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seokahwrites · 3 years

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NUISANCE | chapter 1 (or, human walls and steak fungi)

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pairing.

| lawyer! jeon jungkook x lawyer! reader (feat. ex! kim taehyung)

summary.

| all you wished for was a relaxing two weeks in a big ass boat eating some big ass shrimps, away from the real world. but instead you’re stuck with your arch rival with no means of escape — and goddamit why does the bastard smell so good

tags.

| the spice has commenced; POUTY JUNGKOOK???; hunky jungkook?; jungkook?; jungkook in a suit; a LOT of jungkook; pouty reader; stressed out reader; use of the words dick and cooch; use of the word satan (to refer to kim seokjin ofc); KIM SEOKJIN IS THE REAL MAIN CHAR; poor joon is a victim; JUNGKOOK WEARING EARRINGS AND BRACELETS; taehyung is nice (?) (¿question mark?)

a/n.

| this writing was sponsored by red bull, alcohol and fantasies of casual jungkook as well as jungkook in a suit. also, jungkook’s smile is described as tight lipped bc his signature smile appearing is important to the story. also i wanna know y’all’s thoughts on tae. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY THANK U FOR THE COTINUOUS SUPPORT AND LOVE, I WILL CONTINUE TO GIVE MY BEST AND THANK U FOR READING MY STORY <333

Having once spent a sleepless night reading Dante’s inferno, you were well aware of the fact that there are 9 layers of hell.

Though, it seemed the old man had forgotten about the tenth circle: Anywhere with Jeon Jungkook.

Since the first time you met him, you never had any reason to believe that he was a humble character. He had always looked at you from the top of his high horse and he took much pride in trotting on it.

As you, Jungkook and the receptionist wait for the elevator, the air thick with discomfort, you look at the man in front of you and remember that first time.

Your head is invaded with the memory of you in your Hello Kitty pajamas, adorned with grease and all, as you worked on a divorce case that causes you migraines to this day — love is a bitter bitch. It must’ve been past midnight when you and Jin were chewing away pizza slice after pizza slice at the office.

Then, there’s a knock at the door.

“If that’s Namjoon I’m literally going to fire you,” you bark at Jin as you hold his leftover crust on one hand and a document on the other.

And Jin, being the smart ass he is and knowing you wouldn’t survive a day without him, gets up from your leather couch without a word and opens the door, launching himself at none other than Kim Namjoon.

You roll your eyes at the love birds while wondering when the fuck their honeymoon phase was gonna end. You were so sick of them.

“Y/N,” Jin calls you from your desk, urging you to come to the door and once you’re beside him, this time with a cup of coke in your hands, “Can you keep them entertained for a bit? I just gotta grab Namjoon’s meds.”

Before you could say no, the little devil was already running off to his own cubicle, leaving you alone with the all familiar Namjoon and a very much not familiar stranger.

You lean on the doorframe without uttering a single word, sipping on your drink as well as the stranger — Sure, looking back at the moment you kinda just wanna punch yourself in the cooch and tell yourself to get a grip, but you weren’t blinded with hatred at the time, and also not blind — because it isn’t every night that a man clad in a charcoal suit and an unbuttoned shirt, comes knocking at your door; not to mention his watch dazzled under the artificial light and he held the blue tie in his hand with just the right grip.

You’re snapped out of your daze when the man goes from checking the time to whispering something in Namjoon’s ear, covering it the same way eight year olds cover their own secrets, and he laughs. This would all be good and well if he hadn’t looked at you with such appall in his eyes the moment before, the look still clear as day in your mind.

You're reminded that your makeup was probably smudged from all the times you had rubbed your eyes, your skin oily from the tiresome day and you were wearing Hello Kitty pajamas.

Maybe you shouldn’t have taken the insult so personally, but you did.

“I’m here,” Jin is back, a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder as the other one passes him a lunchbox of cold medicines, “What did I miss?”

At this you look up from the pitiful ground, pulling Jin back to your office, and accidentally spill (or throw) your coke at the stranger. You watch in delight as he looks at his very expensive looking suit drenched in a sticky brown, utter terror in his eyes, inhaling the wonderful moment for a second before shutting the door in his face.

The consequences of your actions: an almost two-year long rivalry with the stranger, revealed to be Jeon Jungkook moments after the incident when Jin asked, “Did you just throw your drink at Namjoon’s boss, you crazy bitch?”

And that wave has rippled to this day, in the form of insults and high-school level teasing (if his brain had even evolved to that age). The words “I’ll have you all to myself’ comes to mind; it makes you puff with exasperation. Sure it comes off a little flirty to unknowing ears, but it was just another reminder of Jungkook’s dismay — and that he had an all new access to torture you.

You attempt to shake the ick from your body, but in a trice you found yourself in front of the suite, the four floors you travelled to get there seemingly a glitch in time.

Isabelle scans the room card in front of the handle, handing it over to Jungkook after the green beep. “This is your room!”

You shove Jungkook aside, pulling your trolley as you enter. You had seen the pictures before, but seeing the grand room before your eyes in all of its shades of brown and gray dispersed throughout the walls and furniture, the intricate branch of lights in the ceiling and the panoramic ocean view that gave it its name; it made you forgot who you were sharing it with for a moment.

When you turn around, Jungkook is as wide eyed as you, and it makes the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly because he looks like a fucking dork.

“Well,” Isabelle is smiling and you could sense her relief of not having to deal with the two of you anymore, “If you need anything, me and the rest of the Royal Sunrise team are available at all times, have fun!”

And just like that, she made her escape, leaving you and Jungkook standing in the middle of the room, alone.

For a moment you shut your eyes as hard as you can, scrunching your face with your fists up, in hopes that a miracle happens and Jungkook disappears. You have been having some odd dreams lately, maybe this was just—

Nope. He’s still there.

Since his eyes seem to have wandered too far, you call out his name to bring him back to earth, crossing your arms when his gaze lands on you, “We should probably talk about a few things.”

He drops the backpack from his back as he nods.

“First of all, the sleeping situation—“

“Yeah, I already thought of that,” he walks to the (very cramped) couch on the other side of the room and pats the armrest, “I’ll take this wonderful bed.”

You look at him with quizzical eyes, wondering how the hell was he of all people going to fit there. But it wasn’t really of your concern if he wanted to get scoliosis, he had made his decision.

“Plus, you need beauty sleep much more than me.”

What a waste of oxygen.

You shrug off his words, immune to his childish remarks at this point, “Okay, then. Next on the list, eating arrangements.”

At this point he’s picking up his things and placing them in his territory, “Why is that on the list?”

You move closer to the windows, a little excited when you see the balcony — you would use it to either push your roommate into the cold ocean or catch up on a few books, tough choice. “Because the tables are arranged by rooms.”

You felt the confusion in his eyes poking at your back, so you turn, “That means that we need to share a table for the next few days, dipshit.”

Jungkook shakes his body in agony, throwing a tiny tantrum, “Why is that even a thing?” He whined.

When you feel a headache coming, you grab your own luggage and place it on top of the bed, opening it up and digging in the pockets for a little bit of liquid luck. God knew you needed it.

You down the sample of Jack Daniels in one go with a bitter face and a blow of air.

“Really?”

You start picking out your pajamas for the night, “I was saving it for when I’d find a hot stranger by the pool but—,” when you look up and see the mess on Jungkook’s couch, you’re taken aback, “What in the world is that?”

Jungkook’s hands are rummaging through the jungle that were his things, and it’s obvious that he just shoved as many clothes as he could find lying around the house. He grabs hold of a white tee, “What?”

Again, a waste of—

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH.”

In the roll of an eye Jungkook’s torso is fully exposed, his back turned towards you with all of its bumps and mumps looking right at you. And you only become aware that you are staring when Jungkook notices the lack of a comeback, pointing it out with a smug tone.

“Y/N,” he doesn’t turn but he snaps you out of your stunned state all the same, “I can practically hear you drooling.”

At the very next instant you cover your eyes, just as little kids do when an inappropriate scene comes on the TV. “You wish, jackass,” and it comes off a little shoutier than you expected, as if the lack of visual correlated with the volume of your voice. Blindly, you grab your shirt and shorts from the bed and run to the bathroom, which just had to be on Jungkook’s side of the room.

And things take a turn for the worse when you run into something, and that something is warm and firm and breathing.

“Uh—.”

Pain.

You convince yourself it was just an invisible, Jungkook shaped wall they failed to mention on the website and fling yourself to the bathroom door, finding the handle rather quickly from all the adrenaline.

Once you’ve slammed the door shut, you let your back slide against the wooden slab and your ass hit the marble floor.

The clothes are still in your grip, your left hand feeling your overheating cheeks and for a tick you think that maybe, just maybe, you should throw yourself into the water and let the sharks take you so you could be buried at the very depths of the ocean. It seemed like a better fate than whatever the fuck was awaiting you the next two weeks.

You take a deep breath in, letting your mind focus on something else.

You look around and, oh, wow. Even the bathroom was charming — if you could ignore the absurd amount of windows, any sea creature passing by would surely see more than they should — glass making up all of the walls, including the shower’s.

The exposure that surrounds you, in its own weird way, cleared up your head the tiniest bit and for the first time since you’ve arrived, you were able to think, only the ocean and its blue around you now.

And what would be your first course of action after a glimpse of clarity?

Calling that rat bastard assistant of yours, of course.

You stand up and place your phone atop the hazel counter after clicking contact name ‘Twinky’, out of fear you’d smash the damn thing when you hear his voice, smoke was bursting at the seams of your chest. Prepare to meet your end, Kim Seokjin—

“Good evening, Ms. Y/N. For what reason are you contacting me in the midst of your vacation?”

Breathe in, breathe out. “Don’t get all formal with me, Kim,” you’re wagging your finger to no one, “I know you did something. Confess.”

The obnoxious twirling of Jin’s chair could be heard through the speaker, “I’ve no idea of what you could possibly be talking about, Madam—“

“Confess.”

“Fine, fine,” you could picture Jin putting his hands up at your murderous tone, “Me and Joon just thought it was about time you two kids got together.”

You take a pause from your pacing around. Motherfucker.

“Okay! I thought it was time and convinced Namjoon to go along with it,” your fist meets the counter with an audible thump, and you were seethed at the probability of Jin smiling at your behaviour. “Speaking of it, how’s it going?”

“Well, Jin,” you place the microphone as near to your mouth as possible, “JEON JUNGKOOK IS TAKING OFF HIS CLOTHES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING ROOM,” you put on a docile face and naturally assume that Jin could see you telepathically, “So you tell me how it’s going.”

For the first time since you hired him, you had left Jin speechless. Or so you thought.

“I didn’t know you would move this fast—“

“Jin.”

“I apologise, I apologise,” the witch cackles, “But you didn’t give me any context, I only assumed the best.”

“Spare me from your taunts, you hag,” you huff and roll your eyes, “And, as I’ve told you many times before, Jeon Jungkook is literally the worst. I hate—.”

“—him. Yes, Y/N, I’ve been hearing the same speech every single day for two years,” you could hear Jin walking back and forth before an abrupt pause, “Listen to yourself, Y/N, you brought this upon yourself. Whenever you saw or just remembered Jungkook existed you wouldn’t stop talking about him. So, being the good friend I am, I handed you his—,” you rush in a failed attempt to muffle his next words with your hand, “—dick on a silver platter.”

Oh, dear lord.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I wanna be anywhere near Jungkook’s—,” you speak in a hushed tone, “—thing.”

“See, you can’t even say it,” and you give up, because no matter how many times you denied it, Jin never let up. “Anyway, I gotta go and… take a call. Have fun!”

And he hangs up.

All you can do is groan, making a mental note that you oughta kick Jin in the balls one of these days, and you look at yourself in the mirror — you couldn’t even enjoy your tacky shirt because of him. Was a normal vacation really too much to ask for?

You remember that the universe had already answered your question with a big yes, and you can’t help but pout.

Still, ever the changing mind, were you really going to let the universe win?

Your pout turns into a smirk. Of course, you weren’t. All you needed to do was avoid Jungkook as much as possible, that would be easy for sure, you were on a gigantic cruise ship after all.

Yeah, this can still be great.

And so, quick to think as always, you grab your phone and scroll through the Royal Sunrise website.

To your luck, the cruise offered classes and activities of all types with a different theme each day — tomorrow is cooking. Not only was it going to be actually entertaining, you could avoid Jungkook without having to look behind you every other minute.

Genius.

With this new mindset and plan, you change into your oversized navy shirt and banana-printed shorts, a newfound excitement in your step. You even bang your chest with each of your fists, a gorilla-esque fighting technique if you shall, as a way to pump you up.

The door doesn’t seem as intimidating when you push it open, your arms swinging at your side as if you were one of the seven dwarves. This was good.

Immediately you're met with the vexing view of Jungkook, and you quirk your eyes when you notice that all he was wearing was a pair of gray shorts and that white tee, the oddity of it all iffy in your head since you’ve only ever seen him in suits and shirts. There’s a familiar tingling of (what you always assumed was) contempt in your fingertips and toes, one that would only ever occur with Jungkook. Hatred finds a way, huh.

He looks at you, back to his phone and back to you all in one second, and once his brain processes that you’re back and present, he ditches his phone and props himself up on one elbow. “You know the walls aren’t that thick, right?”

The tingle turns into a twitch and you almost hit yourself. Breathe, Y/N.

Jungkook sits up, crossing his arms, his eyes wandering once again, “I knew that Namjoon was planning something. He was sweating so much, I thought it was just the heat,” and they land back on you, “Turns out, it was betrayal.”

You head to your own king-sized resting place and a chuckle slips out of you at Jungkook’s little remark. “You did hear that Jin was the one who dragged him into this, right?”

You’re both pulling your covers over your bodies with silent grins due to the dumbassery of your assistants, “I assumed as much.” At this, your smiles become full-out laughs and your heads must have been too exhausted to dwell on the out of character situation.

It fades after a few seconds and you take one final look at Jungkook before turning off the lights, only to make sure he was already laid down.

Your anxiety comes back to the surface, your eyes staring blankly ahead at the ceiling.

“What a mess,” you don’t even notice you had blurted it out loud.

The rustling of sheets sounds through the otherwise cricket-silent room, “Tell me about it.”

Another chuckle.

“Jungkook,” you call him, the words coming out with no warning, “Can we just promise, no monkey business? I just really wanna relax and—.”

“Y/N,” he stops you before you could yap any further, “No monkey business.”

His interruption makes you sheepish, that tingle coming back as you fiddle with the sheets.

All of the sudden, “Good night, Y/N.”

Silence.

“Don’t be a killjoy.”

Groan. There really isn’t any reason for you to answer the prick. Still, you roll your eyes, “Good night, you troll.”

You hear his pleased sigh.

“Kinda bummed you don’t want my thing, though.”

Damn you, Kim Seokjin.

Your eyes flutter open, not with the calming sound of the dancing waves or the rustling of the sheets beside you from a happy hour mistake, no. You wake up with the sound of the shower running, the drip drop of the water meeting the glass floor of the bathroom.

The walls are very thin.

The image of a very naked Jungkook just next door is forced into your head, and you try to get rid of it by putting a pillow over your face, in hopes that it would put an end to your misery, but the world only gives a hundred problems and zero solutions.

Sat up, you remind yourself of the fresh-new mindset you had implemented yesterday, and this motivates you to restart your morning right and get dressed for the busy day ahead.

You squat down to your bag, grabbing the first jumpsuit and shoes in front of you, surprisingly not too shabby. The black off-shoulder fabric was adorned with pale pink flowers and your basic white sneakers didn’t add much but they were still a welcome fit — you’d only brought three pairs of shoes, so you didn’t really have much of a choice.

The background noise of the shower running disappears.

Shit.

You stumble around the room, trying to switch out of your clothes as fast as you possibly could to avoid any of yesterday’s incidents repeating, the need of any sort of grooming forgotten along the way. Still, you succeeded, and just as Jungkook unlocked the bathroom door, you were out of the room.

The joy in your step was back as you took the few steps needed to the elevators, pressing that little button of victory. Though you’ve been to countless luxury premises, the details of each place still managed to leave you awestruck, and the black railing and golden walls of the ship with decoration clearly inspired by the Romans, weren’t an exception.

The elevator was going from the sixth floor to the fifth when you heard a door open, the hairs of your back standing up out of instinct.

“Wait up!”

Fuck me.

You turn to the left, met with the, once again, odd view of Jeon Jungkook wearing casual clothes, this time in a charcoal shirt a few sizes too big, black cargo pants and signature chunky shoes. But, there’s something even more strange and you can’t quite put a finger to it, it isn’t the fact his lavish watch was replaced with leather braids on his wrist or that his hairs strayed a bit more wildly, it’s—

“Holy shit,” your eyes shoot wide open, “Are those hoops?”

Your hands almost go to touch the silver in his ears, but you remind yourself you’d probably turn to stone.

An unfamiliar red paints Jungkook’s face as his own fingers prod at the earrings, his eyes not meeting yours, “Maybe.”

A gasp. “How did I never notice,” you state more than ask, but Jungkook answers all the same.

“I mean, I never wear them to anything work-related because keeping a professional image and all of that,” he looks at you, his bashfulness fading into an all-knowing smile, “And those are the only times I see your bitter face.”

You scoff, “Wow, actually we talked like normal people for a whole thirty seconds.”

The imp has the audacity to laugh at your face, the way he stops to scan you up and down going unnoticed by your sight. “I gotta say, Y/N, you actually know how to dress—“

Ding.

The black tinted doors open to the glass elevator, a panorama of all the ship’s floors in full display, blue and purple lights reflecting on the gilded ornaments. Your hands rest on the black railing and you don’t even notice there’s another person in the elevator.

“Y/N?” The deep timbre of the voice is all too easy on your ears.

A slight turn to the right is all it takes to see him, fluffy ash hair (that was rough between your fingers from all the times he had dyed it), a shirt that flowed like the clouds and beige slacks that matched with the sepia of his sandals (an ensemble that contrasted the vibrant version of him in your memory). But that square grin was still the same.

“Tae?” You laugh in utter disbelief, “Kim Taehyung?”

“Come here!” His long arms bring you into a hug and with your head nuzzled against his chest, his heartbeat echoed good times, easier times that weren’t filled with paperwork and suits.

It’s interrupted by your forgotten acquaintance clearing his throat.

You pull away, recomposing yourself as you stand beside Taehyung, “Jungkook, this is Kim Taehyung,” you feel Taehyung’s eyes on you, “He was kind of my college boyfriend.”

They shake hands and look back at you, as if waiting for something.

“Uh— Right. Tae, this is Jungkook, my—,” you glance at the brunet to find the right words, “—co-worker, of sorts.”

Your embarrassment only deepens when you remember that the Jeon Jungkook was a first-hand witness to the mess you were melting into in front of your ex-boyfriend.

Who needed caffeine when shit like this kept happening to you.

“Oh,” Taehyung’s voice drops an octave as he shoves his hands in his pockets, “So you two came together?”

And you wave your arms around to signal a ‘no’, but it comes off as ‘that-one-crackhead-at-the-corner-of-the-street-ish” instead. “God, no,” you snort, much to your chagrin.

Taehyung sticks his tongue between his teeth, staring down at Jungkook who was chewing on his own bottom lip, “That’s good to hear.”

It seems you’ve regressed to your college-self, tucking your hair behind your ear with blushed cheeks at your senior.

Ding.

The elevator had arrived at the first floor, Jungkook’s cue to leave.

But he doesn’t make a straight itinerary, instead standing in front of the elevator, “Aren’t you gonna catch breakfast, chump?”

Ah, right. Your genius plan could finally come out in the open, “No, actually. I have an all-day cooking class on the 5th floor.”

“No kidding,” Taehyung turns to you and places a hand on your bare shoulder with a wide smile, “Me too!”

At this, Jungkook’s shoulders slump and his expression falls flat, but you couldn’t get a word in as the elevator doors closed and he swiveled away to his own day.

Eh, it’s not like it was your affair anyways. Plus, 9AM wasn’t the hour to deal with his bullshit.

You and Taehyung made your way up, speaking of all the things you’ve been up to for the past three years.

“So, Jimin’s dancing in Europe,” you gasp, a swell of pride in your chest, your old friend would talk about it every free night he spent in yours and Taehyung’s flat.

“Yeah, now I don’t know who’s keeping an eye on all the dumb shit he does.”

The weight on your shoulders only got lighter with every laugh you shared with Taehyung, sweet nostalgia.

“We’re here,” you point at the chalk sign, the words ‘Bon Appetit’ scribbled on it.

Out of sheer intuition, you pull Taehyung by the wrist until you reach the entrance, a Royal Sunrise worker awaiting with a list of, what could only be, the names of the participants.

You let go of Taehyung when the man’s eyes travel to your holding hands. Oh, God.

He smiles, “Good morning, Mr. and Ms. What would your names be?”

“Good morning, I’m Y/N Y/LN,” your smile hadn’t left your face, “I signed up yesterday.”

He nods and you walk inside, Taehyung following you before the worker puts up a hand to stop him.

“Your name, sir,” his tone changes..

You look back, wondering what the fuss was about.

“Uh— Kim Taehyung.”

The man reads over the clipboard, even flipping to the previous pages. “Excuse me, Mr. Kim. But your name doesn’t seem to be in the—.”

Taehyung’s calm demeanour becomes a bitter scowl as he pats a fifty dollar note down the man’s pocket before he could continue his speech. “Just let this one slide, buddy.”

The sight is a bit rough on the eyes and the corners of your lips turn downwards, something itching at your throat, but you hadn’t seen him in a long time and he most likely had good intentions with the man, you could let it slide, right?

“So,” Taehyung rubs his hands with a smile that reaches the pillows of his eyes, a 360° from the him you saw a few seconds ago, “Where were we?”

The blue of the sky had faded into a deep lilac once you and Taehyung were finished with your last batch of food.

You stood outside with smiles plastered on your faces and flour sprinkled on your hair, reminders of a day well-spent.

“This was great,” you held boxes of chocolate crepes and mushroom pasta, “Except for the fact I was forced to eat and deal with mushrooms.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows pull together, “So many years together, and I didn’t know you hated mushrooms,” you remember telling him countless times, but he never had the best memory — you don’t bother to bring up your hatred for crepes. “But, yeah… I think it was the company that sealed the deal, though.”

A beat of silence. The boy was smooth as ever.

You’re the first to break it. “I guess I’ll go get dinner then.”

“Right, right,” he purses his lips, “I’m gonna catch a nightcap, too full for food anyways. See you, Y/N.”

And you only mumble a small goodbye before you and Taehyung are going different directions.

A day well spent indeed.

Grumble.

You couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Holy Moses, were you hungry as shit. Who knew that barely eating breakfast and lunch could do this to a person.

Once the coast is clear, you run to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly because why is this thing so fucking slow.

The time taken to go down to the first floor is even more agonising, but you just imagined the wonderful meals that actually tasted like food waiting for you downstairs. You could feel the pork melting in your mouth already.

Ding.

Since the first floor is more packed, you pace yourself as you power-walk to the dining area but you arrive in no time, walking through the tables and scanning each marker for the number 83, until you finally find your salvation — and the mop of brown hair sitting there with its unmistakable silver.

You park your ass on the wooden chair and place the white boxes of gag-worthy food on the table.

“Fancy meeting you here, Y/N,” Jungkook shoves a fork of rare steak and potatoes in his big mouth.

“Don’t antagonise me, Jungkook,” you leap to grab his wrist before he can get another scoop, “Where’s the food?”

You feel him tense under your grip, “Okay, let go of me, hungry hungry hippo,” you loosen your fist and lean back on your chair with crossed arms, “And the restaurant is out of steaks for the night, your only other option is some fried fish or something,” he continues munching.

“No—,” your head meets the table with a bang, “—I’ve been dreaming of red meat all day.”

“Didn’t you cook at— you know, cooking class?”

“Yes, we did,” you sit up and shove the boxes of trash to Jungkook as he examines them.

“But, you hate mushrooms and crepes,” he turns his head in a robotic motion when he opens the lids.

Your hunger fades for a bit as that tingle in your fingertips pushes you to sit straight, leaning your head like a curious puppy.

“How do you know that?”

Jungkook bites his bottom lip as he seems to think of a response. “Well, you mentioned it at the Law & Practice Awards a few months ago,” he rubs his fingers on his chin with a feign look of concentration, “I believe your exact words were: ‘Why does the stake have fungus on it’ and ‘Everybody knows that crepes are just a—.”

“—a cheap version of pancakes,” you finish his sentence with surprise painted on your face. Still, you question him, “But, how do you even remember that?”

Jungkook’s flush is back on his cheeks, “As they say, keep your friends close,” he flashes that tight lipped smile of his, “And your enemies closer.”

Just as you were about to flip the fucker off, your stomach grumbles. Out of all of the moments it could’ve complained, it decided to do so in the only second of silence.

Jungkook mumbled something along the lines of “That’s it,” under his breath and let out a sharp exhale, cutting up his steak and taters and pushing them into a smaller plate, adding a few greens in the mix. He snaps his fingers at the nearest waiter and grabs a glass of wine from his tray. The act finishes off with him pushing the food in your direction.

You stare at the food, at Jungkook and back at the plate again. Dumbfounded, once again.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Eat,” he continues on with his dinner as if he hadn’t just done— Well, what he just did.

You bite your lip and bow your head slightly, though you’re sure he doesn’t see it, before vacuuming the food directly into your belly.

The rest of the evening is spent in comfortable silence, no daggers threatened to be thrown or scorn weighing in the air. This lasts all the way to the door of the room; you were fine with communicating with only ‘hums’ and nods but Jungkook, as always, had to ruin things.

He leans his back against the white door, arms crossed and a smirk as he looks down at you. “How lucky of you to have your mortal enemy and—,” he puts up air quotes, “‘kind of college boyfriend’ in the same boat as you, huh?”

You palm your face and hide a sheepish smile, “I was hoping you’d forget about that.”

“How could I when I was your special guest to first hand embarrassment in the elevator,” he waves the white flag of peace as he puts his hands up, “But, hey—“

“Hi, Jungkook,” someone behind you purrs, heels clacking.

You turn around and see a woman of jet-black hair in a stunning red silk dress, the pony-tail on her head swinging a delicate left to right as she waved her manicured hand at none other than Jungkook — who brushes a hand through his hair before complimenting her greeting.

It takes you by surprise, though you laughed at Jungkook’s gnarly stance at the beautiful woman, the tingle comes back, this time prickling at the pit of your stomach.

As soon as she had walked away, you rubbed your hands at the sides of your arms, “Wow, Jungkook. Moving fast are we?” you squint your eyes, “I think it’s the earring.”

“First of all, screw you,” he unlocks the door, “Second, that’s nothing, trust me.”

He holds the door open for you and you catch a whiff of his black vanilla scent. You stop in your tracks and place a hand on his shoulder with a grimace on your face, “Just don’t do anything on my bed, okay?”

You don’t bother to wait for an answer as you head to the bathroom with your comfy tee in your hands.

This time, the counter was embellished with skincare and cologne galore, all thanks to your dear roommate.

“He wouldn’t notice if I used some of this, right?” You say to Jungkook’s bottle of cleanser, too lazy to go back and grab your own toiletries.

“If you use that I’m drowning myself,” you hear him shout from the other room.

Sorry, face. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow.

Once you were snug in your tee, you were off to bed — Jungkook in the same attire as yesterday as well.

You leave the lamp on as you checked your phone for the first time since yesterday. Of course, Jin was your only notification, a plethora of obscenities and questions that would, unfortunately, be permanently ingrained in your mind forever. You turn off your phone and throw it on top of the night stand.

Not today, satan.

“You mind?” You ask Jungkook who seemed to be scrolling away, too engrossed in his phone to look at your finger pointing at the light, only a grunt on his behalf.

You turn it off and shut your eyes, your body tense, not that you weren’t used to it, the decaying muscles of your back have been like that since you graduated high-school. And, it was a bit more intense from all the mixing and pot handling — thank the heavens that tomorrow’s activities involved massaging. Though, today was a win.

Jungkook’s phone turns off and his body sloshes around, the sounds he makes the only ones reverberating in the room.

“Good night, Y/N,” you try to ignore him, but he comes forward with a good case, “Come on, I gave you my food.”

Guilt tripper.

“Fine, but only because you’re annoying as shit,” he lets out a satisfied breath, “Good night, Jungkook.”

You arrive at dreamland in no time.

taglist. (open)

| @fangirl125reader / @vantxx95 / @jinpanman / @ggukkieland / @miniiimee / @paizthemaiz

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Promise Me (It’s Yours)

Part Eleven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: OMFG might be the first chapter of rough day to not need any warnings, can you believe it?? I mean of course there’s language, a splash of smut, and just the briefest reference to suicide, but pretty PG-13 this time my guys I apologize

A/N: I’m sorry I know people show up for the smut but I was feeling soft in this Taco Bell parking lot so here this is, I hope y’all like it. I guarantee none of the math is correct but please go with it

***

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late. The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest. You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid. Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon. Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around. Where’s Din? “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare. The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here. Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something. Really… oddly far away. That’s fine. Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a. A shy bladder. Or something. You’re totally fine. The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father. You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him. That sounds like a better plan. Don’t panic, just trust him. Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty. It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky. The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers. Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep? No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory. Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night. There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory. If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t. It was unfocused, dim. Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest? But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it. You should… you should check the bag, right? Just in case… you don’t know. You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere. Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here. No tracking fob here. No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second. No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping. He must’ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off. That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag. He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning. Right?

Cool. Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning. You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member. Party leader, arguably. He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this. Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here. You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe? Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first? Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever? Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again. You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere. Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting. What direction is the ship? Which way did you…? You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today. Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head. No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it. You don’t like this. It’s out of character for him. It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic. Din is a professional. He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange. Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.

Without waking you. Without telling you. Without bringing anything else with him. No armor. No guns. Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it. You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it? What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one. You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through. If he left… he’ll have gone that way. The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay. So there's a decision that needs to be made. You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then. Or… you could. Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that. Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque. Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding. This is an unfamiliar planet. You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but. He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait. Something catches in your peripheral. There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove. Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove. The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it. Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now. He left his emergency communicator. The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly. The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat. The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty. Conviction is key, you think. You made your decision. Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision. It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this. The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there. There’s no path, no trail, just nature. Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see. He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit. Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure. If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him. You tend to forget, most of the time. He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting. Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying? There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally. You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear. You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest. A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever. The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head. Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe—it’s not like Corellia. It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade. Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather. Just for a second. You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt. Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present. The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst. They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something. The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses. You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you. You almost wish it were quiet. You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing. The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there. The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So. You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea. Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but. Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit. What the fuck. That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure. You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea. You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat. None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar. Like… trees. And fucking rocks. Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay. That’s not good. Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good. It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem. You’ve never seen it before. Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again. Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning. The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away. Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something. Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be. It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still. It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you. It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback. Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does. Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic. The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards. Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight. Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you. But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again. He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long. As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks. Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe. You’re safe. Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time. The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah—whew, ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes. It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done. Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor. You left your guns, you left everything. I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that? W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word. This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way. He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him. “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong? Are you okay? Where’s the quarry? What’s—what’s making that sound? Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body. Little by little, he loosens his grip on you. Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks. They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever,” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening. “Don’t ever—ever run away from me like that. Ever again. Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving. Is that what he thinks? That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face. “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—”

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones. “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…” The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone. “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest. “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary. He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count. One, two, three… Seven. Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead. The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there. “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice. Yet… calm. Certain, composed, and with purpose. Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you. “Both. Both of you. I’d—I’d never stop. I’d rain hell. Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word. His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do. Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does. It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space. He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere. Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance. You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand. “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace. More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while. “I’ve been doing this job for awhile. And there are things… things you learn. Quick. Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads. Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry. Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people. Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring. But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists. The ones that don’t ever put up a fight. Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally. Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more. “Wasn’t trying to run. Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up? Why’d you go in the middle of the night?” You whisper, not upset anymore. Just trying to understand. “You couldn’t have waited until morning?” But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.” His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force. He didn’t want to remind you. He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest. In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense. Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day. If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you. Fuck. Too much thinking. “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape. Nice guy. Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it. You’re starting to drag a little bit. You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep. The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him. You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him. In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else. Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it. Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine. Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable. As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out. He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?” He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?” You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too. “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper. “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words. “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down. “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?” You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking. “S’to your detriment. Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being. The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled. “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?” You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend. Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open. “Tell me how you knew. You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question. “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed. “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it. “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction. You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh. No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest. A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those. Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm. No, that was just—“ you shake your head. “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked? Math? That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier. Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much. “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field. I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like. A whole fucking hour? At least. And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path. You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it. “Thirty minutes? Or an hour round trip. Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered. Should you squeeze your legs around his middle? Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause. He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now. “In your own little… panicked way. How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut. Too much thinking, too much thinking. You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself. It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing. He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

***

You rouse twice. Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal. He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of. One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t. All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing. Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure. Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder. Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

***

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly. “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake. “Mm? Din? Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on? Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers. “We’re in the air. I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?” Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet. What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response. Maker, you want to go back to sleep. You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case. “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?” You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused. “Is this some kind of… power trip? Or something? Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath. “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes. “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought. “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?” You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously. “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too. You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?” You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation. “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing? Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?” He tries, and. Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does. You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time. Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question. “Oh. Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head. You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked. “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would. “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening. He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see? Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment. Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch. Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours. The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick. He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head. This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago. The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way. Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up. But Din has other plans, clearly. He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it. He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned. He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is. But then he suddenly grabs you tight—tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity. The jet pack? Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion. You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him. You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it. It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own. If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride. Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him. You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt. As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss. He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now. The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason. You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up. Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes. You just… listen to it. Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise. Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right. It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it. You don’t want one, not really. There isn’t a name that would be good enough. It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen. A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away. The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event. You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist. The sun is also beginning to come up. You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach. You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means. The sentiment transfers seamlessly—be careful, he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better. You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens—small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves. They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step. Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere, probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water. It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance. You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water. A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more. Then, ah—there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle. It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way. You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect. Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection. It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost. Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly. Nervous, for some reason. Feeling unsure of his place. The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?” You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough. “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear. You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch. “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted. It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it. Untouched by millennia of progress. Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it. The universe is vast but it’s also old—it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?” You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new. He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely. Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell. All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes. He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it. You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure. Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light. You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t. Things you won’t ever see. But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty. Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you. This is thoughtful. It’s so fucking thoughtful of him. For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing. It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it. It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing. It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below. You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it. The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take. Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet. Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side. You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat. The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron. No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there. Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips. Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens. As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water. You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder. He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks. Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again. He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current. Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier. It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him. How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

***

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes. You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking. His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word. When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow. Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are. Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything. The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried. If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel. You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t. You don’t need to. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing. It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces. He could walk right by you and you’d never know. Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it. But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you. You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw. He never finds out.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #fanfic #reader insert

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pkg4mumtown · 3 years

Text

Signs of Attachment - Ch. 1

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Star Wars fic, so have mercy on me. This request was for my friend, Jaime, who gave me all sorts of information and I’m forever indebted to them for it. The timeline is probably very off, but…oh well!

To clarify before we start:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 1 - Effort

I slid the last tool into place and closed its drawer, the Halls of Healing finally back in order after the last rush of injured Jedi passed through. I thought bitterly about the war that I was barred from, except for the occasional medic deployment to forward operating bases. My saber hung uselessly at my side despite every test I passed to prove my worthiness to the Council. It’s not that they didn’t have faith in me, they just saw me as a liability, which is probably just as bad. Despite how hard I tried to explain it, they were convinced that I could never be focused enough to be on the front lines. Yet, I passed every test while purposely being fully deafened and even being both deafened and blinded, which was somehow easier than the former.

Being assigned to the Halls of Healing seemed almost harder than combat, considering I had been far better at fighting than healing throughout my entire knighthood. Semi-dangerous solo missions before the wars? The Council saw no problems. A full scale war with plenty of droids as target practice? A big problem, apparently.

I was so consumed in my thoughts that I had barely registered someone, no two someones, or rather their force signatures, entering the Halls.

Swoosh

I didn’t even have a chance to decipher any of what they were saying as their words and voices started to blend together immediately due to their arguing.

“Sop.”

“Yaioyu satowep beeineg doifficultat.”

“Lletat muoe gaorn.”

“No."

“Atnakin, ei doon'tat noeead tolorn beoe heneroe.”

I glanced over at my Droid for help, but its signing was a mess as both voices talked over each other. I eventually stopped looking at it and took a deep, calming breath. I tried to pick apart the voices and focus on one but both faded in and out, making it nearly impossible.

Shove. Scuffle.

“You do…”

“Eeim f—ine”

Slap.

“Yu figelol otan muoe.”

“Ei tolrippead.”

“Muaster, poleasoe tolelol heniem.”

Silence.

“Muaster?”

More silence.

“Muaster…?”

Oh. The closeness of the strongest signature was behind me now, poised and ready to—

Tap.

I turned and faced the two, rather loud, intruders to this calming place. My Droid wasn’t yet in place behind them, so I couldn’t quite get everything but I got enough. I had never gotten quite good at lip reading with Master Plo as a teacher, so he had learned Basic Sign Language to help supplement what was missed in speaking. I relied on my droid to sign to me quite heavily when dealing with patients to understand what was wrong with them, but it was only helpful if one person was speaking at a time. Definitely not whatever this train wreck of a duo was.

“Master?” the spikey-haired Padawan asked, staring straight at me.

“Forgive my Padawan, he toakess atfteer muwy Muasteer,” the older Jedi rolled his eyes, noticeably leaning on his Padawan and clutching his side.

“I do not.”

Feeling another round of arguing bubbling up, I held my palm up, “Both of you stop, please, and start from the top.” My Droid finally stepped in place behind them so I could see the signs over their shoulders.

“We just landed back at the temple, everything was fine—"

“Things are fine,” the Master snapped.

“—and he just collapsed on me. He wouldn’t let me check over him—," the Padawan continued.

“There’s nothing to check, Anakin.”

Ah, yes, the infamous Master Kenobi and his Padawan, Anakin.

“Obviously theroe iss.”

“Eim fignoe.”

“Stop,” I sighed and closed my eyes and opened them after centering myself. “Padawan Skywalker, please leave us.”

“B—”

“Now, please,” I urged, not bothering to give him an explanation. Not that I needed to give him one.

The Padawan made a face of displeasure before bowing to both of us and leaving the room.

“—overreacting—,” Kenobi sighed.

I blinked at him, then glanced at my droid, who filled me in on the whole sentence.

Anakin is overreacting, really.

“Master Kenobi, please sit and take off your tunics and tabards,” I ask and look away, not that it was going to matter because I was going to see him shirtless regardless.

I tried to ignore the broad expanse of his chest, littered with scars and copper hair. My eyes lingered a little too long while raking over and looking for injuries. I was just being thorough.

When I saw the wound that caused this whole ordeal I sucked in a breath quickly. The skin on his side was badly burned and the wound was at least a few days old, so naturally it had infected because he neglected to take care of it.

“It’s infected,” I shook my head almost hurriedly grabbed the large tub of bacta we kept on hand.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” He brushed off my comment, obediently lifting his arm when I nudged it.

“Have you looked at it recently?” I scoffed as I further inspected the wound.

He was silent for a moment, making me look at my droid confused as if I had missed something but the Droid confirmed that I hadn’t.

“Master Kenobi?”

“The less I acknowledged it, the easier it was to manage the pain,” he grumbled back. “And surely, you can call me Obi-Wan, we were in the crèche together.”

“That hardly constitutes a first name basis,” I squinted at him. “I don’t even recall speaking to you. They were troubling times for me, it was easier to keep to myself. Less to…process.”

“Oh, believe me, that message was loud and clear,” Obi-Wan chuckled, making me roll my eyes in an attempt to not focus on the way it lit his face up or brightened his eyes. “I also seem to remember that you were one of the best saber wielders out of all us.”

“A lot of good that did me,” I gestured to the sterile room.

“You still have the honor of humiliating an advanced saber instructor in class while being completely shut off to auditory and optical input.”

A blush rose to my cheeks, “Ho—”

“Every Padawan in the temple knew about it…”

“Well, it couldn’t have been that impressive if it wasn’t enough for the frontlines,” I slipped bitterly.

“They’re not all fun, unfortunately,” he murmured.

“I’m a guardian trapped as a healer, Obi-Wan, anything is better than this.” I took a deep breath, “Anyway, you might feel some discomfort.”

I closed my eyes and hovered my hand over the wound and focused on purging the infection first, feeling it attacking the cells around it as I finally attuned with said infection. I pulled the infection away from his body, pleased when there was no resistance and it begun to trickle away. I tilted my head as I sensed another pain but in his leg, so I investigated without breaking the healing I was already doing. The pain visualized as five red dots, the cause hard to place while my mind was otherwise occupied.

Then, it dawned on me that he was gripping his own leg so tightly as a distraction to the pain in his side that even I could feel it. Blindly, I found his knee and then his hand clenching his thigh. His hand relaxed slightly as mine touched his, allowing my hand to worm under his for him to squeeze instead. With the infection released into the force, I focused on knitting the wound back together. In response, Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed mine even tighter. If I could have sent something calming to him, I would have, but didn’t want to break my concentration when I was almost done. Instead, I let my thumb brush back and forth over his knuckles.

Finally, the wound was completely covered with new skin so I let the force healing trickle away. I blinked my eyes open, a little woozy but nothing I wasn’t used to, especially after a long day of healing.

“—that—pleasant,” I vaguely heard through the humming in my ears. It always took a while for the force to stop thrumming in my head after force healing, only amplified by my condition.

I knitted my brows at him, knowing it was anything but pleasant and then looked over at my droid.

Stars, that was not very pleasant.

“Oh, well, yes I suspect the day it becomes pleasant will be the day that Jedi actually seek out treatment, rather than avoid it,” I stressed the end just for him.

“Sorry, I should have waited until you opened your eyes.”

“It’s fine,” and really it was, I was used to it by now.

“I’m sure it gets tiring having to have a conversation with someone over their shoulder,” I didn’t get to appreciate the sincerity in his eyes because I had to glance at my droid again, only proving his point.

“Well, it was a little hard to learn to lip read growing up with Master Plo…,” my mouth turned up into a smirk, clearly trying not to laugh.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, didn’t hold back and snorted; laughing immediately after, “Sorry, sorry…”

“But, he did learn and teach me BSL, so at least I have something. Even if no one else here knows it, the droid helps. Though, in the field I don’t bring it, so I just tell everyone to shut up at let me work.”

“That’s…unfortunate.”

“It gets taxing, if only because I don’t always catch everything so conversations are hard to carry without the droid. Especially if someone starts talking to me without getting my attention first.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head like he was deep in thought, “Maker knows we learn enough languages here, they should teach BSL, too,” Obi-Wan squeezed my hand, making me realize I’d never actually let go of his hand. Though, with his hand now squeezing mine, I’d have to rip my hand away and to be honest? I didn’t want to.

“I don’t think we have anyone fluent enough to teach besides myself and Master Plo…”

“Hmm, I’d still like to present it to the Council. Someone has to be able to teach it,” he smiled gently.

I had no words to express how grateful even the thought of presenting it to the Council meant to me. So I didn’t speak. Instead, I sent my feelings of gratitude through the force and our joined hands. I took the time to read the genuine twinkle in his eyes as I hadn’t been able to this whole time, and the subtle way his eyebrows relaxed as he realized what I was doing. My eyes drifted lower to the way the corners of his eyes and cheek wrinkled just slightly with the upturn of the corner of his mouth, a subtle smile for me. Lower still, to the coppery mustache and beard on his face, with flecks of gray from the war. Or his Padawan…probably his Padawan. I let my eyes drift over the endearing way his mullet curled just behind his ears and rested against his shoulders.

He was right about one thing; I had taken for granted just looking someone in the eyes as they spoke to me. It was something that was necessary for BSL, and while Master Plo didn’t have the most expressive face, it gave me back a semblance of normalcy to be able to carry on a conversation face to face. It helped bridge the gaps between any words I had missed and ensured I had the whole picture, even going so far as to express words or ideas I was having trouble expressing with speech.

I cleared my throat, realizing I was staring far longer than I should have been, “Sorry, um, here…”

I reluctantly untangled our hands and grabbed the container of bacta, scooping a generous amount on to my fingers. I applied the cool gel to the new, pink, raw skin, which looked far better than the angry, red and purple open wound he had come in with. He jumped at the first contact, whether it was because of the cold or not, I didn’t know, but his sigh of relief after was a good sign.

I wiped my hand of and grabbed a new travel bottle of bacta for him, before pausing and grabbing two more, “Here, try not to lose these…”

He took them gratefully, knowing we normally didn’t give that much to just one Jedi, “Thank you, I—I didn’t lose mine. I gave it to my men, they needed it more.”

His men, his clones, whose health he put above his own.

“I’m not surprised,” I shook my head, “but do try to take care of yourself. They need you to lead them as much as you need them to succeed.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

My brain halted for a moment, my eyes widening slightly. This was the first real conversation I’d had with him and yet he knew my first name without hesitation.

“You shouldn’t be all the surprised, our masters were good friends after all. Master Koon, talked about you a lot with Master Jinn. He just never brought you along, I suppose,” Obi-Wan shrugged.

I hummed, “He was quite protective of me and tried to overwhelm me as little as possible…”

“I wish he had brought you, though. You would have gotten along well with Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan had a far away look in his eyes that I almost missed.

“I’m sorry, about…”

“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan shook his head and smiled. “Now, I should get out of your hair lest my Padawan get into trouble.”

I stepped back to allow him to stand and handed him his discarded clothes from earlier, before turning and giving him privacy.

“Thank you,” he murmured, casually watching the droid out of the corner of his eye as it automatically translated into sign language.

When I turned back around, he was fully dressed again and stowing away the bacta in his belt, “Have a good rest of your day, Obi-Wan.” I bowed my head slightly to him.

“And you, Y/N,” he smiled, waiting for me to meet his eyes.

Thank you, he signed with a small smile adorning his face.

He bowed his head and took a a couple steps backwards and exited the room, offering a wave just before the doors closed behind him. My stomach flipped as I replayed the scene over in my head, realizing he had mimicked the droid in order to sign.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2

#Obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi #gender neutral y/n #gn!reader #gn!mc #hard of hearing reader

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beskar-cowboy · 3 years

Text

A Close Call

Part Three of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: After bounty hunting in the jungle, Mando comes back to the Crest with many pent up... feelings. (6k words) ao3 link here

Warnings: NSFW, smut, canon typical violence, descriptions of injuries, blood, yearning, mutual pining, rough sex, the helmet stays ON, breeding kink if you squint cause its Mando, also no season 2 spoilers

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (which will be linearly in my masterlist) <3

The sweltering heat was heavy, drowning you in your own sweat as you walked deeper into vines, tall grass and thick foliage of the unfamiliar jungle.

The air was humid, the forest vast and dense, filled with shades of greens that you never thought you’d experience with your own eyes. You were seeing colours you had only previously dreamt of. It was such a stark contrast to the ice planet you had been on maybe a week prior to this. You weren’t sure which extreme you preferred but you were not the biggest fan of the way the humidity was making your hair puff out, curl exaggeratedly and stick to your neck and forehead with the sheen layer of sweat coated on every inch of your body. Your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin as well.

Mando was a fan of that, however. Yet the helmet gave away nothing, as always.

The moment you landed on the planet, he noticed the way your chest heaved, taking in the supple, fresh air for the first time. The look of wonder in your eyes, taking in the flora and fauna you could only have only ever dreamed of previous to this. You were very endearing, it made his heart feel heavy, tense, as if you were squeezing it in your perfect little hand, bleeding him dry.

You couldn’t believe this was your life now; travelling with a deadly bounty hunter, caring for him and his adoptive child day and night. What was even stranger, perhaps, was that you were having the time of your life.

No matter how cold Mando could be, how rude, closed off or just straight up silent he could get some days. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. This was much better than your life on that dingey planet, working that dead end job in the scummiest bar in town. You tried not to think too much of your past, but you couldn’t help the few untamed thoughts that crossed your mind every now and then. You shrugged them off with relative ease, usually being whisked away in some task the Mandalorian asked you to complete, or by the cries of the Child.

No matter how hard the days could get, no matter how lonely you felt some nights, you were thankful for the loving affection of the kid, you were thankful for how much he seemed to care for you. And you cared for him in return. Not because it was what you signed up for, to more or less be his babysitter, but because you truly cared and maybe even loved the little green booger like he was your own. He was very sweet, kind, curious and reckless like Mando. You liked how they seemed so similar in some strange little ways, it made your heart feel heavy.

Heavy with some emotion you wouldn’t dare name because it would only fuck you up further, fuck up the missions, fuck up your tasks, fuck up everything. That sickening feeling you got in the pit of your stomach everytime you caught Mando talking to the Child, staring at him sweetly, catching the way he seemed to stare at you sometimes too. At least you think he was. Whatever, that helmet made it near impossible to ever tell what he was thinking, feeling or even just looking at.

No matter how little he was actually beginning to warm up to you, he was still extremely apprehensive and closed off. He had his moments of perceived kindness, gentleness or whatever it really was, but he always seemed to take five steps back when he realized he had been too vulnerable with you.

You couldn't blame him though, he was on the run from people who were trying to take the kid from him, or busy chasing after bounties himself, he didn’t have time for… whatever it was you were feeling. Whatever emotion you were terrible at suppressing, you know without a doubt that Mando didn’t have time for such trivial, childish things.

You huff and look down to your side, the Child’s pod floating seamlessly along your side, the two of you just a few steps behind Mando.

The Mandalorian was tracking a bounty and he said there was a good chance he’d be on this jungle planet seeking refuge with a friend or something like that. You had literally begged him to come along, not wanting to spend another day alone in the ship with the Child. It had taken a few days to get here, and you desperately needed to stretch your legs and breathe some fresh air. Mando was reluctant, very reluctant, but after enough begging and pouting from you he allowed for the two of you to come along, figuring it would be a pretty easy quest anyways.

Oh how he was wrong about that.

His visor display was showing multiple footsteps having walked in the same direction that the three of you were now walking. The footsteps were strange, seeming to be left by a herd of long bodied, four legged animals. Mando had no way of knowing if they were a threat or not, but he had a feeling he’d be finding out soon enough. The Child’s safety and… and yours was not something he felt like gambling with today.

Mando stopped dead in his tracks and you nearly walked right into him, having been engrossed in a more or less one-sided conversation with the Child.

“Head back to the ship.” Mando commanded, his voice trying to give the sense that there was no room for discussion. He barely even turned around to glance at you, but you noticed his hand hovering over his blaster.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Your own hand now hovers over your own blaster, technically Mando’s but he had trusted you to wield it after that one stunt back on Batuu when you saved him and the Child.

“Animals. Too many of them, you’ll be safer on the Crest.” He turns to glance at the Child who coos back up at him, his ears turning downwards as if he too knows of the animals which creep up on the three of you.

“No, I can stay and fight. I’m not leaving.” You, I’m not leaving you, you want to add. But you bite your tongue.

You can’t see because of the hemet but Mando is rolling his eyes at you, at your stubbornness but also your resilience. How eager you are to stand by and help him almost blindly. He doesn’t doubt that you judge him or criticize him in your mind, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a negative comment leave your mouth. You’re always sweet to him. Sweet girl.

“Our job is to take care of the Child, make sure he’s safe,” He huffs, pressing a few buttons on his vambrace and suddenly the Child’s pod is floating away at a leisurely pace, back in the direction you’ve just come from. “Follow it back to the ship, close the hatch and do not leave until I’ve returned.”

You glare at Mando and how he’s given you no choice but to head back to the ship. There was no way you’d leave the Child floating unattend, and without Mando’s directions, you had no way of finding the ship again on your own. You sigh but turn on your heels after the pod, following its lead through the jungle and back to the Crest like Mando had programmed it to.

It’s been hours.

Or at least it feels like it’s been hours. You aren’t aware of the planet’s day cycles so you have no idea if it's been minutes, hours or days but it was dark now and you’d been trying to keep the kid occupied, distracted from the fact that his dad wasn’t here and you had no idea when he would be.

Luckily, the Child was in an agreeable mood so he was distracted pretty easily, playing with various shiny things that he usually reached for on the ship. You made him a couple of snacks with what you managed to find stashed away, he took a nap and you cleaned up the tiny mess he made. Overall, a pretty good day for him.

You on the other hand, were fucking stressed.

It was dark, really dark, and Mando hadn’t even contacted you on the comlink, not that he even did that before but you think that if he comes back- no, when he comes back - you’re definitely going to make that a new rule.

The Child was rocking sweetly in your arms, you had been trying to get him to fall asleep for the past thirty minutes and he was finally getting a bit dopey. Those big eyes of his seeming to get heavier, his blinks growing slower. His little hand was wrapped around your thumb and you quietly hummed a random song to him, maybe it was one your mother sang to you, you’re not quite sure but it seems to be doing the trick.

You can hear small disturbances outside the hatch and you use your hand which isn’t holding the Child to hover over your- Mando’s blaster. You lean against the wall, blaster in hand, hoping, praying it’s him.

Please be him, please be him, please be him.

The hatch groans as it releases its locks and opens slowly to the ever humid jungle. That familiar beskar glints and shines in the moonlight like a precious jewel. You exhale a much needed sigh of relief, Mando was back.

You tuck the blaster back into your holster as you watch him roundup the quarry into the ship, pushing him aggressively up the inclination. He stands wide, broad and big as he does his job. He’s tired and annoyed, you can tell. You can always tell, but he’s strong too, always strong.

The quarry’s hands are shackled, his face beat up and bloodied. Mando really did a number on him…

The quarry’s eyes meet yours, take in the sight before him, a beautiful young girl cradling a strange little green baby. He seems confused, he looks back to the intimidating Mandalorian inquisitively. It’s the last thing he sees before he’s frozen into carbonite.

You say something something to him, to Mando. You sound worried, but he can barely make it out. He had seen the way the quarry’s eyes racked the length of your body, landing on the Child as well. Mando saw red, his adrenaline still pumping heavy and potent in his veins, coursing through his body from the chase, the act of hunting.

So much so, that he hadn’t even realized he had come to tower over you, caging you in against the wall which you had been leaning against.

You look up at him with wide, worried eyes, you look flustered, lips red and swollen. He wants to touch you, he… he wants to do more than touch you-

The Child’s sleepy cooing breaks him out of his wicked mind. He looks down at the kid who reaches for him sleepily with his tiny hands, eyes half closed. He takes him from you, out of your motherly hold. Your hands brush and he wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“W-What did you say?” He finally asks, remembering you had said something to him and he heard absolutely nothing.

“I said your arm is bleeding, Mando.” Voice so small, gentle.

Mando huffs, barely acknowledging it before he steps away from you, turning to the Child’s pod and placing him gently inside. It closes with a hiss. You suck in a shuddering breath.

Mando rummages around for a few moments before pulling out his tool kit, sitting down on the edge of his cot and pulling out his taser-like contraption. You watch almost dumbfounded, trying to piece together what exactly it is he’s doing. He reaches for the tear in the thick material of his sleeve, pulling on it and tearing it further to better show off his wound and his… his skin.

Flesh. Mando’s arm.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to be looking, maybe you were breaking his creed by seeing part of his skin but you couldn’t look away, and he made no motion for you to do so either. So you stand transfixed as he begins to shoddily cauterize his tanned skin.

“L-Let me help you, please.” You take a step forward, towards him, hands reaching out.

“I’m fine.” He basically growls at you, his rough tone startling you, stopping you in your tracks.

So you stand by idly, watching him burn his own skin, attempting to close his open wound.

You only interject again when he starts taking longer breaks between each electrifying tase. When his hand starts to shake and his movements slow down, motivation and determination leaving him as he slowly accepts the pain of the deep gash on his arm, blood trailing down his toned bicep.

“Here…” You say quietly again, hoping he listens to you this time. You reach into the tool kit, pulling out his bacta gel before coming to stand in front of him, your knees grazing his bent one from where he sits on the edge of his cot.

He seems to have listened, his movements having stopped, the taser held weakly in his hand. You take it from him, setting it back in the metal box before zeroing in on his bleeding cut.

You shudder at the sudden proximity, his pent up adrenaline and anger palpable, intoxicating. It lays thick and heavy in the air between your two bodies. Your hands shake as you gently douse the wound with the gel, trying to stay focused, trying to get the bleeding to stop. You fingers brush gingerly along toned, scarred skin and you try, you try so fucking hard to focus. To not let your fingers linger, not let them wander to regions unknown to any other living thing.

Mando groans as it begins to seep into the wound and you wince as well, feeling his pain as your own. You mumble a quiet ‘I’m sorry’ but continue to apply the thick substance to his bicep.

His gloved hand suddenly shoots out and latches onto your hip bone, fingers grasping the clothed flesh in a deadly grip, as if trying to ground himself to you, to the ship, to ignore the throbbing pain. You didn’t realize it would hurt that bad, maybe it went deeper than you thought.

When you’re finally done with the gel, you turn slightly to get some gauze to wrap the wound in. Mando’s touch never leaves you, his hand seemingly welded into your form. His thumb begins to absentmindedly rub up and down in soothing motions, you try to ignore the way it makes your heart pound but… but it's not really a big deal is it? No, Mando’s touched you before, what's so different about it now?

The air? The tension? The way he looks up at you, through that mask, begging to be seen?

God, you wonder what colour his eyes are.

You bet they’re soft, beautiful, kind. They probably give away how secretly gentle he is, something no one else would notice or dare assume about the deadly Mandalorian, but you know. You know because he’s been touching you more lately, especially since the ice planet. Just passing touches but still, you can’t imagine how much significance a simple touch holds for a man covered head to toe in armour, and who’s never shown his face to another living being in decades.

“Who are you?”

His voice startles you. It’s dropped several octaves since he last spoke, it felt like hours had passed since he last spoke- or more, growled at you.

“What?”

“What are you? H-How do you do this to me?” He helmet tilts to the side as he gazes up at you and your heart fucking pounds in its cage, trying to escape and expose itself to this metal man, expose everything you’ve been feeling since you met him.

“Mando-” You don’t understand what he’s saying, he’s not making any sense. Could the pain really be that bad? Making him this incoherent?

“You’re not real… you’re too good, to us, too good to the child… to me-” He was rambling. Mando was rambling. When has he ever spoken this much to you before?

Never.

“You’re good to me too.” You interject meekly.

“But not as sweet… not as sweet as you.” His words make your next intake of breath sharper than usual, no doubt he catches it by the way his helmet tilts up further. You wonder if he’s looking you in the eyes. It sure feels like he is.

“I-I don’t know what I would do if, if anything happened to-” His fingers tense on your hip as he lulls over his words, tossing them around on his tongue, afraid. “The Child… or you.”

“You keep us safe Mando.” You try to reassure him, but you’re not sure if he’s listening. His left hand joins his right one, both sides of your hips now engulfed in his large, strong hands. You throb everywhere, your body pulses for him.

Mando thinks about just letting his helmet fall forward, to let it rest against the softness of your belly but.

But he can’t. He’s too fucking scared. You scare him more than anything. More than any unknown animal in an unfamiliar jungle, more than any quarry, bounty chase, Mythosaur. More than anything, you scare him more than anything because this is the only domain Mando truly always fucks up. Feelings or whatever the fuck going on in his head right now.

“You take such good care of us.” He says, deflecting your words.

He pulls on your hips and you rock forward, almost losing your balance but your hands come forward to lean against his beskar covered shoulders, dropping the gauze you held. You shudder at the cool bite of the metal on your warm, overheating palms. Mando barely budged at your added weight, and you look down at him from where you now tower over him.

Your eyes rake over the sharp edges of his helmet in the low light of the hatch, down to his wound which still needs to be wrapped up but he was... Seriously distracting you for lack of a better word. You notice the heave of his chest, the heavy fall of his breaths like he’s having trouble getting oxygen into his body. And then you notice- you notice the bulge forming underneath his thick pants.

Mando takes you in as you do the same, watching as you finally notice his state, finally notice what you do to him. What you’ve been doing to him since the moment he met you.

“Take your pants off.”

You think your brain short circuits.

Because there’s no way that’s what Mando has more or less just ordered you to do, judging by his harsh tone.

“Wha-”

“Take them off or I will.” He groans, hands squeezing your hips again.

You whimper and bite your lip, trying to see through the pitch black T of his visor, trying to find the man underneath the beskar. You remove your trembling hands from his shoulders, standing up straighter and letting them travel down, down, down towards the button and fly of your utility pants.

“M-Mando, I-”

“Don’t make me ask you again, sweet girl.” You whimper at the nickname, it wasn't the first time he used it but this was probably only the third time at this point. With his thumbs relentlessly caressing your hip bones, you shiver underneath his touch.

You had been dreaming of this for months now, dreaming of his hands on you, sexual or not, you were so deprived of intimacy, having gone months now only barely touching, grazing each other. You both needed this, both needed this more than fucking anything esle right now and you were no one to deny him of what he wanted.

Mando keeps the helmet trained on you as your nimble fingers pry the button open, admiring how easily persuaded you were by his thick, lust-laced words. He couldn’t believe he had managed to draw this out as long as he did, his urge to just tear your clothing away from your body and sink his raging cock into your tight heat the moment he entered the Crest was…. overwhelming to say the least.

But he had barely touched you up until now, and he wanted to work you up to it, no matter how much restraint that meant he had to have on his part.

The sound of your metal zipper sliding down below your belly button tests that restraint. He keeps his eyes on you even though he knows you wouldn't be able to tell where he’s looking. He knows you feel it, knows you feel the way his eyes burn holes into you, devouring you silently, pleading with you, please, please show me.

He feels your hands come to rest over top of his gently, as if you’re still nervous about touching him. You interlace your fingers with his and lower your pants, shimmying them down your hips and thighs together. It makes Mando’s breath catch in his throat and his heart pummel in his chest.

Never had he undressed someone before. Never had the patience, never cared to. But with you, oh with you.

Maker, did he care.

Maybe cared too much, but now was not the time for such ill inducing thoughts. You were becoming more and more bare to him as the seconds passed. You only let go of his hands once your pants went past your knees. Pushing them down to your ankles, you stepped out of them, kicking off your boots as well.

There you were, standing before him in a black tank top and that fucking thong of yours… of course that’s what you had decided to wear today. Mando groans as his hands come up to touch you again, tentatively this time. He can’t believe you were allowing him this, letting him touch you, letting yourself be vulnerable with him when he wasn’t sure how ready he was to be vulnerable in return.

Maybe he could learn.

His hands travel up to your hips again, toying with the thin waistband of your panties, letting his gloved hand run along your pristine flesh that was once covered in ugly bruises. He-

He thinks he wants to be the only thing to bruise you. From now on, he made a promise to himself (and to you, secretly) that he was the only thing in this galaxy that could mark you up, claim you.

Mando’s hands travel back, reaching for the supple meat of your ass, clutching it in his large hands, kneading it before he pushes you forwards again, into him. You yelp as you land in his lap, catching yourself quickly as both of your knees rest on either side of his hips. You readjust and sit back down, your minimally clothed cunt coming to land on his hard bulge, you gasp, eyes wide as you look into his visor. He was so hard, he felt big too.

“S-Sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“What are you apologizing for now, hmm?” He asks tauntingly, helmet tilting slightly to the side, as if he were considering you.

His gloved hands come up your sides, going underneath your tank top and brushing along the underside of your breasts, feeling the tight skin. You unintentionally rock in his lap, creating friction on your already embarrassingly wet center. Mando’s hands tighten at your sides, groaning as he tries to still your movements but. But it feels too fucking good to stop.

He brings a gloved finger to your lips, running the worn leather over the pillowy flesh as if to let you taste it. You look at him, confused.

“Bite.” He instructs, voice clipped, sharp.

Without needing further instruction, your teeth latch onto the absolute tip of his glove, letting him slip his hand out of its leather confines, revealing to you the most precious amount of skin of his you’ve ever seen.

Tanned skin, thick fingers, large palm, perfect. Him. The urge to litter the rough calloused skin in kisses, lick his entire hand, just put the whole fucking thing in your mouth was all consuming. Yet you sat there in his lap staring at his hand like it was a vase of water and you were a flower, parched for water. He asked you to do the same with the other glove and of course, you did as he asked. You quickly found yourself wanting to please him.

You stared at his bare, rough, strong hands in awe, watched as he let them peek underneath your thin top to skim along your silky smooth flesh, an expanse unknown to him. His fingertips brush over your nipples, feeling how the pretty buds pebble for him. He twists and pulls them in between his fingers, watching the way your face contorts in pain and in pleasure. It’s his new favourite thing, he feels drunk off of you already.

“Please.” You aren’t quite sure what you’re begging for, Mando isn’t really sure either. But he knows one thing, and it's that the sweet sound of your voice, begging for him, begging for anything, just so desperate, was enough to make him cum in his pants. His fingers dig into your skin, trying to cool his overheating mind, trying to slow down a bit before he actually does cum in his pants, before he’s even properly seen you.

His bare hands come down to your panties, toying with them again between his agile fingers.

“You want this?” He asks, daringly pushing your panties to the side, getting the smallest glimpse and your slicked up and drenched pussy. He thinks he could die right now, die happy, never want anything, ask for anything again.

“Yeah, yeah I do, always- have.” You choke on a hiccup, emotions welling in your eyes already from how fucking built up all of this is. You feel like you were both about to burst at the seams. You still couldn’t believe this was happening, even if it were to stop now and not progress any further, you couldn’t believe he had allowed you this much of him.

Mando wraps his arm around you completely, gripping your waist tightly to spin you around, pinning you underneath him in the tight space of his cot. You gasp, shriek at the sensation of it all, as he comes to rut against you, grinding his thick bulge into your cunt.

You notice how his arm has begun to bleed again, the skin ripping open and the deep red liquid trickling down what little part of his bicep was exposed, further proving his humanity, exposing the man beneath the beskar. You really felt like you could cry.

Lost in your whirlwind, Mando pulls off your thong, throwing it somewhere unpreciously behind him before doing the same thing with your tank top. Completely vulnerable, you laid bare before him as he hovered above you, covered head to toe, save for his hands, in beskar. That fact alone made you throb deep inside. The sheer power and size of him enough to get you off.

You knew what little he had already decided to show you was all he could afford, you were so grateful for it anyway, that he was even willing to show you his hands, the little glimpse of his bicep. His skin was beautiful, but you couldn’t possibly grasp the words to tell him.

So you hook your legs around his backside and pull him to you, silently begging him to do something, anything. You would take anything he gave you, you’d even thank him for it at this point.

“Fuck.” Mando growls, bare hands coming to work at unbuttoning his pants, pulling them low enough to pull out his engorged, thick cock.

Mando was… he was huge.

This came hardly as a surprise to you, however. You would have had to be blind to not noticed how he walked. He walked like it was big, talked like it was big, fought like it was big. But fuck.

You were not prepared for that.

“Mando, I-I don’t know if it’ll-”

“It will.”

You moan and arch your back towards him, needing it now, needing that sweet burn and stretch that you know is about to come.

And oh does it come.

Mando thrusts into you without further warning, giving you no time or preparation to adjust to what he was packing.

He makes you take it. He makes it fit.

The stretch burns, it bites and it knocks every single breath and thought from your body as he nestles himself all the way up against your cervix. Your body convulses in retreat, trying to push him away from the aggressive intrusion but your mind wants more, needs more. Needs him to fucking split you in half on his cock.

You scream and Mando growls, loud, his helmet falling forward and resting in the crook of your shoulder which meets your neck. His helmet is cold and your skin is burning hot, it creates a fog on his visor and he desperately tries to wipe it off on your skin, trying to look at you so up close. The way your eyes screw shut, squeezing tears out, watching the beautiful dew drops roll down your cheek so perfectly.

It hurts. Maker, does it hurt but fuck does it feel good. The pleasure overrides the pain more than you could imagine and you find yourself begging him to give you more even though he’s already started thrusting into you like he’s on a mission, a mission to sever you in half with his cock.

He was surely succeeding.

Mando watches you cry in pleasure as he fucks into your pussy with such aggressive fervour, like someone had a gun to his head. One hand on your hip and the other around your neck, bruising your skin in that beautiful way he always wanted, how he always dreamed of. He holds you in place so that his hips don’t drive you up his cot because they surely would from how fucking deep and hard he’s pounding into you. Stars, you think you can feel him in your stomach, in your throat.

The hand on your hip travels up to one of your bouncing breasts, kneading the sotf flesh in his palm and watching you wither beneath him. So desperate -

“S-so helpless.” He moans, watching your body bend to his will beneath him.

“Mando- oh my god.” You cry, hands and arms flailing at your sides, not knowing where to put them. Mando sees your struggle and takes both of your hands into each of his, pinning them above your head and using it to drive into you even harder somehow.

Your pussy squelches obscenely, trying to suck him in deeper, keep him inside forever. The only sounds in the cot are fucking lewd, skin on skin rhythmically slapping. You pray the Child can’t hear any of this from inside his pod, you pray he’s asleep.

“So fucking wet... You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” You nod your head so fast you think you’d give yourself whiplash.

“A-Anything, anything Mando- fuck.” That familiar coil was beginning to tighten in your belly, your toes curling, fisting gripping onto his, no doubt cutting off some of his circulation.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your chest arches up, up, up your breasts rubbing against unforgiving beskar.

Underneath said beskar, Mando felt like he wasn’t getting nearly enough oxygen into his helmet, his skin flushing underneath the heavy armour but the pleasure rolling off of you and into him would be enough to sustain him for hours, he thinks.

Your pussy was squeezing him so tight, the ridges of your inner walls so soft, warm, wet, inviting. You felt like home. Absolutely fucking drenched, no wonder you were able to take him whole with almost zero preparation, you had fucking wanted it that way. Wanted him to be rough like this.

“I’ll never leave- never leave this sweet pussy...” He moans, hips stuttering, rolling and grinding deeper and deeper and you felt your orgasm quickly approaching, his words were only bringing you that much closer.

“Please, I- I…”

“Cum for me ner mesh’la, need you to cum for me.” He groans, cool and sharp edges of his helmet resting on your cheekbone.

You envisioned the faceless man deep inside you, what his face must look like now, deep in the throes of pleasure only inches from yours. You pictured the tanned skin covering his entire body head to toe, flushed and splotchy, hot to the touch.

Would his eyes screw shut? Would his mouth hang open, little pants, groans, moans slipping through swollen lips, only loud enough for the ears of his lover to hear?

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you try to look into his visor as your orgasm wipes your mind blank, eyes screwing shut, an endless stream of tears falling onto already damp cheeks as you moan and cry his name into the tight space of his cot.

Mando.

You don’t think you could recall anything if anyone asked you. Not the name of the planet you were currently on, not the name of the planet you were born on, the bar you used to work at, your old bosses name, your name. Nothing.

With two, three, four more thrusts, Mando’s hips still after he drills himself into the deepest and darkest parts of your hot cunt, spilling white hot cum into you with the lowest moan you think you’ve ever heard flowing deep from within his chest. You gasp at the sensation, that warm pleasant feeling of being absolutely stuffed full, somehow more than you already were.

He draws his cock out before pushing it back in, plugging you up with his cum, pushing it deeper and deeper inside of you. You cry, bordering on overstimulation, his cock only softening in the slightest so the hard intrusion was almost too much for you to bear.

“Fuck Mando I’m- I don’t have the implant..” You whimper, suddenly worried, voice coming out uneven with your ragged breaths.

Mando feels another surge of blood to his cock at your words, groaning as his dick twitches and thrusting into you a few more times…. For-

For good measure, he thinks.

Not that he would necessarily want that right now but fuck. Fuck did the mere idea of it make him painfully hard against his own will. You…. swollen with-

“Fuck.” He growls, pulling away from you a bit to better look down at you. Your eyes are shiny, lashes coated thick and wet with your precious tears. Lips swollen, chest flushed. You look worried, but beautiful. His.

Mando remembers your old job at the bar…. Wouldn’t they have made it mandatory for all the girls to have the implant to prevent them from getting pregn-

“But- your job, you-?”

“I didn’t do that, I didn’t fuck them… just drinks.” You smile up softly at him due to fatigue, bashful nonetheless.

Mando likes that, it puts him at ease in some fucked up way to know that those men in those types of places couldn’t get too far with you, even if they wanted.

“We can, I can get it for you on the next planet if- if that’s what you want?” He asks, hips still gently thrusting into you and you start to see stars behind your eyelids. You whimper, feeling his cum mix with your and gush back onto his cock and down the backs of your thighs.

“O-okay… thank you.” Mando nods but says nothing, pulling his cock from your fluttering pussy. You gasp at the sudden loss, feeling terribly empty and used. More cum dribbles from you and you quickly cup your cunt with your palm, trying to stop it from leaking everywhere on his cot.

Moving quicker than you would have expected him to, Mando stands up straight and tucks his wet cock back into his pants before walking away abruptly. You, however, barely notice as you lay flat on your back, head staring up at the ceiling with eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, regain some sense of self after getting all of it fucked out of you.

You’re made aware of Mando’s return by the touch of a warm and damp washcloth to your abused pussy. You gasp and sit up on your elbows, looking down the length of you to see the Mandalorian between your thighs, wiping away the mess that both of you made. Together.

You want to thank him again but you can’t find the words within you, all of them lost to you because of this sudden display of dare you say affection.

“Stay here, gonna put us into hyperspeed. Once we’re up there, go clean up.” Mando orders softly, nodding his helmet at you. You nod back, still breathless, still shaking.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #din djarin #din djarin x reader #imagine #smut #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #my writing #the best things dwell out of sight #fan fiction series #a close call

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j-minte08 · 3 years

Text

Why do I award BalanWonderworld as a masterpiece?

Introduction

⚠️I'm using a translator, so I apologize if any parts are difficult to read.

In this article, I will write about why I award Balan Wonderworld as a masterpiece, with answers to criticisms.

When I played the demo version, I thought this game was SO BAD. But I believed Yuji Naka and bought the full version. (Before I knew it, I had bought four of them...) I'm not raving blindly about it.

At first, I was hopelessly disappointed because nothing had changed from the demo version. However, in chapters 2 and 3, I was impressed by the three-dimensionality and beauty of the stages, and in chapter 4, I realized the comfort of gaining freedom through the acquisition of costumes.

By the time I was completely finished, I was convinced that this game was a great piece of work.

This is an article that I wrote after spending nearly 100 hours on this game.

I hope you will read it.

Main part

First of all, this game is not a game with flashy action as its primary objective. (Flashy battle action is possible in some scenes.)

【Puzzle】　【RPG】　【Exploration】

It is structured around these three main components.

The game also features a "Balance AI" that senses the player's movements and makes changes to the difficulty and world. There is also a presentation of my own work, so please take a look!

Please read with the above in mind.

■ One button action is stressful.

▶︎ As mentioned earlier, this game is not intended for flashy action. At its root, it is an RPG and does not require multiple buttons. The reason it's a simple operation is because it doesn't need to be.

There is only one button, but instead the player is given the freedom to select up to three actions of their choice. The way to play Balan is to find your own strategy within these constraints.

Some people point out that you can't jump, but only a few outfits limit jumping. Most of them are attack-oriented outfits. It's up to you to decide whether you want more attack power or more movement power.

If you're still not convinced, this game just isn't to your liking.(If that's you, I recommend the Wii version of Rodea.)

NiGHTS and Sonic are also action games with simple controls, but the concept is different from Baran, as explained below.

From the very beginning, NiGHTS and Sonic are one-button games that allow for exhilarating action. The action feels good and allows for improvement through trial and error.

However, Balan begins in a state of helplessness. One of his goals is to use his wits and eventually gain the power to run freely around the three-dimensional stage.

Freedom from discomfort. This catharsis is the best part of Balan.

It is also linked to the story's theme of opening closed minds.

■ The structure of the puzzle is sketchy.

▶︎ There is an intention behind this. By making the puzzle structure more flexible, the player is given more choices.

Therefore, each player will have a completely different solution to obtaining a single statue.

Also, each time you play the game, you will find new strategies, making it a game that can be played repeatedly.

This is the reason why Yuji Naka was so confident about this game.

Personally, I think that this action with a puzzle concept has a similar point of view to card games and rock-paper-scissors.

The Mega Man series is a typical example of a game that requires you to observe the situation and your opponent's movements to find the right technique and move. In fact, there is a famous episode where it was derived from rock-paper-scissors. This is also a game where you can enjoy improving through trial and error, but I think the structure of the rules is similar to that of Balan.

■ It's a pain to stock up on costumes.

▶︎ There is no need to overstock costumes. The minimum number of costumes needed to clear the course will naturally be available. Dependence on certain costumes can make the game monotonous. Also, the BalanceAI can sense your movements and take countermeasures.

As the difficulty level increases, you will have a hard time because the costumes will not come back.

The game is made more interesting by the style of play that allows you to use all the costumes to their fullest extent and bring out the true value of each one.

If you run out, explore the stage while collecting costumes. It may lead to new discoveries.

Even if you don't have a specific costume, there are many situations you can get through by applying other costumes.

This degree of freedom is what makes Balan so interesting. The strategy is left to your imagination.

■ The stage is curved. Isn't this a useless design?

▶︎ The curvature of the map allows you to see every corner of the stage. You may be confused because there is no other game that tries to do something like this. However, this is an ideal map for exploration games.

The basics of this gimmick are used as of chapter 1. Chapter 7, which has particularly large differences in elevation, makes good use of this gimmick.

■ The difficulty level is too low.

▶︎ Basics → Application → Review (Boss battle)

This game is designed to follow the above flow thoroughly. As a result, the difficulty level in the early stages is kept low, but the endgame is quite difficult. I almost lost my mind in chapter 12.

The bosses are easy to defeat. However, it is difficult to conquer all three strategy patterns.

Also, if you keep defeating enemies quickly without taking damage, the difficulty level will increase.Stronger and faster enemies will appear in large numbers.I found the difficulty level increased at chapter 3.

In other words, the difficulty of the game depends on how good you are.

■ I want to have a HP separate from my costume.

▶︎ This system prompts the player to use a different costume in case of failure.

Depending on the situation, you can either sacrifice valuable costumes, or use inconvenient but well-stocked costumes... The game throws a variety of choices at the player. This gameplay becomes more apparent as the difficulty level increases.

If you separate the HP from the costume, this tense gameplay will be lost.

The system of choosing outfits based on what will happen next fosters the ability to think and survive on one's own. It will also help the child's ego independence.

■ I need more explanations and hints. It's designed in an unfriendly way.

▶︎ It's not a game that requires you to do anything difficult, so if you think about it, you should be able to understand it to some extent. All you have to do is immerse yourself in collecting statues by any route you can think of.

Some people criticize Balan for being old-fashioned, but they are missing the point.

Games are essentially content that teaches you to think and act for yourself. This is a posting of what games should be, and a refreshing return to the basics.

However, I don't mean to criticize modern games. The immersive feeling of being in a movie, and the friendly design of the UI that shows you where you are going so you don't get lost. I think it's a beautiful evolution for today's hectic world where it's hard to find time to be alone.

However, to be honest, it is abnormal to say that only works that follow the latest trends are evaluated, and it is difficult to say that there is creativity in such works. Evolving technology and the presence or absence of originality have completely different meanings.

I would like to say that games like Balan, which have their own rules and think for themselves, are what we need today.

■ I don't understand the story. I want subtitles.

▶︎ With both video and dubbing, the amount of information is extremely high. By not using real words, all the people in the world have the exact same experience. Very romantic, don't you think?

It's not to dismiss the unspoken parts as non-existent, but to let your imagination run wild and have fun with it.

Since ancient times, there has been an aesthetic in Asia that finds meaning in blank spaces.

If you want a more substantial story, I recommend the novel version, which probably has what you want. It is available for Kindle.

At the end

Balan Wonderworld is a game designed to grow with the player the more time they spend playing.

Despite its gorgeous visuals, the reality of the story is deep and Yuji Naka's philosophy shines through, making it a masterpiece that can be called a compilation of his work.

At first, you may find some scenes difficult or the system annoying. However, they all have a meaning and will make sense as you continue to play.

Balan is built on a very complete system.

EVERY MOMENT IS AN ADVENTURE... This tagline is true.

But the fact is that Balan is a very peaky game. But that's also true for Sonic and NiGHTS.

If you have enjoyed Yuji Naka's past works, you will surely understand the quality of Balan. I recommend that you take the time to face this game first without any preconceived notions.

Now that I've spoken highly of Balan, I'd like to offer some criticism of the official advertising.

I think the main reason for this failure was the poor choice of stages included in the demo version, which made it difficult to convey the fun of expanding the degree of freedom by acquiring costumes, the sense of freedom, and the fun of being able to create a number of unique strategies.

As for the official SNS, rather than introducing the costumes and the storyline by themselves, the official should have done a better job of showing how they are all connected to make this game interesting.

That's how it looked from my personal point of view, but I believe that the current situation is the result of continuous failures in the area of advertising.

I'm so disappointed that this masterpiece is being buried, and I hope that the officials will have the guts to turn its reputation upside down even now.

Hopefully, this game will get the recognition it deserves. I love Balan Wonderworld.

#balan wonderworld #game #square enix #game review #yuji naka #naoto oshima #バランワンダーワールド #playstation #bww #nights #nights into dreams #sonic #sonic the hedgehog

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write-orflight · 3 years

Text

Galileo: Chapter 5

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev - Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader, enemies to friends to lovers trope

Rating: M

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Light smut, 18+

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is an astronomer with her head constantly in the stars. But when a serial killer is threatening NASA’s top scientists, she is left in the protective custody of a man who’s gravitational pull threatens to pull her back down to earth.

A.N Unedited because i’m sleepy. There’s a fic I read when I first joined the fandom that inspired some of this chapter. i can’t remember the name but if you do, please tell me so I can credit. Comment on this chapter only or message to be on taglist please.

Chapter 5: Saturn

There was a rare occurrence that happens sometimes in Space where a Planet will tilt off its axis and disrupt the order of things in the galaxy forever. Even though it hasn’t happened yet, it doesn't make it not possible. You had always thought about that phenomenon and how you never quite understood how so many scientists just blindly believed in that possibility with no proof. It wasn’t until that dance with Spencer that you believed in it. If you were the galaxy, that dance was the tilt in your axis.

Nothing could quite be the same again.

It seemed that Spencer himself was the disruptor.

Since that day, everything between the two of you was different. It was simpler. It was too easy to have conversations, to laugh at each other's jokes, to spit inane useless facts at each other. But it also became too easy to melt at Spencer’s bright smile, too easy to stare at his hands as he helped you with your math sometimes, too easy to flush whenever he paid you a compliment on your work.

Too easy to fall in love with him.

You didn’t want to think about that but you couldn’t help it. At first, you wanted to chalk it up to you not knowing how to differentiate your feelings. Maybe you just thought you were in love with him because he was the first guy to be nice to you since Jonathan but as the days went on you knew that to not be the case. None of this felt like how you were with Jonathan. With Spencer, it just felt easy. Just felt right.

It was the weekend so you had off work. Before you would always end up going into work anyway and getting some extra logs in but now you liked staying in and hanging out with Spencer. Right now the two of you were walking in the plaza near your home, fresh cups of coffee in hand. Spencer, at first, did not want to be out but after some convincing (which was just you threatening to leave without him, which he did not like) he was all for joining you out. The two of you stopped in a bookstore and you made a beeline for the astrology section. You hear Spencer scoff when you pick up a book to look through it. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?” You say.

“Astrology, really? Aren’t you a scientist?”

“Yea, an astronomer. I love Space, so while Astrology isn’t a proven science. It’s fun to think the stars have a say in what kinda person you are.” You shrug. “When’s your birthday?”

“October 28th.”

“Of course you’re a Scorpio.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. Astrology isn’t real.”

“You must be real fun at parties.” You roll your eyes.

“Well, what’s your sign?”

“I’m a Cancer. Did you know that water signs are the most compatible? Especially Scorpios and Cancers.”

Spencer laughs out loud at that. You turn looking him in the eye. “What’s funny?” you say.

“That itself doesn’t tell you that astrology is bullshit?” He laughs. You narrow your eyes at him. “I mean, us, compatible? It’s funny.”

You try. You try so very hard not to look hurt by his words, you know Spencer’s a profiler and will see right through it. And he does by the sympathetic look he gives you.

“You’re right, maybe it is bullshit.” You say, putting the book down instantly. “Let’s go home.”

You and Spencer don’t talk the whole walk home, in fact you don’t talk when you get there. You’re about to just retreat to your room when you feel a hand circle your wrist.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I hurt your feelings.” He says.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lied. “I’m just with you all the time. Sometimes I just need a minute alone. Is that okay?”

He lets go of your wrist. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

You nod and retreat to your room, blowing a heavy breath as you fell into your bed. Might as well take a nap. You thought as you let sleep take you over.

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

Long, slender fingers found their way into your hair and yanked roughly. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that came behind it. You felt the lips that were sucking hard bruising marks into your neck smirk slightly. His other hand trailed your body lightly until they met their final destination at your sex. You gasp loudly when the digit rubbed soft circles around your clit.

“Are you going to be good for me?” He asked, you nodded dumbly before moaning out loud when the first digit found its way inside you. Spencer smirked at you. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet for me. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asked, you nodded and gasped again as he found that spot inside you. “Hmm, I don’t think you want it enough baby.”

You’re shaking your head immediately. “No. Ple-please fuck me.” You stutter. “I’ll be good, I swear.”

The smirk he gives you is almost devilish. “Alright, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He says as you feel member pressing up against your sex--

You wake up to the smell of something burning and Spencer shouting expletives from what you assumed was the kitchen. You groaned, frustratedly. Since that day your mom came to visit, you dreamed of Spencer almost constantly. Today was no different. You couldn’t escape him in your waking hours and now it seemed you couldn’t even escape him sleeping.

You hop out of bed and run to the kitchen. The sight before is Spencer frantically waving the billowing smoke that was coming from your oven. You run to open your window and turn the oven fan on. You both look at the pan that had something that couldn’t even be described as food anymore by the degree of which it was burned. Spencer looked at you guiltily.

“You seemed upset so I thought I’d make you dinner but I was reading and I lost track of time. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You smile at him. “Thank you for thinking of me but I wanted chinese tonight anyway, sound good?” You say, he nods gratefully.

Later the two of you are sitting at your kitchen table, eating chinese out of the takeaway containers. You were talking about nothing and everything until the topic came to College. You talked about how freshman year you did the whole partying thing before quickly finding out it wasn’t your scene and keeping to yourself for the rest of your college career. Spencer told you he never went to any parties in college.

“You never went to any parties?!” You asked, shocked.

“Well, I was 12. No one was really scrambling to invite me to frat parties.”

“So you didn’t do any traditional college games? No beer pong? No ‘Never Have I Ever’?” You ask, Spencer shakes his head. That’s when you get a fantastic idea. You get up and look in the cabinet above your stove which is where you kept your liquor and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. Spencer sees this and immediately shakes his head.

“No.”

“Aww, come on. Let’s play Never Have I Ever.” You smile. “If you’ve done the thing you drink.”

“I don’t want to play a remedial drinking game.”

You think for a second. “How about this? You’re a profiler, right? And I like to think I’m a little observant so how about this. We’ll take turns making assumptions about the other if the person is right, the other drinks and if they’re wrong, you drink.”

“I don’t know… it probably isn’t wise for me to be drinking. I’m supposed to be watching you.”

“It’s not like we go anywhere that’s not here anyway.” You say. “Plus, if you're good at your job, you’ll hardly have to drink.” You throw a pouty face on for good measure. Spencer rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” He says standing up and snatching the bottle from you, walking to the living room. You giggle at him before grabbing two glasses to follow him out. “Just so you know, it’s wrong to peer pressure people.” He says.

“Well, what’s a college drinking game without peer pressure.” You laugh.

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

“Who’s starting?” You say as you watch Spencer pour your glass. The two of you are settled on opposite ends of your small couch, facing each other, your knees just almost touching.

“You can.” Spencer says. “I want to see if you're actually observant.”

“Okay.” You say, sitting up slightly at the challenge. “You’re an only child.” You say. Spencer raises his eyebrows at you, shocked you actually got something right, but drinks anyway.

Spencer looks at you for a second. “You have an older sibling you are not close to.”

You drank. “Yea I’ve got an adoptive older brother. There’s nothing wrong, it’s just he was already much older when I was born and we have nothing in common, other than our parents.” You look at Spencer for a second. “I wanna say divorced parents, but only raised by one.”

“You’re a lot more observant than I thought.” Spencer says as he drinks. “Dad left when I was 10.” He says offhandedly.

The game goes like this for a while, both of you confirming your beliefs of each other. You find out about Spencer’s mother's illness, Spencer learning you smoke when you’re stressed. Spencer was winning though, not that you had a problem with that as you wanted to drink, hence why you suggested the game. You were giving him a little bit of a run for his money. It was now your turn and the alcohol in your system must’ve turned off your filter because you say.

“You’re a virgin.”

You pause for a second waiting for him to drink when you realize he’s waiting on you to. You widen your eyes in shock but take your drink anyway. “I thought Maeve died before you got to meet her fully.”

Spencer nods. “She did.” He says, “The two don’t correlate.” He says, like it's obvious.

You hadn’t been expecting that. “You just didn’t strike as the hit it and quit it type.”

“And I’m not, but sometimes things are just temporary.” He says looking at you, deeply in your eyes. “You were upset today, in the shop because I said we weren’t compatible.”

You solemnly take a drink. “Why?” He asks.

“Hey, that’s not a part of the game.” You say.

“Please?” He adds.

You sigh. “I don’t know… I guess, it seemed like the idea of being with me repulsed you. And that was upsetting.”

Spencer looks at you with the most intense look in his eye. You had never seen that look before and you were glad you hadn’t because it was so heated that it was melting you where you sat. “The idea of being with you…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “Doesn’t repulse me. Trust me.”

You knew you weren’t the best at social cues sometimes but that seemed like a pretty big one. You move closer to him, so that your faces were close but someone would still have to make that final move. You realize it’s your turn, so you think, Fuck it...

“You want to kiss me right now.” You say, looking Spencer in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow swig from his glass, eyes never leaving yours. He sits his glass down on the table next to him before saying.

“You want me to kiss you.”

You sip your drink, looking him right back in the eyes. You sit your glass down next to his and Spencer's hand catches your wrist on its way back. Before you can even get a good look at him, his lips are crashing on to yours. You groan in surprise before melting into it, your hands immediately going for his hair. His massive hands almost engulf your face as he tries to pull you impossibly close to him. He groans as he licks into your mouth, both of you tasting like the Jameson you had just drunk but there was also something under it that was just pure Spencer. You push him back until you are fully seated in his lap. His hands go immediately to your waist. Feeling risky, you experimentally grind your hips, causing Spencer to groan and grip you tighter. His hands slide up your shirt slightly, you moan at that.

“Fuck-” Spencer says as you suck bruises down his neck. “Fuck, w-we’ve gotta stop.”

You pull back. “Why?” you ask.

Spencer swallows, pushing you off his lap. “There’s this thing called transference. You only want me right now because I’m protecting you. You don’t like me.” He says. “We don’t like each other.”

You realized what Spencer was trying to say. You were both drunk and there, he didn’t really want you. It was being stuck together for so long that was making him attracted to you. You were foolish to think a guy would actually want you.

“You don’t like me.” You say. “And I read this situation wrong again. God, I’m an idiot!”

“I didn’t say that, Y/N-”

“No, you’re right. You only kissed me because I’m what you’ve been stuck with for weeks. You don’t like me. I can’t blame you no guy ever does.”

“No, Y/N, I just didn’t want to take advan--”

“I need to smoke. I’m going out.” You say, grabbing. “Alone.”

“Y/N, that’s not safe and you know it. Let me go with you.”

“I think we both need to be away from each other. I’ll only be out front. Please.” You plead to him.

Spencer doesn’t say anything so you take that as your cue to go. You pull your pack and lighter out the kitchen draw and stomp out the door. As soon as you get in front of the building, you light the first cigarette as stray tears fall down your face. You were such an idiot to think someone like Spencer would want you. Sure you were both smart but you were arrogant and spiteful. Spencer was the sweetest person ever when you got to know him. It was stupid to think there was a world the two of you would work.

You frustratedly put your cigarette out and stand to head back inside to probably embarrass yourself some more when you feel it.

The hard slam to the back of your head knocking you out cold.

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

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speechlessxx · 4 years

Text

Bring Him Light - xv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader

FINAL CHAPTER

Chapter Summary: The war has come, separating the king and queen for seven long months.

Warnings: MAJOR character death(s), (complicated) child birth, angst, anxiety, FINAL CHAPTER

Word Count: 5k

BRING HIM LIGHT MASTERLIST

Thank you for riding this out with me, guys. xoxo

<- Last Part

The clashing of swords and hollers of men filled King Steven’s ears. The mayhem took his breath away. In all his years of battles and wars, he had yet to see something this destructive.

From what he was able to gather, the fighting had, thankfully, left the north. King Anthony and his armies were able to push Thanos to the northern border, but that didn’t mean York was winning. The scouts informed him that the enemy was able to cut York’s army to half its size. Steven was also told that Thanos’s army was steadily growing – it was as if every time one soldier fell, two would take their place. York and its king were tired and losing – in desperate need of an assist, whether Anthony Stark would admit that or not.

“Just like old times.” Lord James told his king with a bitter chuckle.

“I’ll get you home, Bucky,” Steven promised. “Back to that lovely wife.”

“Well, my queen would have my head if I let anything happen to you. So, likewise, Steven. Likewise.”

It was different now – the two old friends knew that. Before when they rode off into countless wars together, only Steven had a woman waiting for him back home. Whether it was Margaret or Sharon, he still had a wife. But now, both men had two worried women waiting on them back in Brooken.

Before he had left to lead his men, you cried in his arms, begging him to come back in one piece. The somber moment witnessed by what felt like the entire country. They watched as you wrapped the white fabric – torn from your wedding gown – around the hilt of his sword, kissing the blade and praying for his safety. Brooken watched as their king kissed his queen one last time before mounting his horse and riding off. Everyone – but you most of all – wished for his safe return.

Steven’s eyes narrowed as he withdrew his sword and his fist wrapped tightly around his horse’s reins. Around him, he heard hundreds of swords being drawn from their sheaths. He raised his blade high into the air, kicking at his horse’s hind as he sped off into battle with his army marching behind him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Days into the war…

You sat at the fountain – the first place you laid eyes on Steven. The water was no longer running; the irrigation turned off for the cold, bitter winter. The flowers that decorated the garden had wilted away. Only a select few remained. You visited it every day, always with the intention of picking the surviving few. But you could never bring yourself to do it, scaring yourself into thinking that the flowers were Steven’s lifeforce. Instead, you opted to stare blindly at them as if they’d conjure up your husband like magic.

You heard footsteps approach but did not think you were in any danger. An assassin would be taking their strides carefully with light footsteps. This person’s steps were soft but in no way near quiet.

“(Y/N).” Your mother greeted as you turned to face her. She had Morgan in her arms. Your baby sister thrashing about in the thick garments that she was dressed in.

“Mother.” You smiled at her though she saw the sadness in your eyes. You stood and relieved her of the child, rocking slightly to help calm her. “She’s gotten big.” You looked over at your mother who smiled at you both with teary eyes. “Don’t you dare cry.”

“I can’t help it.” She smiled sadly. “Seeing my eldest and my youngest together… It’s heartwarming in this cold, cold times.”

“Did Harvey go with father?” You asked. “I would’ve thought he’d be safeguarded considering he is the heir of York.”

Your mother sat down at the fountain. Her hand nervously wrapped around the pendant of her necklace. You stopped your movements as you stared at her. She swallowed thickly and furiously dabbed beneath her eyes, attempting to stop her tears. She let out a shaky breath, the hot air materializing itself in the cold winter as thick white vapor. You frowned and asked her again.

“There’s something you have to know…” She whispered. You didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Her tone – the grief and the pain, feelings you were all too familiar with – gave it away.

“Mother – “

“You asked before your wedding where he was. Your father lied and told you he was too tired to travel… The truth was…” she took a sharp breath, a few tears fell. “He was too ill.” As if sensing your sorrow, Morgan began to thrash about even more. You shushed her, patting her back soothingly, wishing someone were doing the same to you. “We always thought he was healthy… He gave us no reason to believe otherwise. Then, days after you left, he started coughing up blood. He ran a fever for days, dropping himself into a coma. When the fever finally broke and he woke up, we were told he didn’t have long.”

“Mother, where’s Harvey?” You asked, your voice breaking because you already knew.

“He’s gone, (Y/N). He passed a month ago.”

You bit your lip to suppress the cry that nearly escaped. You continued to hush Morgan, lulling her to sleep. You closed your eyes, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” You whispered.

It was a terrible feeling. A closure that you will never get. It left an ache in your chest and the pain only increased when you realized if Steven died during this war, you may never get to say your goodbye either. You may never hold him again, nor kiss his lips. You may never see his smile and hear his laugh. You’ll never hear him tell you I love you again.

The realization pained you more than anything you’ve ever experienced.

And the fact you could do nothing but pray and hope made the pain twice as worse.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

A little over One Month into the war…

Brooken was left with a few guards to ensure your safety. You hated being cooped up in the castle. You felt useless. No word had been brought back about the progress of the war. Your mother encouraged you to take the silence as a good sign – because if things had taken a turn for the worse, Thanos would be pounding at Brooken’s doors, which he was not.

Nevertheless, it left you a worried mess. The ring, a reminder of your union, sat dauntingly on your finger. You often stared at it when you were alone. You’d nervously twist the ring around when you spoke to others – when you told your people that everything would be fine, hoping that they believed you.

“You worry too much,” Natasha told you as you stared into the distance. You often did this at night and in the early mornings. You wanted to be awake for his return. You wanted to be the first one to see him.

“You’re a newly wed lady. Shouldn’t you share my concern?” You asked her, twisting the ring around.

Natasha eyed you, wearily. She glanced down to your nervous fumbling and shook her head. “King Steven has never lost a war.” Your eyes widened as you rushed to your balcony’s wooden doors, knocking furiously on it. Natasha sighed and pulled you back in. “Everything will be right again, (Y/N). Worrying only makes you suffer twice.”

“I’d rather worry and suffer threefold if it meant my husband be brought back tomorrow – preferably alive,” you told her. You took two deep breaths as you tried to steady your breathing. Natasha noticed how you visibly winced and grabbed your lower abdomen.

“What’s wrong?” You waved your hand at her concern. The sharp cramping sensation was from stress – you were sure of it. “If you are in pain, we should seek a physician – “

“I’m fine,” you assured. “It’s from worrying too much, I suppose.”

Natasha frowned as she eyed you cautiously. Ever since the voyage that took the lives of Wanda and your unborn child, you had always worn loose fitting garments – you told her it was because you hated the way corsets made you feel breathless and trapped. However, this morning as she loosely laced you into the dress, she noticed how she didn’t need to pull the laces around your chest as much as she was used to – how your breasts had suddenly increased in size.

“(Y/N) …” She trailed off as you rubbed your stomach, trying to dull the pain. “When was your last blood?”

You frowned as you tried to think. You opened your month to answer but quickly closed it when you realized you had no idea. “No…” You shook your head. You didn’t want to entertain the idea of bringing a child into this world – especially with Steven absent and not by your side.

“Could it be possible?” Natasha asked. “I mean the entire castle knows what you two do at night. You two are not shy when it comes to… keeping warm,” she smirked, “during the winter.”

You shot her a glare and she shrugged. “I suppose it is possible…” You whispered, rubbing small circles around your tummy. “But the idea… This is such a difficult time, Natasha. The uncertainty… Steven’s not here.”

“Yes, but the line needs to be continued.” Natasha said. You gave her a thoughtful glance, brows furrowing. “If Steven falls during this war – gods forbid it – Brooken will need an heir. Brock was next in line, but he’s gone now… If you’re pregnant, your child is the heir.”

“I don’t to live in a world without Steven in it,” you snapped. The idea alone sent chills down your spine.

Natasha nodded, understandingly. She, too, had a husband in this war – one whom she’d only been married to for two months. “But you must, (Y/N),” she whispered. “For, if you are pregnant, you carry a piece of him with you. The child of the north, an heir to both Brooken and York’s thrones.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Two and a half months into the war…

The camp had a foul stench that hung in the air. The soldiers were spread about – wounded, exhausted, many both. The two kings tried their best to ration out what supplies they had left. Two and a half months into this war and it felt as if they were nowhere near victory though they were nowhere near defeat, either.

Both Anthony and Steven exchanged blows with Thanos in the past battles that ended with hundreds of men on both sides dead and no one declared victorious. It felt as if every time the north was close to winning one battle, Thanos would retreat – and vice versa.

It was a continuous tug of war that lasted months and showed no signs of ending any time soon.

Steven stared blankly as the moon rose. He thought if you were staring up at it as well. He wondered how many nights you’re spending sleepless and full of worry. He wanted nothing more than to just come home to you – to wrap his arms around your body as you slept curled up next to him.

His hands toyed with the fabric tied to the hilt of his sword. The white had been stained with mud, dirt, soot, and blood. He let out a shaky sigh.

“Miss her?” He turned and saw Anthony slowly approach. He watched as the York king slightly limp over to him and pat his shoulder.

“Just want to go home to her,” Steven responded with a sigh. He felt a bit strange confessing this to her father, but considering James and Sam had both been injured and were resting, he welcomed the company.

“You will.” Anthony told him.

“It feels as if this war will go on forever.”

Anthony chuckled. “What’s the longest war you fought in?”

Steven thought for a moment. He had fought in too many wars, but his first war against the long-vanquished country of Hydra was one he’d never forget. “Four years?” He said though it came out as a question. “Fought for so long the years became muddled together.”

“You married then?”

“It’s different now.” Steven sighed.

“You really love my daughter?”

“Without a doubt.”

Anthony smiled. “I didn’t think she’d get married. She’s too … sharp-tongued. That girl damn near offended every noble I introduced her too.”

Steven chuckled. He always found your bluntness and witty remarks entertaining. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’ll get you home to her,” he promised, clasping his old friend’s shoulder. “Come now, Steven, we have battleplans to prepare.” He looked over at Steven. “Do you trust me?”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Three months into the war…

The rounding belly became increasingly challengingly to hide – especially now that the bitter northern winter was ending, and spring was quickly approaching. Though word from the battlegrounds painted the war as gruesome and dark, the life growing within you was a source of light – of comfort – for you and your people.

The midwife, Jean, preformed a trick she learned from her mother. She tied your wedding ring to a string and held it above your swelling belly. She watched as the ring swirled in fast, large circles. “A boy!” She announced to you with a big smile. Your mother clapped excitedly as did Lady Natasha. You were a skeptic, of course, but the idea of bringing a miniature Steven into the world made your heart leap.

The pregnancy had brought you something new to worry about. Due to the trauma of losing your first child, you became extra cautious with this second pregnancy.

“Have you thought of names?” Natasha asked you as she plaited your hair. Your mother laughed at the question as she watched Morgan crawl around the bed with her array of toys.

“I don’t want to think of names,” you said, lowly as you nervously rubbed the growing bump. You noticed that you had forgone fiddling with your ring and had begun to rub your slowly rounding stomach when you became nervous. “What if it isn’t even born? I don’t want to be disappointed.”

Natasha gave you a sigh before nodding. She found that you had become quite the pessimist in the three months of the war. Though everyone tried to see the bright side of this situation, you had clung to the idea that everything would go wrong – as if you were preparing for the worst.

“Don’t think like that,” your mother scolded.

“I can’t help it.” You clenched your jaw before quickly unclenching it, thinking the tension in your skull could somehow harm your child. “Has anyone sent any word?”

“Besides the squire that vaguely reported that hundreds of died on both sides? No.” Natasha hummed as she finished your hair. “But you needn’t worry about the brutalities of war. You worry about taking care of yourself and that babe. Have you eaten? Shall I fetch you some food?”

“A lemon actually sounds delightful.”

Her nose scrunched up in disgust. “Just a lemon?” You nodded. “Alright then.” She chalked the strange request to pregnancy cravings.

“Oh, Natasha?” You called out. She hummed in response. “Perhaps you could also get me something sweet?”

“What a strange baby you will have.” She joked. “Strange, royal, and richer than anyone in Brooken. I’ll order the maid.”

You stood and walked over to your bed. Morgan had cooed at you, grabbing your hand and stuffing a doll into it. At such a young age, she had such a big personality – a common trait of Stark kids, your mother joked. She told you a story of how you always stuck your tongue out at diplomats and nobles when you were Morgan’s age – which nearly cost your father many trade opportunities.

You played with your baby sister, making up for all your lost time together. “You’ll be a great mother,” your mother said, suddenly. You smiled at her as Morgan became preoccupied in her own world. “You always took such good care of Harvey… and you took great care of Morgan when she was a newborn… You’ll be a great mother, (Y/N).”

“I hope so.” You smiled. “Perhaps, I should name my baby after Harvey? If it is a boy as Jean says.”

“What a lovely sentiment.” Your mother nodded.

“We can always conjure up a new name,” you smiled, rubbing your belly. “ We’ve got time.”

“Indeed, we do.”

Side note: I apologize that the gif depicts a woman with light skin. Please know that gifs/pictures used are no where near a representation of who the reader is/what the reader looks like.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six months into the war …

Steven fell to the ground, exhausted from the duel and bleeding from his wounds. Thanos had successfully ambushed their camp – a surprise attack that left the dramatically dwindled down army hopeless and scattered.

He had no idea where Anthony had gone off to when he decided that he’d take on the Mad King on his own. Unprepared for the sudden attack, the Mad King had the upper hand, easily overpowering Brooken’s king.

Steven could hear Thanos’s army approach. In that moment, it felt as if it were one man versus the entire south. Was surrender really an option? No. He didn’t want to surrender to this monster. He just wanted to rest, closing his eyes as he followed the tempting beckoning of death.

He suddenly heard a laugh ringing in his head. Vivid images of his wife flashed before his eyes. Memories of her – her eyes, the feeling of her lips, her skin against his, her smiles, her laughs, “I love you, Steven,” – all calling his name, begging him to come back to her – pushing him to stand.

So, the Brooken King’s eyes shot open and slowly, he got up, refastening his shield to his arm to stop the bleeding from the large gash. Thanos raised his eyebrows with a sense of respect – whatever was driving this northern king must be something worth living for. And to Steven, you were.

“You want to do this?” Thanos taunted from across the field. He gestured to his army. “Are you sure, Rogers?”

Before Steven could respond, he felt the ground rumbling. Thanos’s brows furrowed as he felt the same vibration. Steven turned around and couldn’t help the relieved smile as he saw hundreds of horses approach. Allies from around the continent and even the world – from House Danvers to Wakanda’s reputable armies – all gathered together to take down one enemy.

The battle was long and well fought. Stark and the rest of the soldiers rejoined the battle. Everyone with one mission: strike Thanos down.

Swords clattered against swords and shields. Horses and people were slain. Bodies fell like leaves in the autumn. Steven had again exchanged blows with the Mad King – Thanos ultimately, rendering the Brooken King unconscious with a hard blow with the hilt of his sword.

Thanos raised his blade up, ready to separate the king’s head from his body when another sword stopped the attack. Anthony Stark’s sword hovered over Steven’s unconscious body, deflecting Thanos’s attempt. He lifted his sword up with so much force that the Mad King stumbled backwards.

“Stark.” He spat.

“Made a promise to get him back to his wife.” Anthony Stark shrugged. “I don’t like breaking promises.” Thanos cocked his head to the side with a menacing smile. “Look around you, Thanos,” he gestured to the carnage. Many of the bodies were of Thanos’s men. “You’re losing.”

“Are you making an excuse not to fight me?”

“I’m giving you a chance to surrender.”

The two men circled around each other with their swords drawn.

“Never.” Thanos snapped as he swung.

The clanging of their blades rang out throughout the entire field. It drowned out the other duels around them. Both drawing blood and taking turns giving one another fatal blows.

Steven had only come to when Anthony kicked Thanos’s sword away and plunged his sword through Thanos’s chest. His vision was a bit blurred but quickly cleared as he blinked furiously.

“Surrender.” Anthony seethed, kicking the Mad King to his knees. “Surrender.”

Thanos held his head in shame as he barked orders at his army, telling them to lower their weapons. Steven stared on as Thanos’s men hesitantly followed the order. The field was silent. Had Anthony did it? Was the war finally over?

“You win, Stark,” Thanos smiled, teeth bloody. Steven saw the man’s hand slowly reach behind him. His eyes widened as he tried to warn his friend, but it was too late. With the last of his strength, Thanos sheathed the sharp dagger into York’s king. “If I go, you go with me.”

“Tony!” Steven screamed. He ran towards them. With no hesitation nor remorse, he raised his sword and beheaded Thanos where he kneeled. He caught Anthony before he fell to the ground. “C’mon, Stark, stay with me.” He pleaded. He looked at one of the Danvers knights and ordered her to get a physician though he knew the attempt to save his friend was futile. Steven slapped Anthony’s cheek lightly as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Steve…” Anthony muttered. “Steve…”

“I’m right here.”

“Tell (Y/N) …” He trailed off, struggling to catch his breath. “Morgan… Pepper…” He heaved. “I love them all…” Anthony had a sad smile on his face. He was leaving York in his eldest daughter’s more than capable hands. Though he knew his wife would be devastated, he knew he was leaving them with no impending threat of a Mad King in the south. “Take care of ‘em, okay, Rogers?”

“I swear to you – on my life, on my marriage – I will.” Steven nodded. Anthony gave him a small smile and a nod before his eyes became unfocused and glossed over. Steven called his name three times – his voice breaking at the third and final time.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Month 7 – one month after the war.

You were emerged in the crowd, hidden behind the hundreds waiting for their loved ones returns – though many may be disappointed and heartbroken. You prayed you were not one of them.

You were far along your pregnancy, too big to hide the swollen belly. The midwife told you that you had a little over a month left, still very adamant that you had son.

You craned your neck over the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of the approaching men. Natasha gasped as she let go of your arm, rushing through the crowd and into her husband’s arms. You smiled as they shared a tender kiss. When they parted, James glanced your way – you saw the sympathy in his eye and your heart dropped. Your husband was nowhere to be found and the way his best friend looked over at you did not ease your fears.

You clenched your jaw before pressing your lips into a firm line. Tears pricked in your eyes. Your mother’s free hand – the other preoccupied with holding Morgan up – rubbed your arm, comfortingly. You turned to head back inside the castle. You had no intention of crying in front of the entire country, but then your mother’s grip tightened slightly, keeping you in place. You frowned at her before following your eyes.

Relief quickly flooded through you. He was battered and bruised, limping as he walked, but he was alive. You hurriedly cut through the crowd – though as their pregnant queen, your people practically parted to give you way.

“Steven!” You gasped, running up to him.

He stared at you in disbelief. You were glowing in the sunlight – a true vision. But it wasn’t your beauty that baffled him. It was your rounded belly. His eyes watered as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you into a long-awaited kiss. And after seven long months, you felt as if you could finally breathe again.

Foreheads pressed together, he nudged your nose with his a happy grin on his face. “You’re pregnant.” He whispered. You nodded – you felt so much joy in that moment you were sure your heart would combust. “You’re pregnant.” He repeated, breathlessly.

In the weeks that followed, you were in a whirlpool of mixed emotions. With putting your father to rest and trying to piece together what was left of the north, you were exhausted – not to mention heavily pregnant.

Though, it became easier to shoulder all the responsibilities now that your husband was finally home.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

His paced anxiously as he waited outside the bedchamber doors. He wanted nothing more than to be in that room with you, but the midwife told him it was not customary that the husband be inside.

Steven winced when he heard your scream. The pained shriek would probably haunt him more than his war flashbacks. “IT HURTS… IT HURTS.” You repeated like a mantra. “SOMETHING IS WRONG.”

Steven couldn’t take it. He pounded on the doors. Natasha had cracked it open, but he pushed through it, almost knocking her down. He rushed to your side, your hands desperately grabbing each other. “What’s happening?”

“Something’s wrong, Steven,” you wailed, shaking your head against the pillows. Your face was wet with tears and sweat, and your anxiety was through the roof. “He’s – he’s dying.”

“The queen is losing too much blood, your grace,” Stephen Strange informed him.

“Get him out.” You begged. “Godfather,” you croaked, pleading, “if it comes down to me or the child, choose the child. Do you hear me?”

“No.” Steven snapped. “I will not lose you.”

“Steven…” you cried. “Brooken and York need this heir to survive.”

“But I need you to survive,” Steven pleaded with you. You shook your head, jaw trembling as you cried in pain. “Whatever happens, you save her, Strange. Do you understand me?”

“I – “

“As Brooken’s king I command you – “

“I think you forget that I am of York and she is my queen first.” Stephen frowned at him. “You may be her husband, but she is my queen and I follow her orders.”

Your godfather went to grab surgical instruments and Steven sent a glare his way. “Touch her and I will kill you.”

“Steven…” You whined. He turned his head to you, worry written all over his face. “I love you…”

“Don’t – “

“No, no… I need to tell you that.” You whispered. “Please, say it back.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” He said. His voice was barely above a whisper as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “(Y/N) – please…” His heart dropped when your eyes rolled back, losing consciousness as you succumbed to the pain.

“I have to operate, Steven,” Strange told him. “She ordered me to save the child.”

Steven didn’t pay him any attention as his grip on your hand tightened. “(Y/N),” he called. “I know you can hear me.” He choked back his tears. “You can’t die. Please don’t leave me. You’re strong – probably the strongest person I know. You can do this. I know you can do this. C’mon…” You were unresponsive, eyes rolled back, and your chest had stopped rising. “My love, please… If I lose you, I am left in the darkness. I will not know how to recover from this loss. Please come back to me, (Y/N). Please.”

You suddenly gasped, regaining consciousness as you sat up. “C’mon, (Y/N),” your godfather prompted as the midwife peered beneath the blanket that covered you.

“Your grace, we need you to push,” the midwife told you.

You screamed through clenched teeth. You grabbed Steven’s hand so tightly his went numb and turned white. “One more, big push, your grace!” You did as you were told, pushing through the pain in muffled screams.

And then the room was filled with a triumphant screeching of a newborn. You slumped back against the pillows, breathing heavily as the umbilical cord was cut and the child was cleaned and checked over.

Steven kissed your temple, whispering praises to your ear. He was relieved that you were okay – that you were alive.

“Queen (Y/N), King Steven,” Strange smiled, cradling the crying baby in his arms. “You have a son.” You reached out for him and your godfather gladly placed the baby boy in your arms.

His wails instantly calmed as he rested against your heart. You smiled down at the red-faced child whose eyes were fluttering close. Steven stared in absolute awe. “We made him.” He whispered to you. “You made him.”

You bit your lip. “Edward Harvey Rogers?” You suggested.

“Edward.” Steven tested, smiling. “Your father’s second name.” You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Edward,” you cooed to the child.

“As have I,” Steven whispered. You turned to smile at him. He leaned in and pecked your lips before you turned back to take in the beauty of your child.

As you admired the baby boy, Steven admired you, his queen – his wife.

It had been a long, treacherous journey to get here. He had stumbled through the darkness for far too long, but here you were – a beacon, a promise of happiness and a bright future.

The Queen of York and Brooken, the Queen of the North – the Queen of his heart.

The Queen who brought him joy – who brought him a child.

The Queen who brought him light.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #King!Steve Rogers x reader #King!Steve Rogers #King!Steve Rogers imagine #chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america imagine

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all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years

Text

Prometiste.

summary: when a relationship starts breaking, previous promises are broken too.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: pure angst! Is a sad one :(

a/n: I got inspired by my favorite song to write this piece, this song is very dear to me and i loved how this turned out. Let me know what you think of it, please! (btw, the title translates to ‘you promised’)

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･

The distance can make people grow closer, or it can break them apart. When the second happens, the results are two people with a broken heart and a lot of problems unresolved.

In the beginning, things were great. Harry would pick Y/N up at the airport every time she would go visit him on tour. He’d have her attached to his hip all the time, grabbing a chair for her to sit and watch him rehearse, put her on his lap while his hairstylist was doing his hair, going straight to her arms after every show and going straight to their hotel room to make love to her just like he knows how to.

When her time to leave would arrive, he would beg her to stay just a little more, claiming she was his lucky charm and needed her with him at all times. He’d never say goodbye, simply because he didn’t like that word. He’d much prefer to leave a kiss at the top of her head and make her promise she’d come back soon.

And every time she kept her promise.

Six months passed since Harry began his tour, and in every visit she made she’d notice him more distant, and even if she didn’t want to admit it, she could feel how he was slowly slipping through her fingers.

He’d no longer make the trip to pick her up from the airport, he’d tell her to wait in his dressing room until the concert, leaving her alone for hours without any sort of explanation or sight of regret. She started to feel more like a baggage, an intruder.

Regardless of how she felt, she decided against talking to Harry about it. It was obvious he was stressed, so she sat and watched in silence how the love of her life slowly changed into a person she didn’t know anymore.

Suddenly, she found herself starting looking forward to saying goodbye instead. The question of why she was still wasting her money on plane tickets to see a person who didn’t even look happy to see her was a real enigma, but she still did it anyway. No matter how many text messages Harry would leave on read, or how many unanswered calls landed on his phone, she still loved him and had faith this would only be temporary.

The tour finally made its stop in London, and the reason why Y/N was looking forward to this particular stop, was because Harry had a week long break before his next show. Which meant he was going to be completely free from any obligations, and his mind would finally be stress free.

He hasn’t been sending her many messages lately, but he did tell her his plane got delayed and he’d arrive later than expected. She took the extra time to cook dinner at his house, as a welcome gift.

Harry’s flight was supposed to land at 6 pm, however, it was already nine and he hadn’t come to his house yet.

Y/N got worried and sent him a couple of messages asking him about his whereabouts but he was yet to answer. So she insisted. She was tired of being ignored.

However, after finally receiving an answer from Harry, she immediately wished she didn’t.

Can you stop being so annoying?

Y/N felt as if someone ripped her heart from her chest as tears immediately threatened to spill out of her eyes. Dozens of questions started to run through her mind, still having trouble at understanding the situation.

She contemplated her options. She could either leave, or she could stay and wait for him to come home and one and for all demand an explanation of his behavior. She chose the latter.

So she sat on the couch, looking directly at the flat screen hanged on the wall even though it wasn’t even on. She flinched when she heard a jingle of his keys, following from his footsteps.

None of them said anything as Harry approached her, sitting beside her on the couch in complete silence. He sighed.

“I don’t think this is working anymore, Y/N” He whispered, turning to look at her. He caught how one single tear fell off her left eye, not answering him. She swallowed the rest of them though. “There’s so much going on right now, and I had to make a massive readjust of priorities…”

“And I suppose I didn’t make the cut” She interrupted him. Harry took a deep breath. “Did you stop loving me?” Finally turning to look at him, Harry’s heart break into a million of pieces when he saw her, bloodshot eyes from containing her tears. Harry shook his head. “Then what happened?” she almost begged. “Because it looks like you did and you’re just lying to me to make me feel better”

“I haven’t stopped loving you, never will” he confessed. “I thought I could balance it all. Tour and… well, you. I haven’t been a good boyfriend and you deserve someone who puts you first because… because I can’t”

“I know I’m not perfect, I was certain that my place was next to you. And I tried to keep my promise, I really tried, Harry” She couldn’t contain herself anymore as she started sobbing.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest, allowing himself to also cry. He felt how Y/N’s tears stained his shirt, but he didn’t care. She tried inhale Harry’s essence as she felt like it was going to be the last time she’d be able to do it.

“I know you did, I do” He started kissing the top of her head multiple times. “This is on me, baby. Is all on me, I’m sorry”

She pulled away from his chest, whipping her tears only to receive new ones. “You could’ve spared me so much time of uncertainty, you know? If you didn’t want this anymore, then why you didn’t say something sooner?”

“I… don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to accept it was time to let you go”

Y/N’s lip started trembling. Deep down she knew Harry just didn’t love her anymore, and although that thought hurt, she would’ve preferred hearing that rather than a really vague excuse. She needed to get out of the house, otherwise she’d collapse.

She stood up abruptly, starting to look for her purse. Harry panicked, standing up from the couch as well. “Please don’t go while you’re like this”

“I don’t want to stay, Harry” she choked a sob. “I really need to go, please” she begged. Harry looked unsure, but he still let go of her arm he didn’t even realize he was holding.

So he watched grab her purse and leave. In that moment, Harry knew he was making the biggest mistake of his life, one that he’d forever regret. But even if he already knew, he still did it anyway.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･

Y/N cried until there weren’t any more tears to spill. She woke up the next day with a wet pillow and a broken heart. At first, she thought it was all just a bad dream, but memories from the night before passed through her mind and a new wave of tears came.

She felt like her whole world was falling apart, suddenly feeling lost and… empty. Her chest felt empty. And it was because her heart didn’t belong to her anymore. Harry had it.

And despite he knew he held her heart in his hands, he still broke it.

Or perhaps he forgot he had it.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten something.

Y/N just wanted it all to end. The ache in her head and in her chest, it was becoming too much to handle and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

After spending her whole afternoon in bed staring at the ceiling, she came to the conclusion that in order to stop her soul from aching further, Y/N needed to erase the past three years of her life from her mind.

It was an impulsive decision, but she didn’t realize it until she was in front of Harry’s front door with a couple of duffel bags in the back of her car, waiting to be filled with all her belongings.

Harry wasn’t home, of course he wasn’t. He had a concert to do. He had a career and a life that was waiting for him, and Y/N wasn’t part of that anymore.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the bags and entered the house with her spare key, feeling sad about thinking it would be the last time she’d use it. She placed the key in the table beside the door and headed upstairs straight to Harry’s room.

A wave of memories invaded her mind. Times where they were happy, times where being in love was the only thing that matter for them.

His room. A place Y/N loved but now was bittersweet to stand in. She placed her bags on his bed, allowing her palm to touch the white sheets and closing her eyes for a second.

His bed. Where thousands of promises were made through soft whispers and tender touches. She remembered how Harry would promise her it would always be them against the world, how he bowed he’d never leave her alone, loving her until the end of times, through thick and thin. No matter the situation, it’d always be just them. Just Y/N and Harry.

And she, being her, believed him blindly.

It seemed like Harry forgot all those things along with so many others. Along with the fact that today would’ve been their fourth year together, not that it mattered anymore.

Once her bags were full, she let herself have one last look at the room that used to be her favorite room in the entire house. She took out the promise ring Harry had given her a year prior, letting it rest on his nightstand.

Just like last night, Y/N had two options. She could either leave now, or she could stay and wait for him for one last goodbye.

And this time, she chose the first option, and didn’t look back.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction

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gffa · 4 years

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ALL RIGHT THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG, BUT BEAR WITH ME. I rewatched all of The Clone Wars recently and it was a great way to look at both the details of each episode and get a sense for the bigger arc, because I was watching them all at once, both The Wrong Jedi arc and the Protocol 66 arc, the latter of which I think is super important to the context of the former, especially because they are right next to each other in the course of the series. Here’s the thing that surprised me the most about this arc: Ahsoka immediately didn’t trust anyone when she was framed. She instantly went on the run instead, she never tried to contact any of the other Jedi, not the Council, not even her own Master. She immediately ran and never put her trust in anyone else. I don’t know that this was the narrative intention, I would almost put money on that it’s probably not, but sometimes in writing characters when you’re true to them and how they would react, unintentional themes will rear their heads and be just as important. Now, she’s not necessarily wrong to have done this, because we’ll see Fives does trust in the system and he’s murdered for it anyway. Would Ahsoka have turned out the same? Possibly, she’s definitely not wrong about the system being stacked against her. But ultimately its not her own efforts that save her, but Anakin’s investigating as her Master. Possibly not, she doesn’t have a chip in her head that leads straight to Order 66 and Darth Sidious himself making sure she absolutely has to die. Oh, he wouldn’t have minded, but it wasn’t his direct goal. Ahsoka has a right to feel wary, because Anakin didn’t go visit her while she was in jail. Anakin’s right, they absolutely would have used it against her, it would have made her look even more guilty, and he was trying to give her the absolute best shot possible. This is almost assuredly the same exact reason the Jedi don’t go visit her after she’s expelled, because they do protest the entire way and a huge point is made about how she needs to get a fair trial, that the Senate is forcing them to expel her so that the Jedi won’t be accused of not taking this seriously, because they’re in a war and sedition/treason is an incredibly huge deal. And that’s also the thing--it’s easy to say that they should have stuck by Ahsoka (and I don’t disagree, they don’t disagree, they directly apologize to her for all of this!) but it’s still true that the Jedi were absolutely railroaded here. They worked to keep this a Jedi matter, but Tarkin and the Senate said that it involved the deaths of clones and Republic citizens, so she had to face a Republic trial. This is brought up like four separate times over the course of the arc, that the Jedi do not really have jurisdiction here. (And, yes, they did try to keep her there--that’s the whole point of showing Tarkin forcibly strong-arming them and saying what they believe doesn’t matter. That’s the whole point of Mace saying, “Let’s hope we can keep her here.”) This is also why the Protocol 66 arc is so important--Shaak Ti practically breaks her back trying to get Tup and Fives to the Jedi and she is roadblocked at almost every single turn or else plotted against behind her back to literally kidnap them away from her. She argues that they have jurisdiction here as Generals in the war, but the Kaminoans argue right back that the clones belong to them, and then the Chancellor’s office gets involved and there’s even less chance to get them to the Jedi, because the Senate’s involved now and what they say goes more than anything. Further, these two arcs are important as bookends to each other in two really important ways: 1. Each of them has a moment where the fugitive is finally caught. Ahsoka dives down into the lower levels of Coruscant to evade capture. Fives makes his case to Shaak Ti, who says she’ll take this seriously. They both ask a Jedi to trust them, but one turns himself over and one goes on the run. Again, who’s to say if Ahsoka made the better choice, because she is the one who lives, but Fives was basically dead the moment he started looking into this, no matter what. The point isn’t the outcome, but more that the Jedi don’t just throw him to the wolves, they fight to take this seriously and fight to find out the truth.

2. The cases against Fives and Ahsoka have some really fascinating parallels in that they’re both accused of a murder they didn’t commit (against Letta, against the Supreme Chancellor) and there’s footage of them running/seemingly attacking others along the way. This is important because, if you strip away the context of what we, the audience knows, Ahsoka looks incredibly guilty. There’s footage of her apparently choking Letta to death.

She runs away from the Jedi from the moment she’s set-up, even not trusting her own Master. She refuses to turn herself in or even contact them to tell them her side of things. There are dead clones in the path she takes out of the detention center, which appear to have been killed by a Force-wielder. She’s seen working and escaping with a known Separatist terrorist--because they have no way of knowing that Ventress has broken with the Separatists. Ahsoka herself says, in this arc, that she never saw her and Ventress working together, showing that it’s pretty hard to believe even when you’re in the middle of it, much less from the outside!

Eventually, she’s found and captured, while in possession of the very nano-droids that were used to blow up Jackar Bowmani in the Jedi Temple. If you take out the context of us seeing Ahsoka’s reactions and how she put these pieces together (which no one else in universe would know), it isn’t just the frame job that makes her look guilty, but that her own actions contribute to the way this looks from a distance. The evidence that piles up is really damning, that it’s not just one or two coincidental things, but an entire case against her! But they know Ahsoka, they have to know she couldn’t have gone to the dark side like that! And that’s why the beginning of this arc has a line that’s so easy to miss but it’s so important:

“There are many political idealists among us.” “But a traitor?” “I’m afraid one can eventually become the other. Remember Count Dooku and General Krell. That’s how they started too.” This has already happened before, that someone they thought they could trust turned out to be capable of terrible things. This entire arc cannot exist without the context of knowing that there is a Jedi in the Temple right now who is betraying them, that if Barriss had been in Ahsoka’s position for all of this, it would be entirely possible that she would have acted the same way from an outsider point of view. And how easy is it for us, even knowing that she absolutely is guilty, before we watched the end of this arc, to go, “But Barriss would never do that! I cannot believe she would have fallen so far!” It also cannot exist without the context of another important thing--and this was a deliberate detail put into the episode, as Dave Filoni comments on in one of the featurettes for this arc, how they deliberately had Anakin chasing her, because it was a moment of foreshadowing for Darth Vader to be chasing a Jedi down. Darth Vader looms over this arc in a way that deepens the context. Darth Vader, who is right there and the Jedi are trusting him, too. Trusting him to be impartial when looking into whether a Jedi was behind the bombing. Trusting him to be impartial when chasing after Ahsoka: Mace: “I think it would be best if Skywalker stayed here. Having you involved may actually make things worse.” Anakin: “Master Windu, with all due respect, she is my Padawan.” Mace: “The reason for you not to go.” Obi-Wan: “I think we're being foolish if we take Anakin off this mission. Who knows her better?” Mace: “He's emotionally tied to her. Probably too emotional to do what needs to be done.” Anakin: “I'd rather capture Ahsoka and find out the truth then let her run because of a lie.” Yoda: “You must prove to us that you will stay focused. Can you?” Anakin: “I've already alerted security on the lower levels to be on the lookout for Ahsoka.” Yoda: “Go swiftly then, Skywalker, and bring back this lost child before it is too late.” The point is that it’s incredibly hard to know who to trust, it’s easy to say with an omniscient point of view of the entire story and 20/20 hindsight, but they have concrete examples of people who have betrayed their trust before, so it’s entirely reasonable for them to recognize that someone else may betray them, too. That talking to them and showing that you’re willing to extend trust, that you’re willing to do this with a clear focus, is what gains their trust. And, yeah, for all that the context of Darth Vader is hanging over this arc, it’s also true that they’re right to trust Anakin in this moment. It’s his actions that save Ahsoka and bring the truth to light. As a fun bonus, this is all while the Force is so clouded with the dark side that Mace already said way back in Attack of the Clones, at the start of the war, that their ability to use the Force is diminished. The psychic stress that must put on them (as people who can feel the entire weight of a planet on their minds), that the normal non-psychic stress of being in a war that there are too few of them and they’re dying in it is already pushing them to their limits, including that the dark side is hampering their ability to cut through the fog, it’s reasonable not to blindly trust people. Baby Darth Vader being right there is a giant neon flashing light pointing to this. They want to treat Ahsoka fairly, but she isn’t giving them anything to work with, because she doesn’t trust them, either. Which is why I keep coming back to that line she says when she leaves Anakin and the Jedi, her reason for doing it: “Why are you doing this?” “The Council didn't trust me, so how can I trust myself?”

Earlier, she says, “I don’t know who to trust!” Then she begs Anakin to trust her. And ultimately she doesn’t know if even she can do that. Because trust is at the heart of this entire storyline. The opening quotes reflect this very nicely, too: 5.19 – Sometimes even the smallest doubt can shake the greatest belief. 5.18 – Courage begins by trusting oneself. 5.19 – Never become desperate enough to trust the untrustworthy. 5.20 – Never give up hope, no matter how dark things seem. An interesting note from one of the featurettes as well is that, originally, Ahsoka was going to rejoin the Jedi Order and that was going to be that. They changed their minds because the opportunity to do something else with Ahsoka was more tempting. Which says to me that this wasn’t an arc about exposing a fundamental eventuality, but instead about a far more complicated situation. Again, Ahsoka’s not entirely wrong or right in the way she goes about this. We can’t say for certain what would have happened if she’d trusted other people, all we can say is that she didn’t trust any one when she ran, that ultimately that she doesn’t feel she can trust herself by the end of it and Anakin was the one who finally cleared her name, not her own efforts. That she shows incredible fortitude for not giving in to the dark side, even when she was isolated. By the same token, the Jedi aren’t entirely right or wrong in the way they go about this. I do think they should have visited her, even though Tarkin would almost assuredly have used it against Ahsoka to make her look guilty, but to say that they just abandoned her and never tried to help her, that they totally betrayed her when she was clearly so innocent, that they never even said sorry--that’s incorrect, too. Both sides were right and wrong. It’s easy for us to feel for Ahsoka because we love her and her goodbye is incredibly heartbreaking, it’s so easy to trust her when we’re shown all the scenes of how this connects together and we see her reactions, that the story trusts us to let us in on her side of the events that happen. It’s so easy because she feels very vulnerable and she was a victim of a really shitty situation. It’s so easy because this is an incredibly harrowing experience for her and she stayed true to the light through it, through her own resilience. But stepping back from those feelings, hard as it was for me to do, let me see that Ahsoka failed in some important ways as well as that the Council failed in some important ways and that's why she herself decides that she needs to go figure herself out on her own, away from the Council and even away from Anakin, who was the one that always believed she was innocent and trusted her. Because it wasn’t just about other people, it was about her and her own actions. I had all of this put together just from watching these two arcs, but then I started watching the story reels, including, “In Search of the Crystal” where Obi-Wan and Anakin have a conversation about Ahsoka leaving and Obi-Wan says, “I will grant you mistakes we made but she chose to leave. Part of the Jedi way is not letting emotion cloud your better judgement. And that's precisely what Ahsoka did. Even in her most critical moment.”

Not too long ago I was watching the featurette for “The Lawless” where Dave talked about Obi-Wan (more in the context of how he cannot embrace the dark side) and how the events were written to show that he’s a true Jedi, that he sticks to the bigger themes of Star Wars, which that’s how Dave sees Obi-Wan. I was reminded of that, in that Obi-Wan is, for all that we give him shit about the “from a certain point of view” line, actually a really reliable narrator when it comes to emotion and how it can cloud a Force-sensitive person’s mind. Obi-Wan’s right, especially because it’s pretty easy to make the inference that he’s one of the Council who voted in favor of Ahsoka, that he believed in her, even as he recognizes that her emotions clouded her judgement. Even in her most critical moment. And when I went back to do my rewatch of The Clone Wars and these arcs, that became a lot clearer when I stepped back from my own emotional reactions to how much I love her and think she’s an incredible, good-hearted, kind, and compassionate person. Because even the best of people can be both wrong and right at the same time.

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #mace windu #jedi order #meta #long post #really long post

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lucky4in · 3 years

Text

Magic Interferes in New Orleans

Prompts from Piccadilly's book #3

Words used: ☆matriarch ☆throat ☆impossible ☆vinegar ☆apology ☆slice ☆microwave ☆raspberry ☆choose ☆snore

God! I can't take it. The dread is killing me. I'm losing all the blood in my fingers with how tight I'm squeezing the steering wheel. The honking around me is not helping. I can feel everyone's fear collectively as we sit in agitated traffic. Stress. Fault. Jitteriness. Indifference. Panic, panic, panic.

God, I hate being an empath. I can't even hear my own thoughts. I need to breath! Yeah. Take deep breaths. I'm not far from the U-turn lane. So what if traffic is moving 1 millimeter a minute? The storm can't be faster.

Hooooonk!

Beepbeep!

I have to get out of this situation before I have a sensory overload.

From my front and my rear, I'm surrounded by vehicles. I can't move back, I'll hit someone. I can't move up, because they'll think there's space to move and I'll be more stuck than before. Looking to my right I realize the road across the gate is fairly empty. That last car I saw go that way was 40 something minutes ago.

I gulp loosening my grip from the wheel but still holding it firmly in my palms. Taking a breath I turn the wheel and step on the gas. My car races through the grass and crashes though the metal gates. With a screech, my tires are finally rolling and I'm off. Towards the dark clouds like a fool running blindly into a lions den.

When I finally catch sight of the curling palm trees and the flying debris, my weariness is replaced by anger. We had a plan. A simple schedule. Prepare emergency food, water, and medicine, flashlights and documents, locate nearest shelters, fill up gas tank, clear the yard, and turn off the power. When the evacuation order is set, I would be too far away at the time, so my husband would get the kids from home and we...would...evecuate.

Evacuate.

We would meet at the nearest shelter with our separate cars...

Unfortunately, my...sweet...dearest mother decided to take it upon herself to pick up the kids herself...and NOT evacuate. Instead, she wanted her grand babies to feel safe during the storm and cook them a nice meal...at her house.

I almost had a heart attack when my husband said they weren't there. Instead, a note was attached to the fridge reassuring us that my elementary school kids, including a baby, did not infact disappear off the face of the earth. She wants them to feel less threatened and stressed over this "flood nonsense". Make it seem like a regular thunder storm.

Except it's not a thunder storm! It's a hurricane!

I told my husband not to worry about it, I will get the kids and be ok. The hurricane is suppose to be a bad one, the weather man said. Anything left undemolished by the storm by the end of this would be a miracle. Hopefully it won't be my sanity. I swear, she's impossible.

By the time I get to her house, the streets are flowing with water and clawing up her driveway like waves at a beach. I step out and my shoe kerplunks into the water. I groan, feeling my ears eject hot steam. I stomp onto her porch with a squish, squish, squish and jam the key into the lock.

I kick the door open and slam it shut, my anger seeming to accelerate as soon I step inside. I cringe a bit, noticing my youngest asleep on the couch.

"DON'T SLAM MY DO-" my mother sticks her head out through the kitchen doorway and spots me.

"-Oh, hi baby!"

I stretch a tight smile, coaxing my child back to sleep. "Hello, mother."

"You came just in time. I just need to get a few things done before we eat."

And there she is. Like always. Not worrying about a thing while marinating apple cider vinegar on peices of pork. Probably to slice into the-

Sniff, sniff.

-gumbo. Her calm persona was infuriating. Almost insulting.

"Too bad my son in law couldn't be here. He'd love to stuff his face with the beignets" she continues.

"He's at the shelter. Kinda like we're suppose to be" I say, honey tounged and all "which begs the question..." I lean in, my palms face down on the table. "Why aren't we there right now?" I sneer, bringing my voice down.

"Because there's no need to. You know that" she says simply.

"Maybe in your case, but not mine. You just felt entitled to do things your way. Like you always do. I had everything under control and-and you had me worried."

"You know nothing was going to happen to these kids. I knew nothing was really wrong."

"If you really felt so aloof about this, you should have stayed yourself. You can't just up and take my kids like that. We've talked about this."

She finally looks at me, turning away from her task. "I should be free to see my own grand kids whenever I want to."

"I would have probably excepted that, if we weren't in the middle of a god damn hurricane-"

"Momma! Momma look!"

I was interrupted by my two children excitedly telling me that a pie was on the way. All while showing me their hands, proof of a raspberry massacre. Animated. Passion. Triumph. Pleasant. I ruffle their heads with a quick "good job" and they ran off together. Their happiness almost cures my frustration. It does calm me down a bit though.

"Is is so much to want to keep your family safe" my mother asks.

Aaaaaaand its back.

"Is it so much to just listen to me? To just let me do things my way? I am in no less danger than you are just because I dont have the same... tools that you do."

"It looks like it puts you in a lot of danger if you have to evacuate the city. You could simply come here so momma can protect you."

"That makes me look like a normal person, mom. The streets are already flooding and a ton of people just saw me go the opposite direction. I look stupid and suspicious." I'm taken back to my teen years. Having a similar conversation with my mother. "Not everything can be solved with your protection. I can make my own decisions. But instead you undermine me and tamper with everything around you. Just because I dont have it, doesn't mean I cant keep my family safe or simply be a mother. How about, for once, you let mother nature do her job."

"Your father made this house with his bare hands, rehydrating himself with his sweat. No one is touching this house. Not even Cosmo's or Gaia or whatever." She huffs and turn away. A puff of steam emerges over her head, indicating she opened the pot of Gumbo.

"Well, when your the Matriarch, you can start making the rules around here."

Realizing an apology isn't coming, I groan restricting myself from wrapping my hands around her throat. Its silence between us, as there is after every altercation. Especially when the house is mentioned, cause it's always Papa's house. He passed away before I could even learn to speak his name. Mama always told us about Papa. How she met him, how he put her on her feet and built a house for her (it was told he even built the bricks holding this house up), how his devotion to his family and the love of his life lasted until death did them part.

"What makes you think I'm going to be the next Matriarch?" I ask, slipping in the kitchen chair.

"You will. It's a family tradition that you need to uphold. And you are the only girl conceived by me." She answers, this sounds almost rehearsed.

"Why don't the others take your place?" I ask, for the millionth time.

"It's only rare that a boy has ever been in place of a woman. And once a girl was brought in, he was removed immediately."

"If it's that simple then crown them and get it over with."

"Oh, do you think it's that easy"? She quizzes, slowly turning to me.

"Knowing you, probably not."

"Hyde is much more coordinated than that. If they really didn't think you were worthy, we would have known, but I always knew you were special."

Here she goes again. Hyde,, is supposedly the person that gifts the family with magic, life, and girls. It's the spirirt who thrones and dethrones us. No matter who we are. According to mom, the next Matriarch could be good or bad, Hyde has a plan for them in the end.

Along with Papa's stories, Hyde was always directed towards me because I was the only girl, excluding my half sister. Truthfully there was no way to know if Hyde was actually real. I'm not even sure if my parents have seen it. Mom would tell me tales at night of different women throughout our generation, chosen by Hyde and how I would be like them someday.

Perfect.

"Hyde doesn't give you this gift for no reason" mom reassures "they always have a plan. You can't see everything in a negative light. What if Hyde chooses Clio and you-"

I stop her at the mention of my youngest name.

"I'm not putting that responsibility on my kid" I say sternly, though It probably won't matter what I tell her "Especially if, no offense, she ends up like you. Completely dependent on Hyde's gift. IT didn't give me any when I was born, like the rest of you, and I'd like it to stay that way."

Silence once more.

"Perhaps you're afraid-"

"I'm not afraid-"

"-its okay."

"-Of this imaginary ghost."

"Sure, keep believing that. But when it happens~" she sings.

"When it happens to me, pigs will fly" I sneer, memories of that same sing song tone prodding at me.

She says nothing.

"Just let it go mom, it's just not meant to be. I'm not a child that you can hide under your wings when hail comes. However your gifts came to be, Hyde, the house, whatever, it must've skipped a generation."

She continues to stir. She sputters "but-but the family-"

"-The family doesn't know what's best for me and neither do you. I know I'm the only daughter to the Matriarch. I know I wasn't born with any gifts like my siblings. I know refusing my path makes me an ungrateful child and Hyde will handle me" I say reciting what I also heard throughout my life "But that's not my life. And I'm not defenseless."

She freezes. More silence.

"And, I mean, it's not like having voodoo is easy. It consumes you and it messes a lot of things up. This worlds order and the next."

"That's what the council is for" my mom mutters finally.

"Oh, right. The council. The same family who's just as dependent as you. Do you even remeber a time where you haven't used your gift and actually did things yourself?"

...

"Don't you ever think of letting go of this life? Doing things for yourself and not the family? Hyde? Papa's house? I notice how this changes you as you age. If this is the answer to our problems I wouldn't mind the sea taking this house away for a while-"

"Mama! Mama!"

"Wow, look."

I follow my kids voices and they seek for me, a glimmer of wonder and awe in there wide pupils. My 2 boys are pointing to the window in the living room. My sleeping child is now up, standing on her toes to see what her brothers are looking at.

As I begin to walk In the living room, they're rushing back to the kitchen. I take a peek and see a part of the lawn, including my rental car but the road and the neighborhood is gone. A large amount of visible debris is covering up the world around-

No.

That's not debris. That's not wind.

I follow my kids. They've opened the screen door and ventured into the back yard. I race after them and stop in my tracks. The water barrier has followed us to the backyard. My kids are screaming and dancing in the sprinklers as the hurricane is trapping us in its second eye. The oceanic barrier is circling around is, refusing to touch the property. With my kids instructions I look up, the sky is dark above us like it's the dead of night, yet inside the barrier, its murky like a cloudy day.

I can't concentrate. Excitment. Curiosity. Shock. Chills.

I sigh as my daughter wobbles to me and I scoop her in my arms. I can see it now, worst hurricane in 6 years and the Crobitt house still stands. This is similar but not related to the instance when a pair of swings at the run down school across the house seemingly froze in the air a few years ago... CIA is currently investigating...

I gather my children inside, they were starting to go towards the rushing ocean and who knows what'll happen. I shut the door with a defeated sigh and sulk at the table. The beneits sit gracefully with their powder sugar and I worship it by stuffing it in my mouth.

"I told you..."

I look up. My mothers eyes are glowing that familiar bright green and she has that devious smirk on her face. She always gave me that look as a child as if she's trying to tell me something. That, or it's to prove something, which I still dont know. I dont think I ever will.

"...you're father built this house. No one is taking it from me..."

...

"Now, elbows off the table."

-------

If you like to write or be creative, perhaps you need inspiration, go check out this book! Its the best!

#neworleans #magic #voodoo #hurricane #Matriarch #tradition #fantasy #gumbo #raspberrypie #spirit #writethestory #writer #writting #piccadillyinc #originalpost

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

alternative assignment.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

The brass calls in a specialist from the legal department, and she just so happens to be Aaron's new wife.

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

“We’re at a dead-end, here. It’s been two days and we haven’t learned a damn thing.” Morgan threw the file down on the table and leaned back in his chair, squinting at the photos pinned on the board.

“Let’s not go that far yet,” JJ said, crossing to Hotch’s side. “There has to be something here.”

They stood in front of the board, looking for anything they must have missed. Spencer was pouring over the separate cases and autopsy reports for the third time, his notebook slowly filling with information.

There was some kind of commotion at the front of the precinct, and Hotch pressed a hand to his forehead, his mouth tense.

“I’ll see what’s going on out there,” he said with a sigh.

“Probably nothing good.” David’s chirp from the corner of the room almost made him smile, but the stress of it all was eating at him.

When he walked out, he found the fresh and rested face of his new wife, her badge out and go bag in-hand.

“What are you doing here?” He tried to keep his query neutral, but he was so relieved to have his other half on this case with them. She was a gifted profiler, and only left the BAU to pursue a relationship with him. Worth it.

“Don’t look so surprised, Agent Hotchner. ” Her eyes flashed with humor, but her face was neutral and professional. She was mocking him, and he knew it. “The brass sent me.” She looked around. “Where’s the unit set up? I’d like to brief you all.”

Aaron suppressed the urge to smile and roll his eyes, pressing forward past the curious local officers and taking the bag from her hands. It was rare that the legal department interfaced with the bureau’s operations, but not unheard of. He led her back into the conference room, where he held the door for her and closed it behind both of them.

“Y/N!” The chorus of joy from the team made her smile, and they each took turns embracing her and pressing loving hands to her hands and shoulders.

Aaron hung back, enjoying the reunion. Her position in legal usually allowed her to pick Jack up from school and stay with him when Aaron was out on a case, but it kept her away from their BAU family much of the time.

When they all recovered from the excitement, Y/N asked everyone to take a seat. Aaron sat beside her, squeezing her thigh under the table before focusing on the task at hand. She continued setting up her space even with the heat creeping into her cheeks.

“This city is trigger-happy with lawsuits.” Y/N tossed a copy of a file to every member of the team, detailing every instance of the city filing against, well, anything and nearly everything. She did her best to avoid Aaron's subtle appraisals of her form as she moved about the table, however much she loved them.

“What’s their deal?” Emily’s furrowed brow covered her scanning eyes as she flicked through the pages.

“We’re not sure,” Y/N answered. “The director called me in to make sure all our bases were covered, and to ensure someone on the legal team was prepared to answer questions regarding the scope and structure of FBI involvement in the case.”

“And they sent you because of your experience with the BAU and profiling, right?” Spencer closed the file and looked up, already finished reading it in its entirety.

“Exactly.” Y/N grinned and bumped Aaron’s shoulder with her own. “And I guess they thought I hadn’t seen enough of your unit chief after our three-week vacation.”

Aaron rolled his eyes with a small smile and said “Alright, that’s enough. Everyone get back to work on this and I’ll brief Y/N on the case. Split into pairs and revisit the crime scenes. Anything you find may help us build a coherent profile”

Everyone rose and scattered, grabbing keys and bags. Before long, the newlyweds were alone in the conference room, staring at the board. “Hi,” she said, hiding a smile.

She saw the corners of his mouth tip up before he began to walk her through their findings so far, “accidentally” brushing hands every once and a while. He took her on a tour of the precinct, but it was mostly an excuse to slip somewhere quiet and make out like teenagers.

As his lips forged a path from her collar to behind her ear, she thought back to the early days of their friendship. If someone told her she would one day straddle her unit chief's thigh in a rural police department's utility closet, one hand wound in his tie and the other in his hair while he did obscene things with his hands, she would have sent you to a psych eval.

+++

It was day seven and they were still struggling to find a suspect that fit the profile.

That aside, the team found a good amount of humor hiding the Hotchners’ relationship when necessary, as Y/N was still going by her maiden name on her official documents. Unofficially, the BAU and legal departments referred to the pair as the "Agents Hotchner," and calling for "Hotch" had both heads on a swivel.

The local police force had already taken notice of Y/N’s friendly and open nature, and she took to liaising freely, with her easy smile and a ready laugh. They’d even gone so far as to ask after her personal life after overhearing a couple of early-evening phone calls from Jack. (Yes she was newly married, yes she has a step-son, yes her husband’s incredible, etc. etc. etc.) She was warm where Aaron was removed, gentle where he was terse.

Dave was at the records desk with one of the administrators Y/N had grown to know rather well, discussing the general function of the BAU as they searched through pertinent city records.

“We’re like a family. It helps us work together well,” he said, and it was the truth.

The young woman laughed. “Have there ever been any office romances?”

“You’d be surprised,” Dave said through a laugh. “Most people transfer out, but we actually have a married couple on this case.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

Dave nodded, "It doesn't usually happen, but she has a specific skillset pertinent to the case."

His eyes strayed to the conference room, where Y/N and Aaron were bent over the same set of photos and reports. They were almost cheek-to-cheek as they leaned in to read. Any outsider would see an intensely focused, cohesive, and trusting pair, though they might miss the matching wedding bands on their left hands and the different photos of the same three-person family on their personal phone wallpapers.

The administrator looked around at each of the profilers scattered around the room, taking stock.

“Any ideas?” Dave sat back and watched her evaluate each member of the team.

“Not even a little,” she laughed.

Dave gestured to Y/N and Aaron with his pen, who had moved from the table to the board, pinning new photos and noting new discoveries. They were like magnets or planets in orbit, anticipating the needs of the other and working seamlessly as one unit. As Dave watched, she began to reach for a pen, and Aaron had one ready for her, pressing it into her palm. Aaron stepped back and watched as she moved things about on the board. They never said a word, but their ease of communication was clear to anyone watching.

“No way.”

Dave nodded, a smile on his face.

“But he’s so....” Her brow furrowed, unable to find the right word for Aaron’s serious and no-nonsense affect. “And she’s...”

“Someone had to melt that heart, right?”

+++

The team retired to their respective hotel rooms following the arrest of the unsub (the roommate – Spencer’s first hunch).

Y/N collapsed on the bed, face down. She felt the bed sink beside her, and she blindly reached for Aaron, who laughed and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her until she dissolved into breathless laughter. He was without his tie and blazer, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“It was good to have you back with us, however temporary,” he said.

Y/N smiled. “Did you hear what happened today?”

Aaron raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue.

“One of the women in the precinct today simply couldn’t believe we were the married ones.”

Aaron laughed out loud, and she thought it must be the best sound in the world. “Really?”

“Are you surprised? I mean, have you seen us?”

Aaron’s eyes softened, and he pulled Y/N closer to him, tucking her head under his chin. She felt, as well as heard, his words rumble through him.

“I love you. You’re the best mom and the best partner.”

She tipped her head up. “Show me.”

He grinned wolfishly and rolled, trapping her under his body with both of her hands caught in one of his over her head, his mouth following his other hand unbuttoning her blouse.

It was safe to say, the entire hotel knew which pair of agents were the married ones by the early hours of the morning.

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine - thought y’all would like this one :)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch #criminal minds x reader #tali writes fanfiction

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sunflowersseemhappy · 4 years

Note

Since Halloween is coming up, how about main 6 reacting to a werewolf! Mc?

Gods I’m a sucker for werewolves, I was torn between which kind of werewolf to use, I went with werewolves that just went from human to looking like a larger than normal wolf (under the full moon and during stressful situations). Highly intelligent but still quite wild and animalistic, a heritage earned through bloodlines the werewolf in question does not remember what happens that evening unless they have trained themselves to.

I had a bit of a block but I might come back to this over my Halloween holiday. But for now I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist!

Asra

The type of magic affecting a werewolf is old and powerful, and is magic that Asra had never come across until he met you.

At first Asra believed it to be some extension of your usual magic, it was all he ever saw those first few months of getting to know you.

Slowly his curiosity faded, but...

Every full moon you would give half an explanation about closing the shop, and every full moon that primal magic would be assault his senses.

He grew to worry every full moon and the times you became so stressed you ran off and he didn’t see you for days.

The third full moon that passed Asra came to the shop, feeling that same primal magic raging inside, he couldn’t bear not knowing anymore.

He forces the magic seals on the door open and it slams shut and locked behind Asra, he can’t see anything for the darkness except...

Large unblinking eyes, level with his own and laser focused on his face, what lurked in the dark approaches slowly.

Growling as Asra’s magic produces an orb of light in his hand the creature strides toward him all the same.

Into the light of the spell Asra casts stands the wolf, twice as tall as any normal wolf and bathed in magic.

The same primal magic you exude. Your magic...

Asra can see it in your eyes, it’s you, you’re there.

You are the primal, wild thing of myth, a hushed whisper. A werewolf.

Asra reaches to caress your fur, and you let him, even keening into his touch as he scratches your chin with a wry laugh.

You’re unsure of what this means but Asra’s not afraid and that's the start.

Nadia

Truth be told you didn’t look like you belonged in the shop let alone the palace when Nadia first met you, in fact you seemed uncomfortable.

The only place Nadia saw you belong was the woodlands of the palace grounds, comfortable and in your element, belonging in that moment.

She preferred it like that.

One night, a full moon, you are caught out by time, realising too late your mistake and excusing yourself to the room Nadia gave you.

An hour later Nadia comes to check on you, for what reason there is none but a niggling at the back of her mind and the sound of a smash.

She’s in the room within a moment and in the dim light of the lanterns she sees the large shape struggling to pull it’s head from a top, your top.

All thought leaves Nadia and she dashes to grab the sword hanging from the wall, her hand encircling the hilt.

Just then she’s knocked down and to the side.

Large paws pin her shoulders and press her down, snarl ripping from the giant wolf’s throat as it towers over her.

Recognition flashes between the both of you and in an instant your paws are off her chest, propelling you toward the balcony where you glance back at Nadia staring at you from the floor.

She cries out for you to wait and like its a command to a obedient dog you pause, ears flicked back and whining.

Part of you wants to run from Nadia, ashamed but as she shakily approaches and calls your name you can’t bear to leave her like this.

Nadia’s hand breezes over your snout as she kneels and looks at you with silent promise.

You start to feel more comfortable in the palace after that.

Julian

Something about you made Julian extremely nervous, he liked you, maybe that was what made him nervous, but there’s something else to it.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, he had had plenty of people size him up the way you were doing so, or maybe it was because you complained about his alcohol breath when he had only had one drink.

Maybe its a magician thing, Asra always gives him those funny looks too.

Though that didn’t explain the breath thing...

The two of you are walking back to the shop that evening when you are cornered by men in the alley flashing knifes to your chests.

Julian doesn’t really think before he leaps to your defence, putting himself in harms way as the stranger leaps for you.

Blood rushes in your ears and you loose sense of the world, then it comes tumbling back behind new eyes and a wolf is leaping to Julian’s defence.

Julian watches the wolf knock one man into the canal, and for some reason he shouts a warning as the other stabs at the wolf. In a flash of teeth the wolf sinks its jaw onto the man’s arm and hurls him away.

Gone is the threat but when Julian moves the wolf lets out a startled snarl, halting abruptly at the warning Julian stares at the wolf. It stares back.

When it doesn’t move, Julian dares to glance behind him, you’re not there.

Despite the wolf Julian scrabbles to his feet and shout’s your name, the wolf’s ears prick up in response. Just like his own dog used to do when he called her name.

With more confidence Julian says your name again the wolf advances snuffling his face and sneezing when it smells the alcohol on his breath.

That is too familiar to be anyone else.

Muriel

When you first met Muriel he was struck by how comforting you felt, like Inanna and the forest, one and the same with both those things.

But you were still a person, not matter how comforting you are scars of the past take longer to heal.

But maybe that is how he came to trust you so quickly.

Its the first evening you haven’t bothered... come to visit Muriel in a while.

He’s trying not to care but you’ve always been so keen to spend time in the forest with him and Inanna and missing an evening must mean something has happened.

He tries not to think of it as he collects firewood under the full moon, Inanna snuffling at his heels as he does so.

The howl of a wolf has been calling across the valley, long and alone, each time Inanna has keenly listened whining under her breath.

A flicker of movement and there stands the biggest wolf Muriel has seen, standing silhouetted on a rock and looking straight at him.

Corse fur and sinewy limbs, a giant creature that stands almost to his shoulder. Inanna barks in greeting, her tail wagging as she trots over unafraid.

Muriel tenses as their noses meet, but there is no aggression or fight in the large wolf as if greets Inanna and then looks questioningly at him.

The gaze beckons him forth and Muriel approaches as the wolf leans to snuff at his face and nuzzles his jaw where his scar sits.

Like a kiss, your kiss, the one you use when you say hello or goodbye.

That means... things seem to make sense now, that comfort has been a part of his whole life because you are exactly the same.

You’re the forest, a wolf, a person. Everything he trusts.

Portia

Upon you meeting Portia she suddenly felt much smaller than usual, and for once she didn’t feel like making a snarky comment which was uncomfortable... but more so she was curious.

But she never found a reason to not trust you, or a reason for how uncomfortable you could make her feel sometimes.

Soon enough she accepted it.

Its early evening as you help Portia tend the garden, grabby little plants who underestimate the strength of humans pulling them up flail around.

You’re pulling at a particularly strong unmoving plant as you work but you could have sworn this one had had some vines protecting it earlier...

Portia turns at the sound of a yelp of pain to see you wrapped up in thorny vines, you wriggle as they pinch into your skin and let out a snarl.

So guttural and animalistic Portia halts from grabbing her shovel to help you and watches as your body changes in the grasp of the vines.

As your eyes change you look startled at Portia as she witnesses the arrival of the wolf inside, body growing so large the vines can no longer contain the wolf and its free.

Despite the thorns on the vines the wolf rips into them and digs up the plant in such fury that it flies from the soil.

When the wolf turns panting and bloody, Portia takes a step back, but seeing the blood and dirt and the exhaustion on the wolf... no your face she slowly approaches.

Her hand buries itself in your fur and you let out a low grumble, glancing to the trees as if looking for an escape.

It seems you both make each other feel small and for once its a good thing.

Lucio

To Lucio you exuded power and authority, more with your stance than anything else but he found it wildly attractive and intimating.

That’s enough to make Lucio feel like he has a type, but who knows you could work out unlike his former marriage.

But there’s more to it than that; you seemed not unlike the demons he had met and in the beginning there seemed to be some power to have.

A full moon sits bright in the sky that evening, your reminder of the clock ticking down and that you need to escape Lucio’s chatter.

But he keeps pulling you back to hang out in the garden, he’s engrossed in story upon story as you quickly excuse yourself, bolting into the forest.

Lucio thinks its some kind of game, but either way it can’t hurt to follow.

So he does racing after the sounds of your movement blindly and calling teasingly as he whips his head around to look for you.

And all of a sudden he walks into a glade and smashes into the body of something, he thinks it you and laughs before it dies in his throat.

A wolf glowers down at him, taller than him with a maw of sharp teeth and glinting eyes. Lucio stutters as it shakes out its fur and looks almost expectantly down at him.

Lucio stands and goes to unsheathe his sword but the wolf lets out a whine, pinning its ears and looking shockingly guilty.

But there’s something different about this beast, even Lucio knows that and... a glint of gold around the wolf’s paw.

It lifts it up as Lucio looks at it, a bangle of gold sits there. A gift he had given to only one person.

All of a sudden Lucio realised what made you so intimidating.

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aliciameade · 4 years

Text

“Roll Again”

Author: aliciameade Rating: E Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Beca decides to bring home an adult novelty dice game.

This one goes out to @asimplefavors for their generous donation to the @ppfandomdrive! Thank you for your support!

Also on AO3

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Beca says through a giddy laugh.

She doesn’t consider herself to be a prude, not in the slightest. But until Chloe, the people she’s had sex with—all of them men—didn’t really trigger anything particularly adventurous in her. It was always fine. Nothing to write home about. She didn’t really get why Samantha on Sex and the City (which she was forced to watch by Stacie when they were in college) was always going on about sex being so amazing.

And then, through what she considered coincidence and Chloe considered fate, she and Chloe had, after so many years as friends, just...ended up in bed together one night. They hadn’t been drunk. No one was under emotional stress over a break-up or a fight with a [non-existent] partner. Beca had gone to Chloe’s house for dinner as was commonplace and in the middle of their wheezing laughter while watching the wildly inappropriate Sausage Party, Chloe had leaned into Beca’s personal space and said, “Is it okay if I kiss you right now?” and Beca had said, “Yeah.”

That was a year ago. They hadn’t looked back, and Beca gave up her apartment to move in with Chloe.

And Beca finally learned that sex could be really, really great.

It had been her idea. She’d tossed the small box containing a dice game prompting various sexual positions and acts onto the table over dinner as if she was handing Chloe the mail. Chloe had asked if she was joking or if it had been a leftover gag gift from someone’s bridal shower at work.

“No, dude!” Beca sighed. “I just thought it would, you know, maybe be fun. It’s dumb. You hate it.”

She reached to grab it, intent to toss the game in the trash but Chloe snatched it away before she could. “No, I love it. We’re playing it right now.”

“Now?” Beca had to drop her fork because Chloe had grabbed her hand and yanked her right out of her seat to take her to their bedroom where Chloe promptly emptied the pair of dice into her hand to toss them onto their bed.

“Let’s get naked first,” Chloe said, already stripping. Beca had nodded and followed suit until they were pulling the covers down and climbing into bed.

It took three rolls of the dice to get past things like kissing the other’s neck and sharing a dirty thought for Beca to roll a prompt to tie up her partner. She’d looked up at Chloe from the result with both excitement and trepidation; she’d never tied up Chloe. She’d never really been the one in charge in the bedroom, and the dynamic suited both of them just fine.

That’s not to say her heart didn’t start racing at the possibilities that came with Chloe, for once, being at Beca’s mercy instead of the other way around.

“Can I?” she asked, well-aware of how eager she looked.

Chloe was already biting her lip when she looked up from the dice. Her lip slipped from her teeth as she nodded. “Definitely.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Beca says through a giddy laugh. Beca leans in and kisses her hard before scrambling off the bed to dig through their dresser drawers for something to use. She finds a light blue scarf rolled up in the corner of one of Chloe’s drawers and snags it only to be stopped in her tracks at the sight of Chloe already lying down with her hands casually, yet so purposely, clasped above her head.

“I’m waiting,” Chloe says, and it’s obvious to Beca she is trying to hide the excitement in her voice.

“Sorry, yeah,” Beca replies, hurrying back to climb back into bed. She’s hesitant at first; they’ve only done something like this a few times and their positions have always been reversed. And it’s not like she’s never straddled Chloe’s waist before—she’s done that innumerable times. But something about doing it for this, so she would be able to put something around Chloe’s wrists to restrain her, makes her second-guess herself.

“Hey,” Chloe says softly, “it’s okay.” Always one to know what Beca was feeling; she loved that about Chloe.

Beca huffs and leans forward to unfurl the scarf and figure out how to weave it around Chloe’s notably compliant wrists and one of the rails of their wooden headboard. “Right, yeah.” It wasn’t as easy as she’d expected; she has to tie the knot much tighter than she thought she should because the soft, thin fabric kept loosening. She’s so focused on it that she doesn’t expect to feel Chloe’s lips against the curve of her breast.

“Oh, okay,” she says through a shallow gasp and with an unintentionally firm tug on the knot that is answered with a quiet moan from Chloe.

“It’s good, it’s good.”

“Is it too tight?” Beca asks, sitting upright out of concern that she’d hurt Chloe. She wasn’t ready for the sight, Chloe’s hands bound above her head, tied to the bed and her concern was all but erased. “Fuck.”

“I’m fine.” Chloe’s breathing seems to have quickened just as her face looks a bit flushed.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Beca says through a giddy laugh. The apprehension is fading quickly thanks to Chloe’s reassurance and her own steadily increasing arousal.

“It’s fun,” Chloe agrees with a smile and a pointed tug at her restraints. “And it’s my turn but I can’t roll.”

Beca had all but forgotten about the game; her mind had moved on to other things, such as what to do to or with Chloe in her current position. “Oh, right.” She twists around until she finds the dice in the bedding. “Guess that means I get to go again.”

“That’s cheating!” Chloe says with a pout.

Beca just shrugs and tosses the dice onto the mattress next to Chloe. The results of the throw make her blush and her hesitation to announce what’s come up gets Chloe’s attention.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“It uh—” she has to stop and clear her throat, “says to touch myself for five minutes while you watch.”

“Oh, my God.” Chloe’s hips try to move with Beca’s answer but they’re hindered by Beca’s slight weight sitting on her. “Please do it. Let me watch you, baby.”

That is something she’s done before, just not as a solo event. If Beca’s doing it it’s because Chloe is also doing it but this...this means putting on a show.

“Okay, yeah,” she says, thinking about how she wants to do it but then decides her current position sitting astride Chloe is about as perfect as it could be. And if Chloe’s excited about watching her, then… “You can watch me.”

She can see the excitement in Chloe’s face and slight tension in her arms as if she wants to bring her arms down and touch Beca herself.

But she can’t.

The power Beca has over her is suddenly clear and her confidence, usually reserved for things like telling narcissistic recording artists they aren’t as good as they think they are, soars. She lifts her hands from where they’ve been resting on Chloe’s ribs to her own breasts, cupping them firmly without further conversation about it.

She feels Chloe’s reaction more than she sees it, her hips tilting and they lift Beca slightly in turn. She teases herself because it’s immediately clear that this is something Chloe is into. Her fingertips trace around her own nipples which quickly harden from her touch, and the way Chloe’s eyes track her hands’ every move only fuel her desire to perform, to turn her on, to make her wet.

“Just like that,” Chloe says, her appreciative gaze hot on Beca’s skin.

“Like this?” Beca lets her left hand trail down her ribs and stomach until she stops just short of slipping her hand between her legs.

Chloe’s nod is quick; her desire for Beca visible.

But Beca’s hand changes course, instead just running down her thigh and slowly back up. “Not yet.”

Chloe’s jaw is suddenly clenched as her eyes snap up to Beca’s. “Beca.”

Beca smiles; the power is positively euphoric. “What?” Her hand makes its way back to the breast it had just abandoned and she can’t help the soft sigh that leaves her lips when she tugs on her own nipple.

“That was my roll you took, you know.”

She tilts her head at Chloe, not sure where she’s going with this. “And?”

“It should be me touching myself for you.”

That thought pierces into Beca’s mind and it makes her hips buck at the mere concept.

“Exactly.” Chloe’s hips roll, too. “So show me how you’d want me to touch myself for you.”

Beca hesitates, but only because she’s almost overcome with arousal.

Chloe’s voice is low. “Show me how you’d want me to fuck myself.”

“Fuck,” Beca whines, hating herself a little bit at how easily Chloe’s able to take back the control that Beca will later wonder if she ever had at all. It makes her left hand drop straight down to push between her thighs, fingers automatically splitting to slide along the sides of her clit to discover just how wet she’s become.

She’s able to keep her eyes open just long enough to see the way Chloe’s watching, eyes fixated between Beca’s legs, and how Chloe’s bound hands turn so they can wrap around the railing she’s tied to. She uses it for leverage and her hips roll so deeply up into Beca that it presses Beca’s hand harder against herself, and that’s what makes her eyes fall closed.

Her right hand, the one previously tending to her breast, falls blindly. It hits Chloe’s chest and Beca splays her fingers to press against Chloe for her own leverage and balance as she starts riding her own hand. She’s so wet that her fingers slide into herself with embarrassing ease and the obvious sound that she’s being filled and squeezing every time her hips lift, aided by the rhythm Chloe’s setting.

In her mind, their roles are reversed. She’s tied to their bed, begging Chloe to touch herself, watching as Chloe leans back to let Beca see better as she rubs her clit. She’s the one feeling wetness dripping against her thighs from how turned on Chloe is and she’s the one pulling at her restraints desperate to get her hands on Chloe, and she’s the one begging Chloe to make herself come.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Chloe’s voice leaks into her fantasy and as amazing as the fantasy was, the reality is so much better. It makes Beca’s eyes flutter open and Chloe’s arousal is so obvious, eyes dark and face flushed and nipples so hard it makes Beca slide her hand over to grasp at her breast while she rides herself on top of Chloe. “I wanna taste you. Baby, please.”

The request makes Beca groan, as does the loss when she drags her hand from between her legs to offer her soaked fingers to Chloe. Her lips part as soon as Beca’s fingertip brushes her lip and Beca watches with awe as Chloe draws Beca’s fingers, one at a time, into her mouth, groaning as she does it. The feeling, warm and wet as her tongue moves over and between, sends her other hand back between her legs.

She widens her stance so she’s more stable and though she’s less coordinated with her right hand, it still makes her moan as she grinds her fingers against her clit while she watches Chloe suck arousal off her fingers. She’s close; she knows she can make herself come at any time, now, but she wants to wait. What started as a game has spiraled into something else that Beca’s not ready to finish yet.

Her fingers finally slip from Chloe’s lips and before Beca can take another breath, Chloe says, “Sit on my face.”

The demand—command—is so direct that it actually makes Beca’s racing heart skip a beat. Five minutes ago (Ten? Twenty? How long has it been? She doesn’t know.) she would have hesitated, second-guessed herself in some way or wasted time being unnecessarily self-conscious.

But now, she just nods and leans forward to grab the headboard to pull herself forward until Chloe’s face is between her legs. It’s up to her to lower herself, to give Chloe what she wants—what they both want—and she teases them both, running her hand, the one Chloe’s just finished sucking clean, over herself. She’s so wet and swollen and Chloe hasn’t even touched her yet; she knows she’s about to be ruined and the anticipation and Chloe’s moan of impatience make her wetter still.

She knows she’s dripping; she can feel it when she takes her hand away to offer it to Chloe again, watching with rapt attention as she sucks Beca’s fingers clean.

Chloe’s not nearly finished but Beca finally runs out of patience. She pulls them away and tilts her hips and lowers herself and watches, jaw dropped, as Chloe’s tongue slips out, flat and wide, and waiting for Beca to place herself on it.

When she does, they both moan, though Beca is louder.

She fully expects Chloe to take over but she doesn’t; she’s perfectly still and staring up at Beca, finally quirking an eyebrow to make Beca take a hint.

Chloe wants Beca to take what she needs.

“Oh, fuck,” Beca says with a groan as she tilts her hips back and rolls them forward to drag her cunt over Chloe’s tongue.

Chloe’s answering moan is rough and heavy through her parted lips as Beca lets herself start riding her tongue. She has to lean on the headboard for balance but her right hand reaches down to thread through Chloe’s hair, gripping and almost lifting her closer as she starts to need more.

More.

More until she can’t watch anymore, head resting on her forearm along the headboard as she fucks herself with Chloe’s mouth. Her desperation is loud as is Chloe’s and Beca can’t get the words out in time.

She comes. Hard. Grinding herself down against Chloe that some tiny part of her still-working brain tells her is probably making it hard for Chloe to breathe but Chloe’s moaning like she’s coming, too, she doesn’t worry about easing back.

She’s shuddering, inside and out, until the ecstasy passes. Then she can ease up, not shoving herself into Chloe so wantonly, but she doesn’t leave. She’s too spent and Chloe’s tongue has started being an active participant, doing more than letting Beca grind herself to orgasm on it as she licks delicately at Beca, teasing her in ways that make Beca’s hips jump.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Chloe says while she does it and all Beca can do is sigh and shiver and lazily open her eyes to look down her body to see the way Chloe’s flick between Beca’s eyes and her pussy. It’s clear she’s still wildly turned on and that re-ignites Beca’s fire instantly.

She knows she should probably untie Chloe; her arms are probably sore by now. And though she’s not showing any sign of being uncomfortable, Beca doesn’t want her tied to the bed anymore.

She reaches down to tug at the knot that tied Chloe to the headboard to free it but leaves her wrists bound together. She likes Chloe this way, out of control. In control. Exchanging power with Beca.

“Move down,” Beca says as she lifts her knee to move off Chloe and sit on her hip for a few seconds to give her knees a break.

“What are we doing?” Chloe asks though she does as asked, smiling up at Beca as she works her way toward the center of the bed.

When she’s gone far enough, Beca stops her with a hand on her arm. “This,” she says as she gets back up and crawls forward until she’s straddling Chloe’s face again but this time, she can lean forward and part Chloe’s thighs.

“Fuck, I love you,” Chloe moans just before Beca feels her tongue between her legs again.

Beca lets herself feel it, just for a few seconds, before she’s sliding her fingers between Chloe’s legs. Beca knew she would be soaked, but it still manages to surprise her. She uses her fingers to part Chloe and leans in to let her tongue slip over her swollen clit, teasing it before she captures it between her lips.

Chloe’s hips buck up into her and she feels her moan against her own clit, and then she loses herself to it again.

To the way Chloe can make her feel. How she sounds. Tastes. How she’s struggling with her bound wrists but still manages to push three fingers into Beca to start fucking her. It’s deep and hard, and the way Beca’s lapping and sucking at Chloe’s cunt is anything but graceful but none of that matters.

None of that matters when Chloe’s moaning into Beca as they come together, soaking fingers and tongues and sheets until they’re calm and quiet again save for heavy breathing and hisses and gasps from aftershocks and teasing tongues probing for a reaction from the other until Beca finally lets herself roll off Chloe to collapse tiredly on her side, hugging Chloe’s right leg.

“That was so hot, Beca.” She feels Chloe’s hands, still tied, fall against her hip and feels lips on her knee. If she wasn’t so tired, she’d sit up and ride her for the third time.

But instead, she sighs heavily. “Fuck, yeah it was.”

She feels hands on her properly a few seconds later and she knows Chloe’s managed to untie herself. She doesn’t care, not when she’s watching with one eye open as Chloe’s freed left hand moves down and between her own legs to start touching herself even though she just came so hard in Beca’s mouth she can still feel the way her clit was throbbing.

The sight, so recently in Beca’s mind as fantasy while she had fucked herself, makes her moan and she feels pathetic at how easily she lifts her knee at Chloe’s nudging to let her back in, to suck on Beca’s clit again, this time while she fucks herself.

Beca’s so spent all she can do is breathe hard and hold on, watching from her front-row seat as Chloe’s fingers rub at her clit faster and faster.

She does find the strength, somehow, to reach over and sink two fingers into her, to give her something to squeeze, and the angle is just easy enough that she can pump them into her hard and fast to match the speed of Chloe’s fingers and tongue.

Beca’s so spent that her orgasm unfurls slowly, but intensely.

She can feel Chloe’s starting, the quick pulsing of her cunt around her fingers and it sparks her own.

It’s long. It’s deep. She knows she’s soaking Chloe’s face again as she watches Chloe soak her hand, arousal seeping out of her as she clenches Beca again and again in desperate, intense release.

When it’s over—finally, truly over—Beca lets Chloe push her away until she’s flopping onto her back to stare at the ceiling while she tries to catch her breath.

“Okay,” she eventually says through a sigh as she tilts her head down to try to meet Chloe’s eyes as she nudges at her leg. “I think it’s your turn to roll.”

The End

#bechloe #bechloe fic #fanfic #pitch perfect #ppfandomdrive #asimplefavors

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