically looking ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But you knew better. He had to have had a similar thought process to your own. He never turned to look back at you, and that’s when the guilt really set in. This could have been prevented. It should have been prevented. You fiddle with your sleeve.

Koska comes back too soon, her arms folded over her chest and the same unamused look on her stupidly perfect face. “So, one of you better start talking now, or else I’m going to get impatient and go catch up with the Queen to do your chore.” She nods to you. Why was she doing this? What did she gain out of knowing any of this? It could be to protect Korkie, although you found that seriously hard to believe. From what you can tell, Koska could care less about the Mandalorian Prince.

You sigh out of embarrassment mostly, but know that you are the one who needs to speak up. This was your mistake, and so it was your responsibility to fix it. “This is all my fault,” You have to clear your throat after beginning because of how uncomfortably your words sit in your throat. “I take full responsibility for everything. Don’t blame him for anything.” You nod. He turns his head to look at you after you say this, and you wanted nothing more than to look back at him, but Koska had your gaze trapped.

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘everything’ and ‘anything’?” The lady-in-waiting asks.

You sigh again, knowing this was going to be hard to say. “I...allowed myself to be…” You carefully considered your word choice, “i-infatuated with the wrong man.” You finally get out. That was the first time you had said it in front of him, and only the second time you had said it outloud ever, the first being to the Elven Queen last week. “I shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand, but I fell under the spell of this Knight, and I don’t even know his name. I’ve never seen his face. In many ways, he’s a complete stranger to me.” You debated saying the next thing, but it just kind of spilled out, ‘A stranger who’s plagued my thoughts and actions since the day I got here.” It was hard for you to say, but there was something so liberating about saying it.

He never took his eyes off of you the entire time you spoke, but this time you were able to look back at him. Your eyes first looking down at the floor guiltily, and then they slowly make their way up his armor and to the visor on his helmet. You just looked there for a little bit while Koska processed what you were saying. You smiled genuinely at the knight, desperately trying to show him that everything you just said was true. For a moment, you weren’t sure if she was going to say anything at all, and the room fell silent.

“Well…” She begins, you can’t hear any disappointment in her tone yet, “You’re terrible at hiding it.” She sighs. Of all the things she could have said, you did not expect that.

“What?” You say like an absolute idiot for the second time. You look back at the woman.

“Look, I’ve known him for a long time.” She shakily breathes, looking at him, “We’ve actually been through a lot together.” He was still looking at you, “And honestly, Neither of us were ever cut out for the Royal life we’ve been living for a while now.” You wondered what she meant by that. “And to be frank, I could care less about your personal life.” She said to you about you, “But since he’s a friend, and you really don’t mean very much to me, no offense,”

“None taken.”

“I suppose I’ll just keep it to myself-“

The relief that overcame your body was unmatched. You can’t stop the grin that goes from ear to ear or the sigh of relief that danced on your lips and out of your lungs. You look over at him, who still hasn’t looked away from your face, but he sighs of relief, too. You see it in the way his armor shifts.

“-Under one condition.”

“Okay…”

“You have to start hiding it better, no more over the shoulder glances. Okay? This is me looking out for him.” She gestures to him with a nod. Was she really going to do this for you?

“No more glances, got it.” You repeat.

“There’s no telling what might happen to him if the wrong person finds out.” She clears her throat, and that statement scares you. You try not to let it take up too much of your thought. “And you have to act like nothing is different. You’re still engaged to the Prince and you’re still the future Queen-consort. I don’t give a damn about what happens behind closed doors, but when others are around you have to behave yourselves. This is me looking out for my kingdom, understood?”

“Understood.” You nod back, although you weren’t the biggest fan of that condition, you knew that was the price you had to pay to get what you wanted… well at least what you think you wanted. “You’re not going to tell the Queen?”

“If you do those things, she won’t hear a word about it.” Koska shrugs.

“And what about Korkie?”

“Stars, I cannot stand that boy. I don’t even talk to him.” She rolls her eyes and you chuckle. You’re happy you aren’t the only one who feels that way about the prince. “But I’m not going to cover or lie for you two, I’m not going to help you hide it or anything. Alright?”

“Of course.” You reply.

“Great. I have over five-hundered masks to make by Saturday, so I’ll be leaving now.” She finished and on her way out, she pushes the knight on the shoulder playfully.

The door closes.

“Stars.” You clear your throat and turn to look at him, before you can say anything, though, he’s picking you up by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of weightless flour, and carrying you over to the second sofa that isn’t taken up by a ridiculously large dress. You giggle when he does, blushing at his enthusiasm. You’re placed on your back and he kneels between your legs.

“You’re excited.” You chuckle and he hums in response. There isn’t very much room on the sofa but he makes his place. He then grabs the hem of your dress, pulling it up over first your thighs, then up past your hips, over the corset and up to your face. He covers your eyes with the skirt and it hides the cheesiest smile on your face. light still poured in from the fabric, but you weren’t able to see anything.

You then heard the sound of metal being placed on the floor next to you, and to your pleasant surprise, his lips and pressed tightly to yours through the fabric. The kiss obviously doesn’t make any contact, but you’ve learned that with the knight, it’s the thought that always counts. You’re smiling into the kiss like a dork, and you shudder when you feel his bare hands against your bare thighs. He pulls your legs open, and then pulls away from your separated kiss.

Your first moan comes when you feel his lips against your soft thighs. He licks up and down your right thigh first, his fingertips strong and faithful against the outer part of your legs. Your breathing hitches, and you hum with pleasure when he moves to your left thigh, taking the same amount of time to kiss, nibble and suck on your pillowy skin.

Then, before you can think any more about the heat and want in between your legs, he’s pulling down your petticoat painfully slow. You bite your lip, you knew where he was headed with this, and you were more than happy to welcome it. His index and middle finger run soft lines around your cunt, massaging the swollen and wet skin around your opening that only got wetter. Your clit begged for attention, but your arms were trapped under the position of the dress skirt, and you didn’t want to risk adjusting it in a way that would make him stop. You would have to patiently wait as he teased and prodded your lips, his free hand rubbing your thigh and occasionally making its way to firmly squeeze your ass cheek. Your breathing was needy and short as he took his time to get to know your core with the tips of his fingers, which were now wet and slick and making the friction smoother.

He then gently places a light kiss on your clit. It’s so soft that you’re only able to feel it because of how sensitive and hungry you are for that type of contact. You slightly finch when his lips touch the nerve, and you’re able to feel him smile against your skin. What you would give to see his face right now…. Then, before you can think any more, he’s licking a flat stripe up from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit where he flicks three times with the tip of his tongue. You gasp at the sensation, and try to suppress a moan. He then take his time to lick each separate lip of your sex, avoiding your actual opening but teasing in such an addictive way that you were willing to be patient for him.

The knight then finally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, pulsing with his lips and flicking back and forth quickly with the tip of his tongue. You do moan this time, a broken cry falling off of your needy lips. It was a euphoric feeling unlike anything you’ve experienced before and you loved every moment of it. His arms wrap around your upper thighs, holding you in place around his head as he moves down to lap at your pussy lips. He moans at the taste of you, diving his tongue into your folds and prodding your sensitive clit with his nose.

You whine short and quietly as he does, biting your lip and bucking your hips every now and then as he took care of your sex. He must have gone down on you for close to ten minutes straight, never coming up for fresh air and never stopping the steady pace he had. You aren’t sure how you didn’t cum immediately at the feeling of his plump lips against your clit, but you also aren’t sure how you didn’t blackout from the sheer pleasure of the feeling. It was addictive, and it only got better after he pulled away to spit on your cunt. He spits onto your folds and then brings his fingers up again to start fingering you, sliding in his pointer finger with no resistance and slowly pumping it in and out. His mouth finds its way back to your slit, sucking on it as he fingers you. The sound was filthy, it filled the parlor with wet, obscene noises accompanied by breathy moans and gentle hums. Every time he hummed against your clit, your back arched from the added pleasure. The vibrating of it was pure euphoric, and you knew you were a sopping mess in between your thighs.

His chin was wet from spit and arousal and for one quick moment he pulled his wet mouth away from your core to kiss and rub the juices of your cunt on your thighs. He nibbles a few times on either thigh, marking each with a litter of purple and red hickeys. Before adding a second finger, he pulls his hand out to gently and playfully slap your cunt. He uses his wet hand to tap your core five or six times, each tap getting harder. You moan out at the feeling, and squeeze your legs together against the feeling in a horny attempt to get more pleasure from the moment.

“Huh, would you look at that?” He asks, his voice low and hungry and full of lust. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, and the indulgence of the oral sex cause you to nearly forget how much you loved his rough voice. “Do you like it when I slap your cunt?” You whine in response. “With your words, Princess.”

“Yes, Sir.” You whine like a bitch. He chuckles and slaps it again, harder this time. You shudder at the feeling and feel your climax coming on. You want to delay it for as long as possible, but your thighs start to shake when he puts his mouth back in you and pushed both his index and middle finger into your opening, pumping and curling and twisting his wrist to make the most wonderful combination of finger-fucking you could of have imagined.

“I’m gonna cum.” You barely get out before your spine is burning and your stomach is flexing as you cum hard and long against his tongue and on his fingers. You cry out in broken, heavenly bliss, and look for something to grasp onto as you hit your high, but you can’t find anything, which leads to your sporadic back arches. You’re panting, and he doesn’t stop kissing against your core while you cum on his tongue. You bite your lip and swear you might make it bleed a little. His grip on your thighs tightens while he pulls you against his mouth, preventing you from pulling away from the addictive exhilaration that is his kiss.

He licks you through the entire orgasm, and then some after. You think you’re being over-stimulated but you never have been before, so you aren’t really sure. Just when you think he’s going to stop, he doesn’t and he just takes his sweet old time lapping against your core and slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. You sharply breath in, your chest heaving against the dress and you desperately want to pull your dress down to see him and breath freshly again. The way he eats you out is so methodical, like he’s done it a thousand times (which wouldn’t necessarily surprise you), like it’s the only thing he’s ever eaten or the sweetest honey to ever grace his lips.

It begins to turn you on again, the pleasure shooting into your spine and down your littered thighs and melting against your clit. You can feel the gentle rub of his fingers against your thighs, stroking your skin as he takes you in. It’s heavenly and is the only thing you can think about. Your thoughts go numb and the only important thing in the entire world is the curly-haired boy at your expense.

You mutter and whisper swears, dirty words that aren’t meant to come out of a princess’ mouth but you can’t help it when you’re seeing white hot behind your eyes. He groans a few times too before his fingers speed back up to the pace they were at before you came the first time. Your dainty hands stroke lightly on your collar-bones as the pleasure fills your soul, licking your lips and trying to hold on for as long as possible before you cum again but you can already feel your second orgasm coming on. He uses a third finger to outline your lips, coating the tip in your slick and then slowly inserting the third and final finger into your cunt, helping you chase that final hit of release. The stretch is amazing, and you were surprised you were able to take it so well. This is when you realized that he’s been training you for something much bigger. The first time he fingered you wasn’t even any penetration, the second time was two fingers, just enough to stretch you that it hurt the right amount, and now this time, three fingers that felt amazing. You remembered the size of his cock, you knew it would be a challenge to take, but he was making sure you would be able to handle it and enjoy it as much as he will.

His focus goes from licking your clit to the fingers inside. He twists his wrist to make the curl and stretch your entrance. He collects the wetness and lets it make the glide and pump smoother. You’re so drenched and needy that the fluid is running out past his fingers and dripping onto the sofa cushion, staining it with your lust. He nips so slightly at your clit and just like that, your whole world comes crashing down. The orgasm is actually mind-numbing this time, and all you can do is moan and sob and claw at your own skin. Your scratch into your shoulders and collar-bone and it’s deliciously painful. Your thighs clamp against his head and he continues to finger you long and hard through the climax, cleaning your folds up as you cum against his tongue and fingers. You’re finally able to catch your breath, painting with droopy, lustful eyes but feeling completely fulfilled. He cleans up all the juices around your entrance, collecting the cum on his tongue and happily swallowing it down like it’s his last meal. You aren’t able to see it, but he then puts his fingers into his mouth, cleaning off the three that were knuckle-deep into your cunt. He groans at the taste, and wipes his mouth before planting one last, gentle kiss to the soft, angelic skin of the mound between your legs. You're so sensitive that the light kiss makes you flinch, and he chuckles at the involuntary reaction.

He puts his helmet back on and then pulls your dress skirt down to see your face. You’re surprised by the light initially, and you blink a few times to adjust to it. Your lungs fill with crisp air and you look at your favorite sight: the helm of the knight you think you’re falling in love with. You can’t stop the smile on your face. He chuckles and then readjusts your dress to cover you up better. He takes such good care of you. You see him freeze when he sees the scratch marks on your skin, and his bare hand softly runs over the red lines, outlining the marks. You blush at him, looking up at his expressionless face with a puppy-love look.

“Everytime I think it can’t get any better, you prove me wrong.” You sigh. Every orgasm has been better than the last.

“Just you wait.” You hear the smirk under the helmet and it causes butterflies to flutter in your tummy. You sigh, still catching your breath and you just take him in, looking up at how he’s propped up above you. He has hands on either side of your head and he’s just a brudding force of metal and sex and good kissing and caring about things that you didn’t even know you needed someone to care about. You probably look like a dork just smiling up at him but you don’t even care and now your hands are free to wrap around his neck and you just wish you could see his face and kiss it all over right now.

Your fingers lock behind his neck and the positioning of his armor and the way his head is bent makes it so you can just barely feel the skin of his neck. You move your index fingers up to look for the curls at the nape of his neck. You think you could sing out when you found the prize: some strands of dark, brown, thick hair hidden under the helmet. You twirl them around your fingers and that action alone is worth a million kisses. The feeling in your heart is second to none and you wished you could stay in this still moment forever.

“Did you mean what you said?” He speaks up in reference to what you told Koska about him.

“Every word of it.” You state, genuinely meaning it as you said it. He did respond but something told you he was smiling under all that armor. He sighs, and then lets his arms go weak so he’s falling onto you. You groan at the surprise and the sheer weight of both his broad body and the heavy armor on top. The air is pushed out of your lungs but at least he’s pressed into you, your hands still toying with his curly hair. You can hear him chuckle, and you wanted to freeze time.

“Someone’s gonna see us if we stay like this.” He mutters as you tilt your head to have it rest on top of his helmet.

“Then let them.”

He doesn’t reply to what you say, and you debate if it was even the right thing to say. When you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted, it’s hard to grasp the concept that someone may not want the same thing. You’re selfish for not caring about his safety and status in these types of situations. He grunts as he pushes himself back up and stands again, leaving only you on the sofa.

“How’s the arm?”

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes, you don’t want everyone to worry so much anymore.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You reply more forcefully this time, sitting up on the couch.

“Just making sure.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You sigh, and consider your next words, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.” You sit with your palms flat against the cushion, making aware of the wet spot on the fabric and smirking fondly at it.

“Anything, your Highness.” He nods.

“Well… I wondered if maybe I could teach you how to dance?” You were nervous about what his response may be.

“Oh Stars-“ He chuckles.

“What!?”

“I had a feeling that masquerade might have something to do with me.” He puts his hands on his hips like he’s scolding you but there’s a guilty part of you that you like about it.

“Well it isn’t just about you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“...no.” He already knew you so well. He chuckles at your response. “So… what’s your answer?”

“Dancing isn't my style…”

“I don’t believe that.” You tilt your head. “Come on, it’s super easy and it would mean a lot to me.” You try convincing. He sighs and considers what you’re offering. “I can give you something in return…” You bite your lip, teasing. He chuckles just once.

“Alright-”

“What!? Really??” You stand up from excitement, you weren’t really expecting him to agree.

“But, only if you let me teach you something in return.” You nod in agreement, your hands coming to fold in your lap. You were expecting him to refer to something sexual, but his words prove you wrong, “I wanna teach you how to fight.”

“What?” Why would you ever need that?” It’s rare for royals to learn such a skill, especially princesses. You understood that it would be valuable, but you weren’t completely sure if you were up to the task.

“Well more than anything, I want to teach you how to defend yourself. So something like Keldabe doesn’t happen again.”

“Okay…” You were tentative to agree.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, “If it means I get to dance with you at the ball, I would be more than happy to learn.”

“Great. Let’s start then.” He takes a step back and holds his hand out for you to take.

“What?” You place your palm in his and he pulls you up off the couch, “right now?”

“Yes, c’mere.” You were nervous and honestly your legs were still weak from cumming twice, but you follow him as he begins to talk. “I’ll just teach you a few things and then you can teach me how to dance I guess.”

“Stop being a pill.” You tease.

“Only if you stop, too.” He teases right back at you which leads to a scoff from your lips. He ignores you. “When you're defending yourself, you always wanna protect your face, okay?”

“Protect my face, got it.” You repeat. He holds his arms up in front of his helmet, his hands fisted.

“Mimic my pose.” You roll your eyes but mirror him, holding your arms to guard your face. “See, is that so hard?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes ma’am.” He sarcastically replies. “You can’t do much if you can’t see, so that’s why you gotta protect your face. If you wore a helmet you wouldn’t need to do this.”

“But I would always be wearing a helmet…”

“It’s not so bad.” He shrugs.

“Something tells me that you don’t believe that.” You drop your arms from your face to say that, which was obviously a mistake, because instead of responding to your claim (which was probably right), he's jabbing his arm out towards your face. He’s not close enough to hit you but the quick and unexpected action is enough to startle you back. You lose your balance and fall down on the ground, wincing when you hit the ground and regretting agreeing to this. Your arms wrap into a frustrated position and you frown up at him. You look up at him surprised and a little pissed, and he just starts laughing. “What was that?”

“You let your guard down.” He says between laughs. He does hold his hand out for you to help you back up, and you take it to your own dismay. He hoists you up quickly, and you have to re-establish your balance.

“You are impossible.” You put your arms back over your face, ready to try again.

“You like it.”

“Are you gonna teach me or not?” He wasn't wrong but you figured you’d have to try and beat him at his own game.

“Are you gonna let me?”

“Just go.” You roll your eyes again.

“This will also protect your ribs. Can’t do much if the wind is knocked out of you, either.” He explains. “You also want to stand wide, it’ll help you keep your balance.” He kicks your feet out to be shoulder width which breaks every rule in the book of princess manners. “And prevent… falling on the floor.”

“This isn’t exactly easy to do in a corset, you know.” You argue.

“And dancing won’t be easy in armor but here we are.” He shrugs, and you suppose he’s right. Neither of you are cut out for the tasks at hand. “When fighting someone without armor, you’re gonna want to go for their face, their eyes are vulnerable and you can do real damage on their nose.”

“Okay….” You try to remember what he was saying, making a mental note for any future situations, although you’re still skeptical. “And what about someone with armor on?” You ask, trying not to show the smirk on your face.

“Well the guy in Keldabe did everything right, he found where the weak points of my armor was and attacked them-“

“So here?” You ask before reeling back your arm and swinging it as hard as you can into his shoulder where there was only chain mail. Your fist crashes into the metal, and you immediately regret it. “Shit!” You pull your hand back and look at your bright red knuckles, shaking your hand a few times as you try to brush the shock away.

“...Yeah, right there.” On the bright side, he seemed to be surprised by it enough that he made a little groan from the contact that turned you on way more than it should have. “But now you fucked up your hand.”

“You think?” You place the angry knuckles at your mouth, trying not to be too upset about the pain shooting through your hand.

“Punching chainmail is always gonna hurt, especially if you do it wrong… like that.”

“So how do I do it right!?” You’re determined now. No one has ever put you in your place, you’ve always gotten what you wanted, and you wanted to prove to him that you could do it.

“Why are you so eager to inflict pain on me?” He asks, you can hear the teasing in his tone but you can’t blame him for feeling that way. Perhaps you did come off a little anxious.

“I don’t know… I guess I just want to prove something to you.” You sigh, still pissed off by the pain in your hand. You’re so distracted by it that you hardly notice him walking towards you. His gentle and soft bare hands take your fist away from your mouth. You’re tentative at first, but let him take it in his hand, cupping it in between his and looking down at your red skin. You frown mostly out of frustration, but the pain is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Princesses aren’t supposed to feel pain.

Before you can blink, he pulls his top hand away and takes it to lift up his helmet just above his lips. The angle makes it so you can’t see any of his face but you understand. He bends down and kisses your knuckles in the same fashion one would when greeting you, but this was so much more intimate. His lips were like satin against your skin and the butterflies in your stomach fly right back. The physical pain didn’t go away, but the anger around it did. Your heart softened and wished he would kiss your lips but he’s already pulling the beskar back over his jaw. You sigh from the gesture, he was so romantic and you don’t even think he’s trying to be. He’s just trying to be kind and patient with you and it’s doing something to your heart that you don’t know if you can handle anymore.

“So… how do you waltz?” He asks, his hand still holding onto yours. You smile and sheepishly look down at your feet. You were unsure of how to begin, but were happy he was willing to learn.

“Okay.” You smile, “Well, you first need to loosen up. Stop being so stiff.” He tilts his head like you’re speaking a foreign language. “Like this.” You press your hands down on his shoulder pauldrons, he tries to rest them but fails and you chuckle just a little. “Roll them back.” You explain and do it yourself, he attempts to follow, and actually is able to relax a little bit more this time. Knights are always so stiff, you think it will be good for him to relax every now and then. “Good, now this hand goes here…” You lift his right hand to rest on your waist and he immediately settles into it, already feeling more comfortable now that he is holding you. You place your left hand on his shoulder, pulling your bodies a little closer together. He wanted your torsos to be flush against one another, “No, we have to keep our distance so we have room to do the steps.” You explain.

“Well that’s no fun.” He sighs. You blush and giggle.

“If we get this done I promise you can hold me as long as you want.” You tilt your head trying to make a fair compromise.

“Fine.” He’ll take it.

“Great, now we hold these hands.” You take his left hand and hold it into yours. “That’s the basic position, I learned it as home position, got it?”

“Home position…?” He repeats.

“Mhm.” You nod, your faces are close and you would give anything to feel his breath against yours. “It’s important that we sort of… ‘glide’ like we bounce as we dance, it will make it prettier.” He was convinced you were always pretty no matter what you tried or did, but we guessed he would comply this time. Your voice goes quiet and soft, the mood immediately changing from teasing to harmonious. “And your feet… okay this is sort of complicated but your left foot will go forward as my right goes back-“ You keep looking down at the floor as you try to explain the steps but his gaze is on your face, hardly listening to what you're saying and only being engulfed in your face and the way you talked about doing something you loved. You were so beautiful and you didn’t even know it.

You must have been talking for a while without really listening to yourself because he was slowly pulling you into his torso and closing the space without you really noticing that you were inches closer than you were before. “-and then your left foot will slide to meet your right foot-“ the last word fades out as you slowly look back up to his face which was now up close to yours, your bodies pressed together and both of his hands on your hips, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your back. Your heart skips a beat and you forget how to breathe as you look up at him and it just felt… right.

Your hands lift from his pauldron to his helmet and you want to take it off so badly. You knew it was too fast still, and he would remove his helmet for you when he felt like he could. At least that’s what you hoped for. It should be his decision, no one else’s. But your hands are grazing the bottom of the beskar and everything feels so right. He’s so still and his breath is quiet and for just a moment you think he might let you and then-

The door knob is turning slowly and both of you are splitting away all too fast, trying to make enough space between the two of you so it didn’t look suspicious. You both scramble, trying to put yourselves back together. The still and perfect moment was entirely gone when Prince Korkie opened up the door into the parlor. You tried not to look too shocked when his stupid perfect hair and young face looked on you. The knight held his hands behind his back to hide the fact that they were bare and side-eyed the gloves on the sofa that laid by the wet stain on the cushion. He silently prayed that the Prince wouldn’t notice them.

“Ah, princess I was wondering where you were.” He looked between the two of you. He didn’t seem too suspicious, thank the stars.

“Korkie! What are you doing?” You awkwardly laugh. Your hands fold at waist level, and you fix your posture.

“Did… I walk in on something?” He asks and your whole body goes numb. You swallow and try not to pass out. The truth is yes, he did walk in on something very important to you, but here we are.

“Oh! No, we were just…” You search around the room looking for something to take the attention away from you and the knight, “Admiring the beautiful dress the Elves gave me!” You walk to the heavy, iridescent gown on the clean sofa, picking it up to show him. You smile desperately, hoping that would be enough.

“Ah yes! It is beautiful, isn’t it?” He nods, smiling. You sigh of relief when he falls for the bait. You set the dress back down.

“Can I do anything for you?” You ask,a king sure there was no attention on the knight being you.

“I… just wanted to spend a bit of time with you. My aunt informed me of the changes to the Ball. What a wonderful idea!”

“Why thank you.” You smile, taking a few steps towards him in a hopeless attempt to not seem so suspicious.

“Yes! I had just received the RSVPS from a number of the guests. Your parents, the twins of Naboo, the senator of Alderaan and Princess of Chandrila and I’m pleased to say that we’ve found no suspicion of any attack from Coruscant!” Stars, he talks a lot. You aren’t sure how he can have any more breath to talk. You were starting to decide that you liked the boys who were more reserved.

Well… one boy.

“Oh… Um, of course. That’s great news.” You nod and finish your walk towards him, suddenly hyper-aware of the fading scratches on your collar bone.

“Come with me, we should review the letters together.” You look back at the knight apologetically before walking into the hallway with the Prince. This isn’t exactly how you hoped your afternoon would go...

-

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-

Part ten

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

We want more... Stucky x reader Part 19

"What's the diagnosis, Doc?" Tony asked Bruce as he fiddled with a pen, walking back and forth beside where the two of you were sat at your desk.

Bruce took his glasses off as he let out a deep sigh. "She's not sick, Tony," He stated.

Tony scoffed as he came to a stop. "Duh, the healed bullet wound is a pretty obvious clue to that, Banner,"

"Tony," You let out a light sigh as you turned your attention back to Bruce. "What he means, Bruce, is what's going on?"

Bruce nodded. "It appears that the Super-Soldier serum that was lacing Steve's blood as for some reason, decided it was going to repair any damaged cells in your body. Including the ones that were from... Hmm... You know..." He stopped talking as he approached the subject of 'your father'.

You rolled your eyes nodding. "So, you're saying, what, exactly? I'm becoming a super soldier?"

You frowned. Ugh, bulging biceps was not a look you could pull off.

"Unlikely," Bruce gave you a reassuring smile as he continued. "You haven't received enough serum to completely transform you, just enough for it to affect your health."

"Oh," You nodded slowly. "So, how long will it last?"

Bruce shrugged. "I haven't a clue,"

Tony scoffed again, dramatically throwing his hands up. "Some help you are," You rolled your eyes at him as Bruce grabbed your file.

"It's hard to say. If it was just because of Steve's blood, then it would have worked its way out of your system by now but it's not. The serum as modified itself to your DNA, it's helping your body, it's in your system now. I literally have no idea if it's a permanent thing or not. I don't even know if it'll heal new injuries or not." He huffed, dropping the file back onto the table. "Has everything completely healed now?"

You nodded. "No scar from the bullet wound or anything," You shrugged your shoulder that you were shot in as if to prove a point.

Not even two weeks after being shot and you were back to normal, better than before actually.

"Stab her," Tony remarked from beside you.

You scoffed and shook your head as you turned to look at him.

"What?" He shrugged. "We'd know if the serum was still healing you because in a couple of hours it will have healed, right, Doc?" Tony explained, idiotically.

"Hmm..." Bruce paused as he ran his hand over the back of his head before reluctantly nodding. "Sure, I mean, a pinprick would work just as well-"

"Nah," He quickly dismissed the idea, "that will heal too, quickly," Tony shook his head as he turned on the spot and headed for Bruce's medical equipment. You raised an eyebrow as you listened to him clanging utensils about, worried. "It needs to be a real wound to really be able to test-"

"You are not, stabbing me!" You jumped up as he turned around with a scalpel in his hand.

"Oh, c'mon, it won't hurt," Tony made his way towards you as you stood behind Bruce for protection. "Just a little stab, that's all,"

"Tony, I don't think this is such a good idea," Bruce held his hands up trying to stay out of it as Tony continued to try and 'help'.

"Knock it off!" Steve bounded into the lab like a man on a mission.

FRIDAY had notified him as soon as Tony's ridiculous idea to stab you a little had left his mouth. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on but he knew what Tony was like, hell, he once poked Bruce to try and wake-up the big guy, so Steve was quick to drop his weights in the middle of his work out and come to your rescue, as it were.

"SON OF A BITCH!" You cried out after Tony had victoriously caught your hand with the scalpel.

You screwed your hand up as blood began to pour out of the large cut across your palm. "Shit!" You hissed out as you sat in your chair, accepting Bruce's help.

"Damn it, Tony," Steve growled as he crossed the lab to where you were. He took one look at your hand and spun around to face Tony, angry. "Why are you so irresponsible, Tony?"

"Relax, Cap, I did it on purpose," Tony clapped his hand on Steve's shoulder as he walked past him and around to the other side of you. "Come get me in a few hours when it's healed," He smirked, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Papa loves ya'," You rolled your eyes with a little giggle at his smugness.

"Tony?" Steve called after him, confused. "You can't just leave," He frowned as he watched Tony saunter out of the lab as if nothing had happened. "What's going on, Y/N?" He asked as he looked back to you.

You quickly looked away from him, silently debating with yourself whether you should tell him or not. You were scared if you were being honest, you knew what Steve was like if he thought something was his fault.

"Hmm... Bruce, can you give us a minute," Steve used his stern Captain tone.

"S-Sure," Bruce nodded as he moved your hand that was still bleeding over to Steve before he made a hasty retreat out of the lab.

He shook his head slowly as he took in a deep breath, dropping into the seat Bruce had been sitting in. "I gotta say, when FRIDAY said Tony was wanting to stab you, I wasn't sure what to expect, but this," He softly took a hold of your hand, lifting the swab up briefly. His brow knitted together as he saw the blood still weeping. "Wasn't it," He pressed the swab back to your palm. "What's going on, Y/N?" His sweet and calming tone hugged you, putting a small smile on your face.

"Don't be mad," You started, looking up to meet his worried gaze. "I promise, it's nothing bad, okay?" You spoke softly as you reached out to him.

He nodded taking your other hand. "Okay,"

"Bruce has been running some tests on me over the last week or so,"

"What? Why? Baby, are you ok-"

"Steve," You huffed slightly, placing your hand over his mouth. "What did I just say. Shh," You hushed his muffling as he tried to speak into your hand. "When I received my blood transfusion from you, the Super-Soldier serum came with it and is now in my system. All of the wounds I received from, hmm, you know,"

Steve nodded. "Everything is, healed?"

"Yeah, it is,"

"So, are you, becoming, like me and Buck?" He asked with a worried look as he glanced back down to your injured hand.

You shook your head. "Not enough of the serum has entered my system for that to happen but, enough for it to heal any sign of damaged cells. How long it'll be there is, a hard one to figure out," You shrugged. "Hence, Tony thinking he should stab me," You let out a small chuckle. "Idiot,"

Steve frowned. "That's not the word I'd use, but sure,"

You giggled smacking your hand against his shoulder. "Hey, that's my dad,"

Steve looked up with a creased brow. "Yeah, and he stabbed you,"

You let out a small sigh. "Steve, don't start,"

"Y/N, this is a joke to him. It's been what, two weeks since you found out and, he hasn't even done anything, remotely, father-ish with you,"

"I'm not a child, Steve. I don't need him to do anything 'father-ish'. He can't exactly teach me to ride a bike or take me to ballet classes, can he?" You snapped getting up from your chair. "There's no prom date or a first date with a guy he has to approve. There's no teaching me to drive or telling me bedtime stories. I'm 30, Steve, I've missed out on everything 'father-ish' now," You let out a soft as you turned away from him. "M'sorry,"

Steve closed his eyes as he breathed in deeply. "Baby," He moved up behind you, slowly wrapping his arms around you from behind. "Why didn't you tell me you were feeling like this?"

You shook your head. "Because it's stupid," You wrapped your arms around his. "Nothing has changed, has it?"

"Y/N, you just found out Tony is your biological father, that's a pretty big, change," He smiled against your temple. "You're allowed to feel like you've missed out on time with him," He squeezed his arms tighter around you. "You know you can talk to us, right? We love you, Y/N," He pressed a loving kiss to your hairline.

You nodded with a small smile. "I know, and I love you too," You turned your head and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. "Thank you,"

----------

"This is stupid," Bucky grumbled beside Steve as he fiddled with the sleeve if his tux jacket.

Steve let out a heavy sigh, nodding as he turned to look at him. "Yes, it is, but we're doing this for -"

"Y/N," Bucky cut Steve off. "I know, I know," He nodded. "But a prom?" He frowned dramatically.

Steve chuckled as he turned to face Bucky, resting his hand gently on Bucky's shoulder. "It's themed, Buck, and Tony's idea," He reminded.

"After you spoke to him, which by the way, Y/N is going to kick your butt for," Bucky smirked slightly at the image.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Whatever, it'll be fun," Bucky let out a sigh as he frowned, sensing there was something he wasn't saying to him. "What's wrong, Bucky?"

"Nothing," He shook his head.

"Bull," Steve scoffed. "Tell me what's wrong, Bucky," He whispered as he moved his hand to under Bucky's chin, lifting his head so they were looking at each other. "Please," He gave Bucky a soft pleading look, similar to the big puppy-eyed one you had mastered but not quite as good.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, lowering his head again. "There's nothing wrong, okay, this is all great," He said as he tugged at the front of his tux. "You look," He puffed out some air as he eyed Steve, not subtly licking his lips in the process making Steve blush a little. "And I'm sure, Y/N, is going to be-"

"Smoking," Steve teased, although he was agreeing. Bucky was looking just as fine.

Bucky cracked a small smirk as he nodded. "Right... but, why do we have to do this with, everyone around? They're going to be staring at us and, asking questions and, I don't really like the idea of sharing the two of you, with that lot and, I swear to fuckin' God, if Sam or that stupid Pietro start to make jokes and ruin this for us, I'm gonna-"

Steve crashed his lips against Bucky's as he cupped the back of his head, holding him in place as he passionately kiss him. Bucky opened his mouth, their tongues began to fight for dominance as Bucky reached out and grabbed ahold of Steve's tux.

After a few moments, Steve pulled back with a cocky grin as Bucky tried to chase his mouth. "All those things are true, Buck," He smiled lovingly at him as he moved his hands to cup his face. "But, you're not alone, okay? The three of us will do this as a team, a unit... A family, okay?"

Bucky nodded. "A family, yeah, I like the sound of that," He smiled softly. "Thanks, Punk," He punched Steve's shoulder softly.

Steve chuckled softly. "Don't worry, Jerk," He leaned forward pressing his forehead against Bucky's. "You know, she's going to be thinking the exact same thing, right?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I know," He grinned before leaning in and pressing another kiss to Steve's lips.

Before the two of them could get too carried away, Tony yanked the door open, letting out a dramatic sigh as he rolled his eyes. "Please, stop," Steve and Bucky pulled away from each other blushing as they turned to face Tony. "You're ruining this for me,"

"How so, Tony?" Steve asked as he walked into your room, glancing around and failing to find you.

"Well," Tony began as he walked into your bedroom and over to your desk where he had a bottle of scotch already opened and poured, "usually, when a father meets his daughter's prom date, it's some school kid who he has to worry about defiling his daughter," He frowned as he turned to face the two super soldiers, taking back his scotch. "I have you two to think about, at the same time, with her,"

Steve rolled his eyes as he turned to look at Bucky, surprised to find him smirking.

"Look, try to keep the touching to a minimum, would ya'. In fact, neither of you, put your grubby little hands on my little girl, got it?"

Steve and Bucky looked back over to Tony, smirking. "How long have you been practicing that, Stark?" Bucky asked.

Tony began grinning. "All day, damn it, I so wanted you to answer back so I could go, 'You talkin' to me?'." He said in his best Robert De Niro voice.

"This is so stupid," All three men turned their attention towards you as you stepped out of your ensuite, pulling the front of your gown up a touch more. You looked up at the silence, your eyes widened and your mouth went dry as you stared at your 'prom dates'. Fuck, yes!

"Hi, Sweetheart," Steve smiled warmly at you as the three of you stepped closer to each other as if you were being magnetically drawn together.

Bucky nodded with his own smile as he took in your breathtaking appearance. "Hey, doll, you look," He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as his smile grew. "You look,"

"Beautiful," Steve finished for him, grinning.

You smiled back at the pair of them, thanking them. "You guys look..." You tried to think of the right word, eyeing them from top to damn, look at those asses. "Smoking," You teased them.

"Oh, God," Tony groaned as he poured himself another drink. "Please, just get on with it," He begged.

"There's nothing left to do, loser," You laughed at him as you looked over your shoulder to him.

Steve breathed in deeply as he took hold of Bucky's hand, nodding. Bucky smiled back, glancing over to Tony who gave a nod of his head, his own smile tugging at his lips.

"I've been talking to those two idiots," Tony began as he gestured to Steve and Bucky. "And, we've decided, that, you and I are going to, take a break from being Avengers. If it's okay with you, of course, I'd like us to spend some real-time together as, father and daughter," Tony smiled warmly at you.

Tears prickle your eyes as you nodded, smiling. "Yes, of course that's okay... Dad," You rushed over to him and wrapped your arms around him. "Thank you,"

Tony shook his head as he whispered, "I love you, kid," He squeezed you close as he kissed the top of your head.

"I love you too," You grinned stepping back from him. "You two are-" You let out a loud gasp as you turned to face Steve and Bucky.

The pair of them were knelt down on one knee, each holding a ring box with a shimmering rock inside and matching teary smiles as they looked up at you.

Steve took in a nervous breath. "That's not the only thing we've been talking about," He grinned up at you.

"Yeah, can you guess what?" Bucky chuckled, nudging Steve with his elbow, putting a giant grin on your face as you nodded.

"I think so,"

[stubbychaos]

Saviin’ika

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: You grew up hearing terrifying tales of Mandalorians and the atrocities they were capable of inflicting upon innocent people, but when a grouchy heavy-infantry warrior offers to walk you home after you treat his wounds, you think that perhaps they aren’t the scariest monsters that reside on Nevarro.

Rated: M for mature themes, though there’s no smut in this part.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, graphic injury involving intestines (not detailed at all, I literally just use the word ‘intestines’ to describe the injury), Paz gets stitches and hates needles just as much as I do, brief mention of an armed robbery.

Notes: This is so self-indulgent it’s not even funny lol. I just wanted more fluffy Paz fanfic since he only got like thirty seconds of screen time and I’m still thirsting over him. I plan on this being only a few chapters, but knowing me, I won’t know when to stop.

You’re not sure how you ended up in this position, currently taking care of a massive Mandalorian that had somehow been injured in some sort of intense scuffle, though you find it difficult to believe that anyone in the galaxy could get the upper hand on the intimidating warrior that absolutely towers over you by more than a foot.

You can’t even imagine anyone with the guts to try to take on someone so intimidating.

You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before, but you have heard old tales of vicious warriors made of metal that lived underground and took what they wanted without much regard for others, not caring if they had to hurt women or children to get what they wanted. Judging by the way he had stormed into the tiny infirmary, angrily demanding that you be the only one to tend to his wounds, you think the rumors must be true and you had accepted immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the huge warrior’s wrath should you deny him. He hadn’t even asked where your office was, merely stalking past you after you had scrambled to get up from the front desk where you had been working on the reports you had been asked to work on and file.

Currently, you watch in awkward silence as he slowly detaches his massive weapon from his back, breathing a little harshly or grunting whenever he moves in a way that causes pain. You step forward and raise a hand to help him, but his helmet whips threateningly to where you’re standing and you immediately back up, fear turning into slight irritation because you’re a nurse and you should be helping someone who’s clearly uncomfortable. After a few painfully quiet moments, the Mandalorian finally props his massive weapon up against the stiff cot in the center of the room and moves onto removing his chest piece, though it seems to be a harder task for him.

“W-Would you like some help, sir?” Your question comes in the form of a meek murmur and he immediately freezes at the sound of your voice, his intimidating visor staring you dead on, “I-It just seems like you’re in quite a bit of pain. I don’t mind helping, really.”

His black gloves fall to his thighs and you watch with disdain as a few droplets of blood drip onto the white tile, though you take the defeated gesture as a sign that he’s willing to let you help him. You remain as professional as possible as you approach the huge warrior and bashfully reach up to undo one of the latches that rests above his collarbone before repeating the action with the other one, though you find it’s broken and slightly trickier to unlatch. Deciding it’s not a good idea to mention his shoddy armor, you remain silent as you stand on your tippy toes to remove the heavy piece of steel, a hand reaching around him to catch the back piece.

His helmet cocks to the side at the small huff you let out, not prepared for how heavy the piece of armor was.

After you help him remove the rest of his heavy cuirass and the extra padding covering his ribs, he surprisingly obliges your meek request for him to lay down on the stiff cot before you cautiously untuck his tunics from his utility belt that he refused to take off. Even with two dangerously deep knife wounds and several intense bruises, you think it makes him no less scary and you’re certain he can easily deal out some serious damage if he so desires, even in such a compromised position. The Mandalorian has over a foot on you and even before removing all of the padding and layers of clothing, you had been able to tell that he’s still a big guy, more muscular in certain spots than others and you force yourself to stop thinking about the softly defined abs that are currently exposed to you, both his gray and black tunics pulled up to his sternum. His skin is a beautiful, rich shade of brown, you notice as you briefly inspect the severity of his wounds and you can feel the intense heat that radiates from him, as if he’s a human furnace.

‘He is your patient,’ You remind yourself as you quickly stand up to gather a few things, including your thoughts, ‘A massive, terrifying patient that could easily crush you in the blink of an eye.’

You have your back to him, thoroughly washing your hands when you clear your throat and speak up quietly, “Can you tell me what you were stabbed with?”

“Does it make a difference? I’m injured, that’s all you need to know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you gather all the supplies you need before sitting in your chair and pointing your bright lamp at the severe injuries; you gain a little courage as you pull your surgical mask over the lower half of your face and slip on your glasses so you can see better, grateful that you can now focus on the injuries rather than the stubborn Mandalorian. The gashes are both several inches long and though they don’t seem critically deep, you can tell that he’s lost quite a bit of blood and will suffer severe consequences if you don’t help him soon.

“It just helps to know what weapon was used to cause the injury. If it was rusted metal, it can be more prone to infection--if it was glass, there could still be shards in the wound. I’m not asking about the circumstances involving how you got these injuries, just the weapons involved.”

He grunts and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers curl against the cot when you begin to flush out the wound. Something tells you that he’s not used to being the one getting injured during a battle and you can’t imagine a warrior bigger than him catching him off guard; you force yourself not to ask about the circumstances revolving around his injuries. You had learned long ago not to pry into the lives of criminals and bounty hunters, understanding that it always put them on edge and made them wary of you.

“It was a dagger--few inches long and definitely not rusty.”

“Does your left shoulder hurt at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You huff a little, cheeks burning and you can’t tell if it’s from frustration or embarrassment, “The less critical wound is located in a spot where your spleen could have been affected if contact was made with the dagger, though it doesn’t seem to be deep enough to cause any trauma to the organ. A sharp pain in your left shoulder is oftentimes a sign of a ruptured spleen.”

You reach up to lightly dig your fingers into his firm shoulder, only pulling away when he shakes his helmet a few seconds later, “No, there’s no pain there.”

“Thank you. The wounds didn’t seem deep enough to cause any injury to any organs, but we don’t really have the proper technology to know for sure,” His visor tilts towards your face, though you don’t notice it as you remain concentrated on cleaning the nasty wounds before pulling out your suture kit, “The infirmary is low on supplies at the moment--a couple of raiders broke in a few weeks ago and took a lot of machines and medicine from us. I’m afraid I don’t have any bacta patches, but stitches should stop the bleeding just fine. You’re lucky the dagger wasn’t very long.”

“I got stabbed and you’re calling me lucky?” He doesn’t sound angry and something about his lighter tone makes you think it’s disbelief that his modulator hides.

You raise your brows and you’re grateful for the surgical mask hiding your amused smirk as you get to work on stitching up the deeper wound first, “Considering I had a Twi’lek come in earlier with his intestines practically falling out of his stomach, I would certainly say you’re one of the luckier patients I’ve ever gotten. Stab wounds and blaster shots I can handle, guts and brains are another story.”

“You’re a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village--most people are dead before they even make it here.”

He makes a small noise from the back of his throat, “Makes sense. Surprised this place even has an infirmary in the first place.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly the flashiest hospital in the Outer Rim,” You say sarcastically, tilting your head to the side as you lean over his torso to get a better look at what you’re doing, “Why did you ask for me?”

“You were the only one that actually looked competent,” He huffs, stretching his arm behind his head when you gently nudge his bicep a little, “Everyone else was standing around doing nothing. You were the only one actually working.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or some sort of backhanded one, but you take it for what it is and continue your work, being as swift and precise as you possibly can. The Mandalorian, however, makes it difficult when he keeps shuffling around and you would have thought for such a big warrior, he’d be used to pain by now. If you were in any other situation, you might have found amusement at the thought of a huge Mandalorian hating needles, though you suspect it goes deeper than that and judging by the scarce amount of scars scattered on his torso, he must not get hurt often. 

Men in this village tend to have quite a big ego and usually hate having their pride bruised; you think that maybe Mandalorians are no exception to that notion, especially when they are rumored to be the galaxy’s fiercest warriors.

You let out an exasperated sigh when he shifts for the umpteenth time and his helmet immediately jolts to stare at you through that unforgiving visor, “What? Something wrong?”

His tone is condescending and you wince a little.

Of course he’s just like the rest of your patients--rude and probably cruel.

“You just…” You cringe at how shaky your voice is and steel your nerves, “Could you stop moving so much, please? It’s slowing down the process and causing more unnecessary pain.”

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a vibroblade just inches from your face.

He grunts a little and turns his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, growing deathly still underneath your skilled hands.

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

You bite your tongue and continue without so much as a nod. You’ve learned long ago that when it comes to patching up criminals or bounty hunters, they have no qualms about harming people smaller or weaker than them and this Mandalorian is quite possibly the strongest patient you’ve ever tended to and you’d rather not anger him. So, instead of rolling your eyes at the childish man, you continue to stitch the second wound that comes to a blunt end on the right side of his hip, just above his utility belt. After tenderly wiping the dried and fresh blood away from his torso, remaining mindful as you clean around the sutures, you begin to unroll a thick wad of gauze as well as some medical tape.

“The bruising on your ribs looks pretty intense,” You murmur after finishing with the stitches and lightly wrapping it with a bandage; you tilt your head a little at the way he jolts when you tenderly press a cool hand against his warm, bruised skin, “Did you hear a pop or crack when you were hit?”

“I don’t know,” He admits brusquely and you are all too aware of how bothersome bruised or broken ribs can be. Despite your better judgment, you think that perhaps that’s why he’s so cranky, “Couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when you think of the massive weapon propped up against the cot, just inches away from your thigh, and you shake your head a little, “I think I might have a jar of bacta salve that could help with the soreness. If you apply it twice a day, it should speed up the healing process a considerable amount.”

“I don’t have enough credits for anything with bacta in it, so don’t even bother,” He grunts as he stubbornly sits up and lowers his helmet to inspect your work before turning to you, watching as you stand up. 

You ignore his words as you approach the cabinet where you keep several clear jars filled with all sorts of vibrant, colorful liquids and gels and you think you feel his eyes on you as you stand on your tippy toes to reach the small jar on the top shelf. You were grateful that your little supply of homemade remedies and salves had remained untouched, for the most part, after the infirmary had been raided. You try to forget about the scary situation, though you still found yourself having nightmares of a Trandoshan pressing a blaster between your eyes, all while threatening to blow your brains out if you move an inch.

“Please, take it,” You insist, unscrewing the lid as you approach him and gathering the cold salve onto your fingers, “Something tells me you get injured a lot.”

His leather-clad fingers wrap gently around your wrist and stop you from rubbing the healing ointment into his skin; if you weren’t so terrified, you would have marveled at how massive his hand was compared to your much tinier one, “I don’t want your pity.”

Much to your dismay, your voice shakes a little when you speak in a whisper, and you feel the way he loosens his grip on you, though it hadn’t been painful or caused discomfort in the slightest; you’re somewhat surprised that he’s capable of gently handling someone so much smaller than him.

“It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

“Then what is it?”

“Kindness,” You murmur, feeling ridiculous when he scoffs at your answer and you just know that your cheeks are an angry shade of pink, “I do not wish to be as cruel as everyone else on this planet. I would like to think I would be shown the same kindness if I was as injured as you are, though I doubt one would help me. Besides, I don’t like seeing people in pain and I know broken ribs can be bothersome and painful.”

He silently stares at you for a few tense moments, his helmet giving you no indication as to what he’s feeling.

“Fine,” He lets go of your wrist and you let out a sigh of relief, hand shaking terribly as you begin to rub the salve against the worst of the bruising; you ignore the way he tenses under your hand and how he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes you closely, “That kind of attitude will get you hurt in a place like this.”

“I know,” Your cheeks flush and your eyes burn as you refuse to meet his gaze, your voice growing thicker and quieter when you speak again, “I know, but sometimes it doesn’t.”

He’s still staring at you as you finish up and he grunts a little when you offer him the deep, dull blue cuirass you had helped him remove earlier, carefully helping him put it back into place. After sheathing his huge canon against his back, he accepts the little jar of salve from you and tucks it into a little brown pouch attached to his utility belt with a disgruntled ‘thanks’. You’re not sure why you do it, but you instinctively trail behind him as he leaves the room and makes his way into the lobby; it’s not like he needs your assistance, but he doesn’t say anything to make you think he’s annoyed with you or doesn’t want you there.

It’s not until a deep voice calls out your name that you freeze in your footsteps and turn around with dread, the Mandalorian tilting his helmet to stare at you and an older man over his broad shoulder. Your own shoulders tense and are nearly touching your earlobes as your boss approaches you, looking angry and irritated with you even though you haven’t said a single word to him in hours. 

His face is a deep shade of crimson and you can smell his putrid breath as he yells at you, “I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

“N-No sir,” You panic and instinctively flinch when he harshly grabs your bicep and violently rattles you, “Something came up, sir. I had a patient that had two stab wounds and I just uh, I figured that took priority over a few reports that aren’t crucial. He was in pretty bad condition and I just thought--”

“I don’t give a shit what you think takes priority over my demands,” He hisses, lowering his head to get in your face and intimidate you and you absolutely loathe that he succeeds in frightening you, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking do it without hesitation. I need a nurse that will do her job, not a useless pathetic excuse for a human being that can’t file a few reports by the deadline I give her. Is that understood?”

You blink away the tears and nod fervently, ignoring the bruising grip he has on your arm, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I can’t handle having you around fucking everything up right now. Go home.”

"But I--" You're cut off with a harsh squeeze and you try to keep the pain out of your voice when you speak in a quiet, shaky whisper, "Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry."

When you turn around, lightly rubbing what you know is going to be a painful bruise in the morning, you're surprised to find the blue Mandalorian still standing near the entrance of the infirmary looking extremely tense--more so now than he had been earlier when you’d been stitching his wounds. His visor is trained on you and he's firmly holding the handle of his vibroblade; your eyes widen a little when you realize he had been seconds away from causing a scene and you wonder if the warrior would have actually killed your boss. 

You remain frozen in place until his hand eventually falls from the handle and you skittishly brush past him, his visor following your quick pace as you leave the infirmary and hastily make your way down the empty street, your face flushed and tears burning your eyes.

You just want to go home and lay down and forget about everything that--

"Nurse," The Mandalorian’s deep voice immediately makes you freeze again and your shoulders hunch up when you hear his heavy footsteps slowly approaching you, slow and precise, like predator stalking its prey. Your eyes squeeze shut as you fear the worst case scenarios, knowing all too well of the kind of pain men of his size and strength could inflict on someone like you.

Oh Maker, were you all too aware of what cruel men were capable of. 

When you apprehensively open your eyes, you find it impossible to look at his helmet and stare straight ahead at the center of his chest that’s protected by dull blue metal. You’re paralyzed with fear as you wait for him to strike--to shoot you or perhaps drag you behind the infirmary to have his way with you.

You prayed that he would kill you, rather than robbing you of that innocence that you still weakly held onto.

You’re frozen to the sidewalk when he finally comes to a stop about half a foot away from you, fingers clenching against his thighs and you feel ridiculous when a tear escapes the corner of your eye and slowly travels down your cheek. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from your previous encounter with the older man who constantly made your life a living hell or the fact that there’s a possibility that you’re about to be brutalized by a terrifying Mandalorian.

His helmet cocks to the side when you take a tentative step backwards, your hands wringing together as vicious waves of nerves threaten to suffocate you.

“P-Please don’t--”

"It’s late and dangerous to be walking alone. I'm going to walk you home."

You flinch when he gently grabs your elbow and he's quick to drop it instantly, much to your surprise, "Y-You really… that's not necessary, really. I do this every night and usually don’t have a problem."

He grunts a little and holds out his own elbow for you to take, "It wasn't a question. You helped me and gave me medicine even though I had no credits to spare. Let me return the favor by walking you home,” You stare at his thick arm with distrust carved into your soft features and he must notice it because he eventually speaks up again, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago, nurse. I have no desire to harm someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially you, of all people. Besides, even if you’re capable of protecting yourself, you’re clearly shaken up right now and not thinking straight.”

“I don’t know you,” The Mandalorian is still holding out his elbow for you to take as you argue with him in a weak murmur, “How am I supposed to believe you’re not just like the rest of them?”

He scoffs a little at your words, shaking his helmet as if he can’t believe you just compared him to a bunch of amateur criminals and bounty hunters, “I don’t like these people anymore than you do. I hate criminals that hurt others who don’t deserve it or can’t defend themselves. Let me walk you home this once and you’ll never have to see me again. You have my word.”

Something about the sincerity in his deep baritone leaves you a little breathless and you no longer feel as threatened by the Mandalorian and you think he’s being utterly genuine with you. There had been disgust in his voice as he spoke of ruthless criminals and perhaps you had misunderstood him and his intentions all along.

“Still don’t believe me?” He sighs when he mistakes your thoughtful silence for hesitance towards his insistent offer to walk you home, “Here, take my vibroblade and if you feel uncomfortable, I’ll let you stab me.”

‘I’ll let you stab me.’

It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous words that a man has ever said to you and your eyebrows shoot up at the nonchalance in his modulated voice, like this is something he says every day. You quickly stop him as he reaches for the handle of his weapon, though you’re not afraid of him hurting you with it, but more incredulous that this huge warrior would give you the chance to do such a thing.

“Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

His chest heaves and you’re surprised by the deep laugh he lets out at your innocent question, adamant about placing the heavy weapon in your palm, “Yes, I think I have. Now let’s get going.”

“O-Okay,” Your heart is still frantically beating from the initial fear of him taking advantage of you, along with the strange feeling of such a sharp weapon in your hand, “It’s just--it’s kind of a long walk and I’m sure you have better things to--”

“I don’t,” He firmly interjects, almost sounding exasperated with you, “C’mon, tighten your grip on that vibroblade. The later it gets, more rats come out of hiding and target people like you.”

Hesitantly, you curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow just above his vambrace, testing the thickness of the fabric there and squeezing until your fingers stop shaking. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin underneath his tunic and relish in it a little, the atmosphere of Nevarro quite brisk this late at night.

“Thank you for doing this,” You whisper, cheeks burning brightly at how close you are to someone so powerful while holding one of his weapons,“I-It means a lot to me.”

“You said you do this every night.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip as you think of all the bad run-ins you had whenever you had to walk home this late without the protection of a Mandalorian, “It doesn’t make it any less scary when these bounty hunters and criminals find out I’m nothing more than the village nurse.”

You pretend not to notice the way he tenses next to you.

As you lead him to your little hut on the outskirts of the quiet village, you remember all the stories of how Mandalorians were vicious savages and you wonder just how accurate they are. You can't imagine someone with an inherently violent disposition offering you his arm and blade while he walks you home and perhaps your initial impression of the Mandalorian was made in too much of a haste. A few late night stragglers sneer at you and the unfazed Mandalorian and even though you should feel frightened to be walking home alone with a fierce warrior, you find that his presence has quite the opposite effect as people move out of his way to avoid any confrontation.

You can’t remember the last time you actually felt safe walking home so late and you’re barely aware of the way you push yourself closer against his side.

"That man," The Mandalorian's deep voice startles you and you notice him drop his tone in the slightest, "Does he always treat you that way? That roughly?"

You're surprised that he's actually starting a conversation with you, as he seems to be a man of very few words, but you think over his blunt question and carefully choose your words, "It is for my own good. How am I supposed to learn and become a better nurse if I can't follow simple orders?"

"He shouldn't put his hands on you like that. It’s not right when he’s larger than you and you can’t defend yourself properly."

You smile sadly and gaze up at the twinkling stars dotted in the night sky, "He is my boss and my father. He can do whatever he wants as long as I'm working for him and living under his roof.”

“Father?” He cocks his helmet to the side, as if he’s confused by your words, though all you hear is disgust in his modulated voice when he speaks, “A father should never lay a hand on their child the way he did with you earlier. Parents are supposed to protect their family, not hurt and bruise them. He should feel ashamed of the way he treats you and how he talks to you--it’s dishonorable.”

“I am an adult, not a child,” You lazily give him a single-shouldered shrug and sheepishly turn your attention to your worn out boots and your bruised knees that peek out just from the hem of your dress, “It doesn’t bother me. Like I said, it’s better for me to learn this way and he only does it because I’m always messing up.”

“It should bother you,” The Mandalorian shakes his helmet and you think he must be pitying you or judging you, “You should stand up for yourself and leave. Make a better life for yourself.”

You huff out a small laugh, though there’s nothing funny about his words or yours, “Tell me, Mandalorian, where would I go? There is only one infirmary in the village and it’s owned by my father and I have no other useful skills that would help me thrive in a village overrun by bounty hunters and criminals. The nearest city is hundreds of miles away from here and I do not make nearly enough to afford transportation nor to start my life over; my father made sure of that.” 

You’re smiling, but it’s bitter and wistful, wondering why this Mandalorian wanted you to fight for a better life when there was no such thing that existed for you on this planet, “It is easy for you to tell me to fight for myself when you are covered from head to toe in impenetrable steel. My father could ruin my life if he so desired and I would not give him reason to punish me more than he has already.”

“That is no way to live, orikih baar’ur. The way you are treated is no better than the way an owner treats their slave.”

You don’t understand the language and wonder if he’s judging you in his native tongue, and even though you try to shrug it off, you still feel the pain on your shoulders and arms from your last punishment.

“It’s not living,” You agree, lightly squeezing his arm to reassure him that you’re fine, though you think you’re trying to reassure yourself more, “But I’m still surviving and doing what I love the most, helping others. It would be selfish of me to ask for more.”

The Mandalorian grows silent and you wonder what’s going through his head as you lead him through the village, where clustered buildings eventually give way to smaller houses and huts that could do with some renovation and patching up. You think of your own hut that could do with some fixing up, what with all the holes that have been punched through the walls in your father’s fits of rage, or the way rain trickles through cracks in the ceiling and oftentimes leaves you feeling sick with a fever after a night of tossing and turning on a wet mattress. Thinking of how you grew up so poorly and in a hostile environment, it makes you think far more of the Mandalorian’s blunt words and something awful churns in the pit of your stomach.

‘That is no way to live…’

You lift your head up to the stars again and wonder what lingers beyond this forsaken planet, what beauty exists in the galaxy. You had once heard tales of planets covered entirely in oceans or jungles and as you peer at the rocky and volcanic terrain that surrounds the two of you for as far as the eye can see, you wonder what beautiful sights the Mandalorian must have experienced during his years of travel. You remember a patient of yours describing the beauty of Naboo and all of the sights she had witnessed during her weeks of residing on the planet. Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t envision massive rolling plains of emerald grass, or glimmering sapphire oceans with waves just as violent as the most fearsome warrior you’ve ever met, the man walking next to you. 

You wonder what it must feel like to have a cool, fresh breeze kiss your flushed skin.

You try to imagine tasting ripe, fresh fruit, rather than bland ration bars, or the scent of sweet flowers tickling your nostrils, rather than the putrid scent of some poor creature being roasted alive.

“My place is just up ahead.”

He must hear how forlorn you’ve become, voice slightly high-pitched and crackly, as if you’re trying your damned hardest not to break down in front of him, because he tilts his helmet to gaze down at you. 

Your cheek is nearly grazing his bicep and you don’t even realize how close you are to him until you smell blaster fire and something spicy on the fabric of the long-sleeved gray tunic he wears underneath a short-sleeved black one. He’s warm, you realize, despite being covered in cold blue metal, and you wonder how such a huge, cold man could make you feel the safest you’ve felt in years, before your mother had passed away and your father was a little less cruel, though not by much. 

You swallow the lump in your throat when the hut you share with your father grows closer and dread threatens to send you fleeing in the opposite direction, though you’re willing to stay next to his side just to enjoy a few rare moments of serenity. Your father won’t be home for another few hours and you hope by then, his anger will have dulled into harmless embers, though you won’t get your hopes up.

“Thank you again for walking me home,” You clear your throat when you two come to a stop in front of the sad excuse for a home and you reluctantly pull away from him, fingertips grazing the crook of his elbow before falling to your side, “They don’t speak too kindly of Mandalorians around here, you know?”

He cocks his helmet downwards and to the side, seeming all too comfortable to speak with you before parting ways, “What do they say?”

“My father used to tell me tales of your people being savages,” You sound shameful as you confess this, tilting your head upwards the tiniest bit to gaze at the geometric emblem embedded into his cuirass, “That Mandalorians would kill innocent people and steal from them with no remorse, that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill women and children, or even torturing them. My father told me your people were worse than the monsters that plagued my dreams.”

You don’t back off when he steps a little closer and reaches out to lightly touch the little violet you always keep tucked behind your ear or in the soft weaves of your braids when it’s too hot to wear your hair down. It was something you wore in your hair every single day since your mother’s death, as she would always stick violets in your thick braids whenever she would style your hair in the morning when you were younger. You remember how she would explain the several medical uses for violets--how it was versatile and could be used for compresses, salves, soothing teas, poultices and much more.

You hadn’t even realized it had become a habit to constantly wear the pretty wildflowers in your hair until the Mandalorian unknowingly pointed it out.

“And what do you think about my people?”

“I used to believe the stories,” You hesitantly crane your neck backwards to peer into his t-shaped visor, wondering if he has warm, soft eyes that betray his cold, modulated voice and you watch as his hand promptly drops to his thigh before he can touch your ear, “Now I think the monsters in my nightmares are far more terrifying than the Mandalorian who walked me home tonight. If your people are anything like you, then I think the rumors are just that--silly rumors that should be ignored.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” His voice drops into a cool rasp that sends shivers up your spine and for what reason, you’re not so sure, “You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” You murmur just as quietly, eyes desperately searching everywhere on his dull blue helmet and you count the number of scuffs created from blaster shots or perhaps sharp daggers like the one he had been attacked with earlier, “You told me yourself that you have no desire to harm innocent people. I think you are the first man on this planet to show me any form of kindness.”

“I don’t doubt it,” He reaches for your arm, just as he had done earlier when he’d first insisted on walking you home, however, this time you don’t flinch and he cocks his helmet a little as he lightly strokes the inside of your clothed elbow with a leather thumb, “Good night, saviin’ika.”

“W-Wait!”

He tilts his helmet to the side when you quickly hold out his vibroblade that you had loosely been holding onto the entire walk home, almost forgetting that he had let you borrow it in case you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

You hadn’t--not once.

“Keep it, at least for now,” He reaches out to gently curl your thin fingers back around the handle, speaking up quickly when you part your lips to protest, “You shouldn’t be walking around without anything to protect yourself, especially this late at night.”

“But wh-what about you?”

Immediately, your eyes land on the heavy cannon attached to his back, along with the blaster on his hip and you cringe, knowing that this warrior would undoubtedly be able to take care of himself without his small blade. Still, you think the Mandalorian is amused as he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, just above his utility belt, and tilts his head backwards and to the side.

“I think I will somehow manage,” He sounds just as amused as you figured he would, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, cheeks still burning like hot coals, “Will I see you again?”

“What? Want to see me get injured again?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling when you detect a twinge of amusement in his deep voice, “You don’t need to go and hurt yourself to come visit me, Mandalorian. I would prefer to see you in one piece and those ribs all healed. Don’t forget to use that salve--”

“Twice a day,” He finishes and shakes his helm a little at the bright smile you give him, “Take care of yourself, saviin’ika. Don’t hesitate to use that vibroblade if anyone threatens you.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian. See you soon.”

orikih baar’ur= tiny medic

saviin’ika=little violet

[devilofthecresentisle]

cont from here​

He had drifted off somewhere deep in his thoughts, half dozing in the heat and the low lantern light. He had grown comfortable with her presence beside him, no longer on constant vigil after weeks of being together. Learning he could trust the woman not to stab him in the back; literally or figuratively.

But the feel of her hand on his skin made him inhale suddenly, tensing for a moment as he came back to himself. Her fingers were on his back, tracing the short horizontal scar that ran just left of his spine, cutting through the ink of one of his larger tattoos.

It was about two inches in length–the width of a saber blade that had been rammed through him. It was a wound he shouldn’t have survived; wouldn’t have, were it not for the cursed coin he’d stolen.

The coin prevented him from death, but not from the wound itself. His flesh mended, but the mark was there all the same.

“Odd story comes with that one,” he mused quietly at her inspection. “I was very lucky in the circumstances, despite what the mark my suggest. My biggest lament is that it marred my tattoo.” He smirked, pretending to be very nonchalant.

He turned towards her, long braids and dreads sliding over his shoulders, revealing more ink and more scars, new and old across his exposed skin. “I hadn’t figured you for the type to take interest in a man’s mishaps, as it were.”

@sonofirishseas​

She hadn’t thought when she brought Jack aboard her ship that he would grow to be someone she trusted, certainly....or at least possibly an ally once he got home to ship and crew of his own. She certainly hadn’t expected to be in bed with him at any point yet here she was. 

Honestly quite content.

The last couple post-coital hours had been relatively quiet, simply enjoying eachothers company, just the occasional small conversation. After Jack had seemed to turn and doze off, she’d directed her attention toward journaling by the dim lantern light for a while. Not in any rush to get dressed or submit to sleep.

Only in the previous few minutes had shifts in light and the other Captain’s position drawn her eye from the drying ink on the paper to the scar on his back. 

A feather light touch over the art-covered skin, though she stopped moving when he tensed. She hadn’t meant to startle him. “Sorry, Jack, didn’t mean to startle you.” The witch murmured, listening to him describe the tale as one hand slid over his side in time with his turning to face her. She rested her head on him, arm draped lazily across his stomach. “Sounds like quite the adventure, if youre partial to telling me.”

“Scars are stories marked on skin, luv, and you have many interesting stories to tell.” Martha cooed with a smile and a chuckle, canting her head to the side, her dual-colored curls following suit. “And I am the type to take interest in stories, at least the stories one is willing to share.”

She had her own share of scars, most being the small typical sort from pirate life. One however was very different. A burn scar over her right bicep, shoulder and most of the upper right side of her back; healed better than should have been possible but the damage still discolored and slightly changed the texture of her skin like any other scar would.

“I /am/ a witch, fixing a tattoo would be nothing difficult if you wanted it.”

[letitrainathousandflames]

ILL INDULGE!! Alpha-17 + escaped from Empire + being comforted from a nightmare?? I've got more once I finish some mother's day things!!

THANK YOU! Here goes:

-

Rating: Teens and Up

Tags: PTSD, Nightmares, Crying, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Reader/Clone

-

Ever since the two of you had moved in together, Alpha-17 had been sleeping on your couch rather than your bed, despite your insistence for him to join you in the bedroom.

Don’t get it wrong, he would give you everything you could want and more as the loving boyfriend he was, and this was literally the only thing that bothered you about him.

(“I’m a noisy sleeper,” he would say every time, “I’ll end up keeping you up. Can’t do that to my cyare, now can I?”)

The two of you have been living together since... well, since he had to escape the Empire and you had met him, working as a bounty hunter so he wouldn’t starve and maybe be able to eventually pay for a one-way trip to the outer rim, as far from the capital as possible.

When he asked where he could find shelter for the night for fifty credits at the bar you were working, you looked at this man, his unshaven face and exhausted eyes and told him that not even the cheapest places would take such small pay... but he was free to crash at your couch for the night.

And so he did. Thank the stars, he accepted your offer to crash at your place whenever he needed or his job took him close to your planet again, and every time the two of you met - including the one occasion you had to help him fix some nasty work-related wounds - you grew closer. One night after a few sips of Corellian wine you ended up sharing a long, tender kiss and before you knew it, you were straddling him, grinding on his codpiece and-

Well, let’s just say that your friendship to the clone had some extra benefits after that.

The steamy nights of mindless sex led to long conversations afterwards, and lazy mornings with breakfast in bed, the whole process so organic you took a while to realize that you two were no longer two strangers sharing the same space and occasionally fucking each other senseless: you were dating.

-

Which brought you back to now.

“I’m your girlfriend, Alpha.” You cross your arms, rubbing at them with hurt clear in your voice “I wanna sleep together. Please, I swear I won’t mind some snoring.”

Alpha looks away from you, fixing up a pillow on the couch and the blue blanket you would always lend him for the night. His entire demeanor is awkward, his jaw set and his throat bobbing as he swallows down, gritting his teeth.

“It’s-” he hesitates to then lightly punch the pillow in place “it’s not snoring, I just- I like having my space.”

“Alpha...”

“Just let it go.” Alpha’s tone is harsh but it softens quickly “Please.”

You huff, shaking your head and turning your back on him to enter your bedroom. You can’t help feeling rejected and upset, huffing a breath.

“Fine. Goodnight.”

“Goodni-”

You click the door shut before he can finish, undressing and angrily throwing your clothes to the floor before shoving your head into your long sleeping shirt and climbing into your bed.

You just wanted to have him near you. It was cute having him out of your room before you two admitted to each other and yourselves that you were actually dating, but now it feels just stupid. You would understand him not staying if he had to leave for some early mission, but having him at your place for the night, sleeping on your couch when your room is about five steps from there is ridiculous.

You wanna snuggle to him just like you do after sex - although even then, he sneaks out of the room as soon as you are asleep. You wanna wake up looking at his handsome face and his beautiful brown eyes.

You shove your feet under the covers and press the remote on your nightstand, turning the lights off. The room becomes dark, and you are still thinking of what could possibly be the reason for Alpha not wanting to sleep with you when you hear two soft knocks on your bedroom door.

You sit up, turning your small nightlight on and piping out:

“Yes?...”

There is a long stretch of silence before alpha’s voice comes through, small and sheepish:

“It’s me. I...” he cracks the door open, and the dimmed light of the living room spills through the opening, “...can I still sleep with you?”

You straighten yourself up, all your anger vanishing in an instant while you toss the covers to the side, nodding repeatedly:

“Yes! Yes, you can! Please... come in.”

Alpha walks in, dragging his feet on the floor, his chin dipped down and his gaze low. He is carrying his pillow under his arm and wearing only his black sleeping pants.

“Hey there, handsome.” you say affectionately as he shuffles to your bed, placing his pillow next to yours

“Hey.” Alpha climbs on the bed, shimmying close to you and snaking his arm over your middle, nuzzling at the crook of your neck; he feels incredibly warm, making you melt at his touch “Moons, you smell so good.”

You giggle, throwing the covers over you both and snuggling up to his muscular chest as he lies half-sitting on your bed, your palm resting over his stomach. He’s one to say it, his warm body smelling of your soap and something distinctively… his. A scent that makes you feel safe and at home.

“So do you.” You press a kiss to his face, fixing your pillow so that you can lift your upper body as well, letting his arm drape over your shoulders as you sit up, pressing yourself to his side “What made you change your mind?”

Alpha stays quiet, his chest moving slowly with his breath. The more your eyes get used to the darkness, the better you can see him even with only the dim nightlight on. He brings a hand to your face, cupping your cheek.

“I love you. I don’t want you to think I don’t.”

You wince at the restlessness in his gaze, shaking your head:

“Alpha, I never said-”

“But” Alpha interrupts you, and you can distinctly notice the tension tinging his voice, taking over his features “I need you to know that this isn’t about me snoring, or moving around too much, it’s just that...”

There is a pause where he clicks his tongue and he turns his face away even though you can barely see it in the poorly-lit room.

“...I have nightmares. And sometimes I-” he pulls his arm back from over your shoulders, swallowing down as his breath hitches “sometimes I wake up in a frenzy, kicking and screaming. It’s not pretty. I don’t want you to see it. It’s why... it’s why I’ve been hiding away from you.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes going wide in shock. Of everything, you did not expect this to be the reason why he wouldn’t sleep with you. All this time, you had thought he just didn’t want to get attached to you, and…

You bring a hand to his face, cupping his jaw and watching as he reluctantly draws his gaze back to you, low and timid.

“What kind of nightmares?” you ask, trying to understand more and immediately regretting it as he purses his lips tightly, swallowing down in clear discomfort “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

Alpha places his hand over yours – his fingers calloused from years of combat and firing blasters. His tone is hushed, a low murmur that matches his sheepish expression.

“I just… don’t wanna scare you if it happens.”

“Oh, love…” you lean closer to him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth to then lay your head on his shoulder, looking up to him “You won’t scare me, I promise. I’ll be here for you, and we’ll get through this together, okay?”

Alpha’s hands met your back, wrapping you in a tight hug. He exhales heavily with a hum, muscles losing tension as the air leaves him. One of his hands move up to your nape, fingers caressing your scalp.

“Stars, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve someone like you.”

-

Alpha ends up spooning you, one leg draped over your waist and his arm clutching you flush to his body. You are surrounded by warmth, hearing the gentle sound of his breathing. This feels so… intimate, more so than the many nights of steamy sex you two had shared. Sleep weights your eyelids down, and your mouth parts open, every inch of you loosening into relaxation. The thoughts swirling in your mind lose form, dissolving into nothing, and you sink into sleep with a content hum.

You don’t know how much time has passed. You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that its definitely still night as you are jolted awake by a blood-curdling scream.

Panicking, you sit up in bed to another scream in a voice you know too well. Alpha. Alpha is screaming right next to you, and you scramble for the nightlight switch, turning it on and whipping your head back to look at the man lying next to you.

Alpha seems to have tossed the covers, lying on his side with his back facing you. His whole body is curled tightly in a ball, biceps jutting up as his hands clutch at his head, his fingers buried in the dark hair as they grip and tug at it. There is a sheen of sweat glistening over his skin, and his face is all red.

One of his legs give a sharp kick towards the end of the bed, and the other does the same, as if he’s fighting an invisible enemy. He screams again, loud and full of agony as if he is being stabbed.

“Al-” his next scream ends in a sob, and as he rolls over to lie on his back, you see his eyes wide open, tears running rivers over the bridge of his nose and down the curve of his cheek “Alpha, love, what’s wrong?!”

Alpha squeezes his eyes shut, his sobs making his whole body shake and his chest shudder as his head lolls side to side over the mattress. He covers his face with his hand, whimpering and crying nonstop, his words muffled by his palms and distorted by his hitching breaths.

You can manage “m’sorry, so sorry-”, “-all dead-”, “-forced me to-” as you sit on your haunches, placing a hand on his chest that is damp with cold sweat. Your free hand goes to pet his hair with light, soothing strokes.

“Love? You had a nightmare. Can you hear me? Y-you’re safe.”

Alpha’s breathing is ragged, and he drags his hands down his face; you can see his eyes, wild and lost, eyelashes wet with tears that spill down his face. His voice comes from between his fingers, small and terrified.

“-said we were betrayed, we had to follow orders, I never wanted to-”

You gently push his hands to the side, cupping his face instead and looking deep in the brown eyes that dart back and forth. As scared as you are, you manage to speak in a firm, mostly collected tone.

“Alpha, you’re safe. You’re with me. I got you. Hm? I got you.”

Alpha looks up to you, his teeth chattering and lower lip trembling. His entire face is wound in utter despair.

“…it was all my fault.” he breathes it out as if it’s a single word strung together, sucking in a harsh breath “their blood’s on my hands” more tears spill from his eyes as he squints in pain “I can still hear their screams…!”

You have questions, hundreds of them, but you know better than asking them now. Instead, you cup Alpha’s face more firmly, leaning closer so that he has no choice but to look at you and hopefully be brought back into reality.

“It wasn’t your fault. You did your best. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I didn’t, I should’ve been faster, I should-”

“Shh…” you press your forehead to Alpha’s “Breathe. Just breathe, Alpha.”

“They needed me, and I-”

“I know.” you say reassuringly “I know. Breathe.”

You don’t know. Not really. You had noticed the hint of blue lines that tinged his armor under the noticeably fresh coat of dark silver the day you two first met. The way it resembled a mandalorian’s, but the helmet was unmistakably a clone trooper’s, and the black shirt he wore under it actually had the republic’s crest on it.

It wasn’t that difficult to do the math and realize he was probably a clone trooper of the fallen Republic, which makes him a deserter and a traitor to the Empire.

Alpha is slowly becoming less frantic and agitated, his screaming ceasing and turning into a long wail that ends in more desperate sobs, his teeth grinding and his hands trembling over his chest.

“I never asked for any of that- I never-”

“Shh… I know…” you lean down over Alpha, covering his upper body with yours like a blanket, feeling the way his chest heaves for air over and over as you keep your forehead pressed to his “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

The two of you stay like this for a long time, and after what feels like an eternity, Alpha’s breathing starts slowing down, his back no longer tensed up in an attempt to arch off the bed sinking back down on your bed. He is still shivering, beads of sweat glistening on his face.

And then his hands reach up to the small of your back, hugging you tight enough to almost push all air out of your lungs. He shifts his head to the side, pressing his cheek to yours and sighing heavily.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbles quietly “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this… I must’ve scared you to death…”

“No, no.” you whisper just as quietly “I’m glad I was here to help you through it.”

Alpha sighs again, hums to then gently roll the two of you on the side, keeping you close still. He looks exhausted, but at least he doesn’t seem to be panicking anymore. His eyes are weary, puffy and red, and his face is flushed, hair messily plastered to his forehead. Th sight of him makes your heart clench painfully in your chest.

“Do you always have those?” you ask in a hushed tone, tracing his jaw with your finger “Every night?”

Alpha purses his lips, swallowing down.

“Not every night, no. But with more… frequency than I’d like.”

“Do you wanna talk about-”

“No.” he cuts you off sharply to then soften his tone “Not now. M’sorry, I still need… time, I guess.”

“Hey, don’t apologize.” you brush his hair off his forehead, running your fingers through his hair “Is there anything I can do for you? Hmm? To help you with this?”

Alpha seems pensive for a moment, and he looks up, indicating your hand caressing his head.

“This is a good start.” he pulls you even closer, pressing you flush to his body “This, too.”

You chuckle, stifling a sob. Alpha’s relaxed expression shifts into a distressed one as he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Oh, no, no, don’t cry, cyare.” He kisses your cheek, reaching for your nape “What’s the matter?”

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“Nothing, nothing, I just…” you snuggle against the crook of his neck “Just wanna make you happy, Alpha.”

Alpha presses a kiss to the top of your head, his whole body loosening up with a long exhale of his.

“You already do. More than I ever thought I could deserve to be.”

[talonoa]

Talonoa  Thursday, Pre-battle

“Commander Dal’shula.” The Sin’dorei Argent immediately straightened and saluted.

Talon returned the salute, offering a rare, warm smile towards the younger man; one he had trained himself what felt like a lifetime ago. “At ease, Lieutenant Nor’thus. It’s been years, you can just call me Talon now.” 

The Lieutenant eyed Talon over, looking both concerned and curious at the same time but didn’t voice his obvious thoughts.  Talonoa knew he looked much different now than he did when he was a part of the Argent Crusade. Back then he had a strong connection to the Light.  But now? Things had vastly changed in his life.  

After the loss of his family, he had lost his faith in the Light and it left him. Then after making a deal with quite possibly the literal devil, Talon had become something else, someone else. Someone much more powerful than he ever used to be. The pros were stacking: He no longer had the need to eat, drink, or even sleep. Then there was his most recent discovery; the undead completely ignored his presence, as if he were one of their own.  He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he wasn’t going to complain. The cons would come eventually.

There was no time to catch up, the influx of infected had sparked the return of the Argents and some of the general military troops to defend the city. “We know you’ve been doing great work at the rear gate with your crew, but you know better than any of us that it’s been getting worse and worse.  We need you outside the gates with us to hold off the attacks while the barricades are fortified.”

“We’ll be there.”  Talon had faith in this group after they managed to hold off the attack at the Crossroads. Thankfully there were no frostwyrms here yet, but these zombies had no sense of self-preservation and would swarm en masse.

“Thank you, Comman-, Tal-, Commander Dal’shula.”  The young Lieutenant settled on this way of addressing him, it felt too weird to to call him anything else. Salutes were given once more, and the two parted ways.

Talon rushed back towards their camp, speaking hastily into his comm, “Stellan, get everyone ready, we’re going to aid in holding the rear gates.”

Dicenne Thursday, Start of battle

Already in full gear and stationed near the rear gates, Dicenne was about an hour into his rotation when the orders came through.  He clicked his earpiece, “Copy that, I’ll help clear a path.” The infected had been trickling through for days now, but with the help of the Argents and the military, they could finally block them off for good and hopefully allow the crew some much needed rest.

Not many realized that Dicenne had spent a large chunk of his life serving in the military, and had even become an officer early in his career.  He was well on his way to becoming a General, as was his goal at the time. However, life could change at the drop of a copper. The day his wife and son died, everything else in his world was turned upside down and he ended up parting ways with the military. Now, needless to say, anytime there was a threat to his loved ones, he felt the urge to help.

Much like his father, he didn’t possess any sort of magic.  At least not in the way most thought of when the term ‘magic’ was mentioned. A lot of the time his power and endurance was chalked up to his size and his ridiculous work-out regime, but it was much more than that. An innate trait from the Amberlight side of the family, whether it was magical in nature or something else, Dicenne was gifted with incredible strength, nearly endless stamina, and inexplicably tough skin while in the midst of battle.  These attributes served him well in the military, and landed him on the front lines of most battles. The tattoos didn’t come until after his time in the military, and they weren’t just for looks; they amplified those inherent traits. 

In other words, he had become something of an unstoppable force.   Give him a shield and a sword, and get out of his way.  

The zombies clearly did not get that memo. The large Sin’dorei stabbed his sword through the eye socket of one infected while his shield made contact with two more, sending them flying towards the canyon wall and smashing into it with a sickening crunch. He advanced without stopping, practically steamrolling his way through the remaining infected until he stepped outside the arch of the rear gate. Sharing a quick glance with those close by, he couldn’t hide the growing smirk. He was definitely in his element.

Xylaes Thursday, Post-battle

The moment the blockade was in place and the ‘all clear’ was given, Xylaes sank down to his knees and dropped his blades to the ground. It was amazing how the exhaustion overwhelmed the moment the battle ended. His arms and legs felt like jelly and the bruises were beginning to make their appearance known.  

Then there was a matter of the zombie bite on his left bicep.  Fio wasn’t accustomed to this sort of battle; where you had to be constantly aware of what was going on around you in every direction.  It could be disorienting, especially when having to deal with multiple threats at once. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ghoul grab her and in a flash he put himself between her and gnashing teeth. He wasn’t trying to get bit, the ripping of flesh by mostly blunt teeth was not a pleasant feeling. Better him than her.

Given the magical properties of the infection, he had theorized that should he get bit, he wouldn’t turn. Having complete immunity to magic had its upsides, hopefully this would be one of those.  After hurrying Fio to safety, he gave Stellan a private message before returning to the field of battle. If he showed signs of starting to turn, he wanted the older man to shoot him in the head before he could harm anyone else. As close as the two were, he knew Stellan would do it in a heartbeat.  He was one of the best sharpshooters Xylaes knew; the shot would be clean and efficient. Thankfully, that didn’t need to happen.

He looked at the soaked bandage covering his bicep, by this point blood was dripping down his arm and into his gauntlet. That would probably need stitches.  He was afraid to remove the rest of his armor, it had been a brutal and physical fight and he knew all the bruising was going to make one hell of a color palette all over his body. Not to mention the blisters on his hands, he could already tell those were going to be awful. No simple fixes now, magical healing would do absolutely nothing.  He would have to rely on natural methods, potions, and salves; which thankfully they had plenty of.

He made his way to the top of the tower to join the rest of the bone-weary crew and eventually allowed his wounds to be tended to while eagerly helping himself  to some much needed whiskey.

“Glad I didn’t have to shoot you in the head, Qin’oril.”  Stellan shot his friend a knowing smirk.

“Not out of the woods just yet, better keep that gun handy.” Xylaes returned the expression, even tossing in a wink. 

So they may have been a bit dark for some, but as Stellan said, ‘After being in the military for so long, you develop a morbid sense of humor to cope.’ When you come face to face with your own mortality as many times as Xylaes had, you learn to make a joke of it. It would catch up, eventually.

For now, the crew could rest.   It was a small victory, but one worth celebrating.

@inistellan​ @fio-renze​