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tqlepatiia · 2 months ago

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words we can’t take back | b. barnes

masterlist | pt.2

summary: after a mission gone wrong, bucky lashes out, leaving y/n hurt by his harsh words. now drowning in guilt, bucky must find a way to apologize before it’s too late, but y/n isn’t ready to forgive so easily. can he fix what’s been broken?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, emotional distress, heartbreak, toxic relationship dynamics, arguments, mention of mental health struggles, potential triggers related to emotional abuse, strong language, and feelings of inadequacy.

word count: 5.9k

The mission had been a disaster from the start. Tension crackled in the air, the kind that always seemed to precede trouble. Bucky Barnes felt it in his bones, a tightness that grew with every wrong turn. It had been a simple extraction, but when they walked into a trap, chaos erupted. The sounds of gunfire ricocheted around him, the explosions reverberating through his chest like a war drum, drowning out his thoughts. But when he glanced at you—his partner, his anchor—something twisted in his gut.

In the aftermath, the wreckage of what had gone wrong stretched before him. Bodies lay scattered, their lifeless forms stark against the smoky haze, and the acrid scent of burning metal stung his nostrils. You stood there, bruises marring your skin, and your eyes, once sharp and defiant, now dulled by exhaustion. Bucky had seen too much, been through too much, and the anger inside him simmered, ready to boil over. How could this have gone so wrong?

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice a harsh whip in the stillness. His jaw was clenched, and his glare could’ve burned holes into you. “You almost got yourself fucking killed, you know that?”

Your breath caught, heart sinking at the venom in his tone. “I was doing my job, Bucky. I thought you had my back.”

“Had your back?” He stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle taut with pent-up fury. The adrenaline from the fight morphed into something more destructive. “You’re a goddamn liability! You keep throwing yourself into danger like you can’t be hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?”

The words hit you like a punch, each one a jagged edge cutting deeper than the last. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you, suffocating. “I didn’t ask for a babysitter,” you shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. “Maybe I’m the one who should be questioning if you’re fit to be my partner!”

Bucky’s expression hardened, eyes narrowing like a predator’s. This isn’t just about the mission, he thought, grappling with the frustration of watching you walk into danger. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have to worry about saving your ass all the damn time. If I wanted to deal with this shit, I’d find someone who actually knew how to handle themselves. I’m sick of dragging you through every godforsaken fight!”

Every accusation felt like a dagger, twisting in the wound he had just opened. You could see the pain and anger simmering in his eyes, but it was all directed at you. “You think I wanted this? I’m not the one who fucked up in the field! I thought we were a team!”

His laugh was bitter, devoid of humor, echoing against the wreckage around you. “Team? That’s a joke. You don’t get to call it a team when I’m the one stuck cleaning up your shit. I’m done with it. You’re not my equal; you’re just a goddamn burden.”

The air grew thick with tension, and you fought back tears, the tremor in your hands betraying you. “Maybe I should just leave, then,” you said, voice trembling but defiant. “If I’m such a problem, why don’t you find someone who doesn’t drag you down?”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned away, trying to keep your composure, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back—a mix of anger and something softer, more vulnerable, that he refused to acknowledge. His heart pounded as the realization hit him: I pushed her away when she needed me the most. What the hell was I thinking?

As you walked away, the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, suffocating. Each step felt like a fracture in your heart, the distance growing more unbearable with every inch. Bucky stood there, feeling the echoes of his harshness fill the void where your connection once thrived. The realization settled in, and he knew this wasn’t over. How the hell do I fix this?

But as the dust settled around him, all he could feel was emptiness, a tidal wave of regret crashing over him, leaving him alone in the aftermath of his own making.

Days blurred together into an indistinguishable mess. The tension between you and Bucky hung thick in the air, suffocating, wrapping around him like a vice grip. He paced the empty halls of the compound, the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold metal floors mirrored the chaos in his mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, a relentless reminder of the moment that played on a loop in his head—the hurt in your eyes when his careless words had cut deep.

Memories flooded back: your laughter in the training room, the way you encouraged him during his darkest moments. He had crossed a line he never intended to, letting his anger spew out like poison, each word a dagger aimed straight at your heart. Guilt clawed at him, a beast gnawing at his insides, turning his stomach into knots. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, it felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of regret settling like a stone in his chest.

The silence of the compound was palpable, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. He’d find you in the training room, pouring every ounce of your energy into your workout, the fierce determination radiating off you like a fire. Your tear-streaked face haunted him, a ghost he couldn’t shake. You weren’t just a teammate; you were everything to him. The thought of losing you felt like ice water dousing his heart, leaving him gasping for air, desperate to rewind time.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam said one day, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, the faint scent of sweat and metal mingling in the air. “You good, or are you just gonna sulk like an old man all day?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky shot back, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, his eyes averted. He could feel Sam’s scrutinizing gaze piercing through his façade.

“Seriously, man, you think I can't see through that? There’s a damn storm brewing in that head of yours,” Sam pressed, his tone a mix of concern and teasing familiarity. “You gotta talk to her. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s like watching a damn dog chase its own tail—ain’t gonna end well, and I’m not about to sit here and watch you make a mess of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the weight of his guilt felt like chains wrapped tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. What the hell could he even say? The fear of facing you loomed larger than any mission he’d ever tackled—a monster lurking in the shadows, making him feel weak and exposed. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening, as he fought against the rising tide of anxiety.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to scream. He remembered how you had stood by him, even when the nightmares clawed at him in the night. You deserved better than his careless words, better than the pain he had caused. The metallic scent of sweat mixed with the lingering aroma of stale coffee filled the air, reminding him of the countless nights spent together, talking and laughing. Those memories felt like a beacon, drawing him closer to the confrontation he dreaded yet craved.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the wall, each step toward you heavy with uncertainty. His heart raced as he imagined your reaction—would you forgive him? The thought of laying his broken heart bare to you, the one person who meant everything, filled him with dread and hope.

As he approached, the distance between you felt like a chasm. He was ready to confront the mess he’d made, but the fear of your disappointment loomed over him like a dark cloud. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with a faint smile, knowing his friend was finally stepping up to make things right.

It was time to face the music, to turn back the clock on the mistakes he had made. The symbol of his guilt—the small, worn-out dog tag you had given him before a particularly tough mission—burned in his pocket, a constant reminder of the bond he desperately wanted to restore.

In that moment, he knew he had to find the courage to bridge the gap between them, to reclaim what was lost before it slipped through his fingers forever.

After what felt like a damn eternity, Bucky finally gathered the guts to knock on your door. Each knock echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you two. He stood there, heart pounding, fists clenched, feeling the weight of guilt that had settled in his chest like lead. Memories flooded his mind—your laughter during training sessions, quiet moments together in the compound, and the way your smile had once lit up even the darkest days. It all felt so far away now, a reminder of how easily he could lose it.

“Go away,” you called, your voice muffled but laced with hurt.

“Y/N,” he pleaded, desperation creeping into his tone. “I need to talk. Just… let me in, alright?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite grasp.

Silence hung in the air like a noose, heavy and suffocating. Each second stretched into an eternity, amplifying the tension until, finally, the door creaked open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your face—red and puffy from tears, eyes shadowed with pain. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you said coldly, arms crossed defensively, trying to shield yourself from the storm he had caused.

“I know. I messed up,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “And I can’t—” He faltered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I can’t take back what I said. I was scared, and I lashed out. You mean too damn much to me for that. Just… let me explain.”

You stepped back, letting him in but hesitating, your anger and hurt crackling in the air like static electricity. Bucky could feel the tension radiating off you, could see how you trembled with barely contained rage. The faint hum of the compound’s machinery buzzed in the background, underscoring the silence between you.

“Bucky, you can’t just waltz in here and throw around apologies like they’re candy. It’s not that fucking simple,” you said, your voice shaking as emotions boiled over. “Do you even get what your words did to me? They cut deeper than you can imagine.”

The memories of your last argument flashed in his mind—how he had yelled, how his words had sliced through the fragile trust you had built. He could still hear your voice trembling, see the hurt in your eyes. It haunted him.

“I know it’s not,” he said, voice rising as frustration bubbled to the surface. “But you have to understand—I never meant to hurt you. I was scared as hell of losing you. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I took it out on you. I thought I could keep you safe, but I fucking failed, and I can’t live with that.” He avoided your gaze, staring at the floor, ashamed of the turmoil he had caused.

You turned your gaze away, fury igniting. “You think being scared gives you the right to hurt me? Those words stick with you. They don’t just disappear because you suddenly want to make things right. You shattered something in me, Bucky, and you expect me to just let it go?” The air was thick with the weight of your words, each one a dagger aimed at his heart.

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. “I’m not gonna pretend this doesn’t matter. I want to make things right. You’re not just some partner in this crazy shit; you’re everything to me. I’m so damn sorry, Y/N.”

A heavy silence fell between you, thick with unprocessed emotions. Tears glistened in your eyes, anger mixed with pain as you struggled to hold back the flood. Bucky could see your fingers trembling, as if you were fighting against the urge to reach out for him, to seek comfort from the very person who had hurt you.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? Do you think that’s enough? You can’t just toss around ‘I’m sorry’ and act like everything’s fine! Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the person you love turn on you like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the truth of your feelings hit him like a freight train. It shattered him, the realization crashing down harder than any blow he’d ever taken. “I didn’t mean to fuckin’ hurt you like that. I—”

“Didn’t mean to?” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “But you did! You meant every single word when you said I wasn’t enough! It’s like a poison, Bucky! Every time I look in the mirror, I see your words haunting me!”

“Y/N…” he pleaded, stepping closer, but you backed away, shaking your head fiercely. The space between you felt like an insurmountable chasm, filled with hurt and distrust.

“No! You don’t get to touch me. Not after what you said. I don’t want your pity. I want my trust back! I want to feel safe with you again, but how the hell can I when you’ve torn me apart like this?” The pain in your voice twisted like a knife in his gut.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he begged, desperation bleeding through his words. “I can give you space. I’ll listen—just don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you.” He reached out, almost instinctively, but stopped short, respecting your boundary. The small bracelet you used to wear, the one he had given you, lay forgotten on the table—its absence felt like a symbol of the trust now shattered between you.

“Maybe… maybe I need time,” you finally said, voice soft but resolute, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how to treat me with the love and respect I deserve. I can’t be your punching bag.”

“Take all the time you need,” he replied, his heart sinking deeper. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just… I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears of a future without you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the moment hanging heavily between you. Bucky turned to leave, each step dragging him down like a lead weight. The distant sounds of the compound faded as he walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to scream, to punch the walls, to erase the hurt, but he knew he had to be patient. You needed time, and he would wait, even if it felt like forever.

As he walked away, the door closing behind him, Bucky felt a hollow ache settle in his chest—a deep emptiness that screamed for your forgiveness, for your presence. But he also knew he deserved the pain, the anguish he had caused. The only thing that mattered now was making things right, even if it took an eternity.

Days turned into weeks, and Bucky kept his distance, lurking on the edges of your life like a goddamn ghost. He was always there, a shadow in the background, never truly present, waiting for the moment you’d find it in yourself to forgive him. It was a tormenting cycle for him, hanging around the periphery of your world, the weight of his own mistakes bearing down like an anchor. He often caught himself recalling the laughter you once shared, memories of late-night talks and quiet moments that now felt like a distant dream. Those memories twisted in his gut as he watched you from afar, stealing glances during training, his gaze lingering near the kitchen where you used to share coffee and laughter, searching for a connection that felt like it was slipping through his fingers. But every time he made a move, the pain in your eyes sent him retreating, a constant reminder of the hurt he’d caused and the love that now felt so fragile.

One evening, the hum of the common room enveloped you, filled with the clatter of dishes and faint laughter from the team, but all you could focus on was the ache in your heart. You were scrolling through your phone, desperately trying to distract yourself when Bucky appeared in the doorway, hesitant and guarded. Your heart clenched at the sight of him—a mix of longing and sorrow flooding you, drowning out the world around you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, as if he was still wrestling with the demons of his past.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice flat, a careful mask of strength concealing the turmoil inside. You wanted to scream, to let him know how much his presence hurt, but part of you still craved the warmth he brought.

“Can we talk?” His words hung in the air like a fragile lifeline, one you weren’t sure you could grab onto.

You nodded, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. “Make it quick,” you shot back, your tone sharper than intended, trying to keep the emotions at bay.

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours with a desperation that twisted your gut. “I need to say it again—for everything. I know it doesn’t mean much after the shit I pulled, but I swear I’m trying to fix this. I’m really working on myself.” As he spoke, he clenched his fists, fingers digging into his palms, a physical manifestation of the guilt that gnawed at him. “I just… I can’t keep running from this. I need you to know that.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the pressure of his words weighing down on you. “I’m trying to work through it, Bucky. But I can’t pretend everything’s fine just because you say you’re sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, frustration cracking his calm facade. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to meet your gaze. “But you need to understand how damn much you mean to me. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t let that happen.”

Your heart ached at his confession, but anger flared within you. “You hurt me, Bucky. You can’t just wipe that away with a few nice words.”

“I know, I know! I’m fucking sorry, alright?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. “I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I lashed out. But you’ve gotta see how much I regret it, damn it!”

“Scared?” you spat, bitterness thick in your voice. “You don’t get to use your fear as an excuse for the pain you caused me!”

“Then what the hell do you want from me?” His voice rose, desperation lacing every word. “You’re acting like I’m a goddamn ghost! I’m right here, trying to fix this!”

“Because I need to protect myself!” you yelled back, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Every time I try to forgive you, you mess it up again! I can’t trust you when you keep hurting me!”

The silence that followed felt like a chasm between you, both of you breathing heavily, emotions spiraling out of control. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words crushing him. He thought of the little trinket you gave him once, a small metal star—a reminder of a bond that felt irreparably broken.

“I fucking hate this,” he admitted, his voice cracking, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix this. You mean everything to me, and it feels like I’m losing you more and more every damn day.” His gaze flickered to the floor, and for a moment, he was just a man haunted by his past, the soldier who had lost so much.

Your heart shattered at the sight of him, raw vulnerability spilling out. “You don’t get to say that after everything. You’ve made me feel worthless, like my feelings don’t matter. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you!” he cried, frustration and anguish battling within him. “I never asked for this! I just… sometimes I don’t know how to be better, okay?” He clenched his jaw, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Then you need to figure it out!” you screamed, your voice trembling with pain. “I can’t keep waiting for you to get it right while I’m left feeling broken!”

As your words hung in the air, the truth of your reality crashed over you both. The love you once shared felt suffocated by the shadows of anger and disappointment. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, hearts beating in sync but desperately out of tune.

Bucky stood there, shattered, eyes glistening with unshed tears, as you turned away, the battle within you raging. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unprocessed emotions, and for the first time, the thought of walking away felt more appealing than the pain of staying. But just as you took a step, a sliver of hope flickered in your chest—a feeling that perhaps this confrontation could lead to a path forward.

“Y/N…” he started, voice thick with heartbreak, but his words got lost in the chasm of hurt between you, leaving only a haunting silence in their wake. Yet somewhere deep within, the possibility of healing lingered, waiting for the courage to break through.

Weeks dragged on in the compound, each day feeling like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The faint hum of machinery surrounded you, a constant reminder of the tension in the air. Despite Bucky’s promises to change, shadows of his past returned, casting a gloom that enveloped you both. Memories of laughter and shared moments felt like distant echoes now, buried under the weight of unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. You tiptoed around him, hyper-aware that every little thing could set off alarms in your mind.

The moment of impact came like a bullet, unexpected and cruel. During a mission briefing, Bucky’s voice cut through the air like glass shattering.

“Why the hell can’t you just focus?” he snapped, eyes ablaze with fury that had nothing to do with you, yet somehow landed squarely on your chest. The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and metal, making it hard to breathe. “You’re not some damn rookie! You should know better than this by now!”

“Bucky, I—”

“Just shut the hell up!” he roared, the words echoing off the walls, raw and menacing. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the storm inside. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be!”

Each word felt like a blow, carving deeper into your heart. This wasn’t a new dance; it was an exhausting routine, and the suffocating weight of your shared history felt more unbearable than ever. You remembered the moments when he had opened up, how he had let you in, but they felt like faint memories now. “Maybe you should take a good, hard look in the mirror,” you shot back, your voice shaky with a mix of hurt and anger. “I’m not the one with the issue here.”

He glared at you, frustration boiling over, muscles tense, jaw clenched tight. You could see the flicker of his inner turmoil, the fear of losing you clawing at his composure. “You keep pulling this shit! It’s like you can’t see past your own damn feelings! Just focus on the mission for once!”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not your damn punching bag, Bucky,” you said, voice breaking under the weight of raw emotion. “You can’t keep exploding at me and expect me to take it like it’s nothing. I’m sick of this!”

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about the mission instead of whining about your feelings, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” His words cut deeper than you thought possible, and you recoiled as if slapped. You remembered the way he used to care, how he used to fight for every person he loved, and it stung even more to see him like this.

“I care, Bucky!” you cried, tears spilling over as you fought to hold it together. “But it’s hard to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly worried about when you’ll blow up at me next! You say you’re trying, but nothing changes! It feels like I don’t even matter to you anymore!”

For a moment, his expression shifted, a flicker of regret flashing across his face, but the damage was done. “You think this is easy for me?” he shouted, voice raw and desperate, filled with unfiltered anguish. “I’m trying to be better, but you keep dragging me back into this shit!” You could see the pain behind his bravado, the memories of his past haunting him, and it broke your heart.

“Don’t act like I’m the fucking problem!” you yelled, heart racing as reality crashed down around you. “I’m not the one who can’t confront his demons! You push me away and then blame me for not being there when you do!”

Pain flickered in Bucky’s eyes, the cracks in his stoic facade deepening. “You’re right,” he admitted, voice shaking, the weight of his confession crushing him. “I don’t know how to deal with this… how to deal with you. I’m scared shitless of losing you, and honestly, I don’t know if I can fix it.” The vulnerability in his voice was a fragile thread, hanging in the air, and you felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“Then maybe you need to sort your shit out,” you replied, heart breaking as you watched his despair unfold. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out while I’m left feeling shattered.” You recalled the shared moments, the promises made, and the weight of them felt unbearable now.

Silence fell, thick with the unsaid and unresolved. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, love suffocating under the weight of his rage and your hurt. Bucky’s shoulders sagged as he stepped back, the chasm between you widening, feeling more insurmountable than ever.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, anguish spilling over. “It’s killing me.” The vulnerability hung heavy between you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

His breath hitched, and he looked like he might reach for you, but the distance remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of everything that felt lost. Yet, beneath it all, a small part of you held onto the hope that one day, you could navigate the darkness together.

The clash felt inevitable, like a storm building for days, ready to break over the fragile space between you and Bucky. The tension in the air was suffocating, each breath heavy with unspoken anger and hurt. You stood in the middle of the training room, fists clenched, trying to hold yourself together. Across from you, Bucky stood rigid, muscles taut, his hands balled into fists. The weights he had been using moments earlier now lay forgotten on the floor, a sharp reminder of the growing chasm between you.

The silence was unbearable. Then, without warning, Bucky's voice cut through the room like a blade. “Can you just—stop fucking around? You think this is a game?” His voice cracked, but his anger was palpable, radiating from him in waves as he hurled the weights down with a force that rattled through the room, the echo reverberating like a punch to the gut.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of his words hitting you just as hard. “Maybe if you’d stop yelling for one second, you’d see I’m trying!” Your voice shook, barely holding steady under the pressure. You were trembling, the knot of frustration and hurt in your chest threatening to unravel completely.

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, you’re not trying hard enough!” he snapped, his fists tightening at his sides, knuckles white. His voice—usually so steady—was strained now, as though he was fighting to keep control. The anger in his tone felt like a punch, but you could see the tremble in his hands, the way his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

The sting of his words twisted in your chest. You could feel the pressure building in your throat, choking you with the weight of unspoken feelings. “I’m trying, Bucky. But it’s never enough for you, is it?” you said, the words tasting bitter in your mouth, laced with all the exhaustion you’d tried to suppress.

His face contorted in anger, but for a brief second, you saw something deeper flicker in his eyes—something haunted. You recognized that look. It was the same one he wore when he woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat, guilt seeping from every pore. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by his fury. “Get your shit together,” he snapped, voice low and intense. “I’m not your babysitter. You really think I can hold your hand through every goddamn thing?” His voice wavered, but he squared his shoulders, hiding the vulnerability underneath. “You want to survive? Toughen the hell up or get out of my way.”

“Then maybe you should just go!” The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and jagged, cutting through the tension. You hated how sharp your voice sounded, like a part of you was shattering with every syllable.

For a split second, his expression faltered—just long enough for you to see the crack in his defenses, the fear creeping in behind the anger. But the moment passed, and his face hardened once more, the distance between you widening.

“Enough is enough, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired of forgiving you just so you can hurt me again.” Each word felt like a physical wound, reopening scars you thought had healed.

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides, but his fists remained clenched. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, turning his gaze away as though refusing to face the weight of your words. “I'm pushing you because you damn well need to be better. I can't afford to lose you.”

There it was. The fear he refused to name. He was terrified of losing you, but he couldn’t say it. Not out loud. So instead, he buried it under anger, under demands that pushed you further away.

“You twist everything, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to be there for you, to understand you—but I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I can’t be the person you take everything out on.”

His jaw tightened, but his hands trembled at his sides. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter now, almost broken. “I’m trying to protect you. I just… I don’t know how to do this without pushing people away. I’m not good at this shit.”

“And what do you think you’re doing right now?” you asked, your heart aching. “You’re pushing me away, and I’m too tired to hold on.”

The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the weight of unsaid things. Bucky’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The echo of the weights hitting the ground earlier still rang in your ears, a haunting reminder of how quickly things had spiraled.

You took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the room settle into your bones, as if the air itself was colder now, heavier. “I feel invisible, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your confession. “Like I’m just a shadow, someone to absorb your anger when things get too hard. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came. His shoulders slumped slightly, a tiny surrender in the face of your pain.

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and desperate now. “Y/N, don’t do this,” His voice cracked, but his body was still tense, like he was holding something back—something he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. “You don’t need to make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t want to walk away, Bucky. But I have to, for my own sanity,” you said, stepping back as if putting physical distance between you would somehow make it easier.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air between you, unsure. “Damn it,” he rasped. “I’m trying, okay? I need you to believe me.”

“It’s too late for that,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so raw. His hand dropped, and the space between you felt like a canyon now, too wide to cross.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. He clenched his fists again, nails biting into his palms. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes dimmed with the realization that he had pushed you too far.

The room felt too quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of your words. You could feel the memory of every touch, every smile, every moment of laughter between you two slipping away like sand through your fingers. There was a photo—one he had kept tucked away in his jacket—of the two of you on a day when everything had felt perfect. He had carried it with him, a reminder of what he was trying to protect. But now, it felt like just another symbol of something irreparable.

“I loved you,” you whispered, stepping back one final time, tears blurring your vision as you turned toward the door. “But I deserve better.”

“Y/N!” His voice broke, desperate, as he took a step toward you, hand outstretched. His body was trembling now, fear etched into every line of his face. “Don’t fucking walk away from me! I can change. I swear, I can be better for you!”

You hesitated, your back to him, feeling the weight of his plea. For a moment, you almost turned back. Almost. But the words he had said still hung heavy in the air between you. And you knew—deep down—that you couldn’t survive this cycle anymore.

As you walked away, the echo of his voice followed you, the pain lacing each syllable a reminder of what could have been. But you didn’t stop. The silence after you left was deafening, and it swallowed Bucky whole, leaving him alone with his regrets, the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him like a physical force.

He watched the door close behind you, his heart sinking with the realization that he had lost you. And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

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jasmines-library · 1 year ago

Text

Tried and True

WHUMPTOBER 2023 DAY FOUR: Prompt - Hiding an injury.

Fandom: Batfam/DC/Young Justice

Summary: During a fight with Bane you get critically injured but leave it hidden from your brothers. When they find out, it's a race against time to get you back to the safety of the manor. Warnings: Bullet wound, blood loss, near death experience, surgery, cursing. Word count: 2.8k Note: I'm super excited about this one. That's all i'm gonna say :)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Bane fired three shots down the alleyway. They ricocheted off the bricks, clattering to the ground with a metallic ping. Dick Grayson hid crouched behind the lip of a building overlooking the alleyway, his mask pulled tight over his face. He watched with cautious eyes, surveying the villain before him. You were hunched over on the opposite side of the street dual daggers pressed firmly into the palm of your clammy hands. Damian and Jason lingered nearby, Tim opted to survey with his older brother. He had his bo staff hooked under his arm, ready to draw back and swing at any second.

“I know you’re out there little birdies.” Bane sung, drawing out his steps as he paced the length of the alley. “Why don’t you come out for a little chat?”

He fired another round of bullets, this time up into the sky. Your little brother cast a look at you from your left, you held out a warning hand.

“Nightwing?” You asked into the coms quietly, careful not to draw unwanted attention. Even though Bane was outnumbered 5-1, he was still extremely powerful and if he caught one of you off guard, you would be in some deep shit.

“We need to wait until he gets to the end of the alley. There’s a fork. We can flank him from both sides.”

The five of you watched intently as he walked, monotonously slow. When he was a mere few steps away from the end of the alley, Nightwing gave the signal and the five of you sprang into action, disguised and protected by the thick plating of your vigilante suits each specified to fit your needs.

Landing roughly on your feet, you jumped from the building, reading your daggers in front of you. Your brothers formed a circle besides you, trapping bane between the three exits. He grinned manically.

“Finally! I thought I was going to miss out on all the fun.”

He hoisted his gun up onto his shoulder and eyed the five of you up. The look on his face was mad; cynical. His eyes glistened beneath his mask as they settled on Robin. He fired, releasing a fresh wave of bullets, but the youngest was small and quick enough to slip away, behind a crate.

With his back turned, Red Robin took his chance to make a move on Bane. He swung his staff in an arc, swiping at the giant's feet in an attempt to knock him to the ground. He wobbled, but spun around and knocked him out of the way, sending him flying into a nearby pile of junk.

“Red!?” You called out through the coms.

There was static as he shuffled around, coughing slightly as he tried to recover from having the wind knocked out from him. “All good.”

You moved next, Robin at your side. Using the walls, you propelled yourself towards Bane, trying to swing your dagger and lodge it anywhere on his exposed chest, only to have to skid across the floor as he swung his arm out to hit you. Although you weren’t successful, Robin had managed to get in a well placed slice along Bane’s torso. He had been aiming for the thick tubes which pumped him full of venom, but he wasn’t so successful.

The five of you went many rounds with Bane, swinging, slicing and dodging as you tried to get the upper hand on the giant man. Though despite being outnumbered, he had still managed to get his own in on the five vigilanties. Red Hood was suffering a twisted ankle, and Robin had a trickle of blood running down the side of his temple where Bane had managed to strike him.

“Raven!” Nightwing hollered “Flank left.”

You retreated back round the alley with your eldest brother, twisting and navigating in the dinginess to flank him from his other side. When you returned, he had Tim pinned up against a wall, gasping for air and flailing, his feet struggling to scrape against the floor. You picked up your pace, feet slapping against the concrete. You swung, leaping high into the air and bringing your daggers down in a large sweeping motion, it lodged itself in one of Bane’s tubes, staunching the flow of venom pumping into his veins. You rolled across the ground and onto your feet, skidding against the asphalt as you dodged another swing that caught Robin instead. Nightwing was suddenly flanking from Bane’s otherside, cutting off the rest of the venom’s flow. Pulling Robin to his feet, he raised his katana.

With a signal from your brother cracking out over the coms, you gripped your daggers tighter, shifting them into a more comfortable grip in front of you. The humming of Dicks escrima sticks filled the alley. There was a beat, then you all charged, using bane’s weakness to your advantage. He took a large slice across his abdomen and a shock to his body. He roared, releasing a round of bullets into the brick. Dropping like a sack of flour the five of you pressed your body to the ground, trying to dodge the lethal pieces of metal he flung your way. And that was when you felt it, a raw indescribable pain that radiated across your body above your right hip. You stifled a cry, biting your lip beneath the cover of your mask. Your breath shuddered as you rose, trying to ignore the dark red patch that bloomed across the front of your suit. You readied your daggers, trying to conceal the wound with your arm. You were hoping that the cover of the darkness would help disguise it from your brothers.

From his place on the ground, Jason fired at bane, distracting him from Tim, who swung his bo staff again at his feet, this time bringing him to the ground. Stepping forwards,you pressed your dagger to his neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to get the message across. He howled and grunted as Nightwing and Red Hood made quick work of securing him with rope they had stored on their suits, then delivering a quick blow to his head to render the giant unconscious.

Nightwing took a step back and sighed, dropping his twin fighting sticks to the ground. “Is everyone ok?”

There was a chortle of agreement between the comms. You sheathed your daggers in the hosters at your hip, groaning as your fingers brushed against the pulsating wound.

“Call B, tell him we have Bane.”

“Copy.” You said, flicking through the channels on the comms to call your father. He answered gruffly, signifying that he would be on his way on his way over as soon as he could. You heard the rumble of the batmobile in the background.

“B’s on his way.” You told your brothers, changing the coms back. “He’ll be here soon.”

You glanced down at your stomach, still oozing blood, crossing his arms in front of you, trying to hide the growing patch and keep some pressure on it. You could feel the warm, stickiness against your skin clinging to the fabric of your suit. You couldn’t feel the exit wound, piercing the back of your flesh. Just the thought of the bullet still lodged inside of you made the pain worsen tenfold. You just had to hope that you would get back to the manor in time to stitch yourself up.

~~~

Left, Right. Left, Right.

You had never been more glad to see the silhouette of the wayne manor, illuminated by the lights from the many windows that had been left on whilst you were out on patrol. You were trudging back slowly with your brothers after finishing up on patrol and ensuring that The Bat had bane secured and was taking him to Arkham. Your steps had grown sluggish, your vision doubled and your breaths uneven as you tried to keep up pace with your brothers, only to end up falling behind anyway. Your whole body ached, but nothing compared to the stabbing pain near your hip. You pulled your hand away from where you had been discreetly keeping pressure on it. Your head spun as you took in the sight of the blood dousing your hands.

Left, Right…

Not much further now. You told yourself as you forced your body to keep pressing forwards. Home was so close but felt so so far away. You made your shaky legs push on, but with your hazy vision you swayed on your feet.

Dick turned around, noticing your absence besides him.

“Raven?” He asked, stopping in his tracks. His panicked tone alerted the rest of the boys.

You were leaning on a nearby fence, trying to regain your composure.

“I- I’m fine. I just need-”

Left…

Your body gave out beneath you as you tried to push yourself away from the wall, you were swallowed by a blinding pain; hot and inflamed as you collapsed in on yourself. Jason, the closest to you, rushed forwards before your body could collide with the hard asphalt. He laid you down tenderly so that your head was lying down on his lap. Dick was by your side patting down your body for the hidden injury, followed quickly by the other two.“Raven?” Damien stared at you with wide eyes.

“Shit.” Dick cursed when his hand skimmed the tear in your suit, pulling it back with his fingers coaxed in your blood.

You cried out in pain, eyes flying wide.

Damien gripped your hand tightly, wincing at your pained expression when Jason hastily tore your mask away. He wiped away the tears which stained your cheeks.

“AH!” Your face twisted when Dick ripped apart the fabric of your suit to get a better look at the wound; circular and ugly, only around the size of a penny, but it was already an angry shade of scarlet and was leaking more blood than you though you had in your body. The fabric which had matted with your blood tugged at your skin. You squeezed Damian’s hand tightly.

“R, what happened?”

“...Shot.” You forced out.

Jason reached around the back of your suit searching for an exit wound then cursing loudly when he failed to find one. “It’s still in there.”

Dick cursed. “Okay. Tim?”

The boy looked up meekly.

“Grab the emergency pack, we’ll need tweezers, bandages. Something for the pain.”

“On it.”

“Damien? Call Alfred, tell him we need help, stat.”

Hesitantly, the Wayne let go of your hands and scrambled to get his phone. Tim was rushing back over with the supplies.

“Y/N? This is going to hurt okay?”

You nodded feebly, head lolling around in Jason’s lap.

“Hood, keep her awake.”

Jason took your head in his hands and angled it up to face him. Your eyes were fluttering closed.

“Hey, look at me, keep ‘em open kid.”

Your eyes opened in fraction as you listened to your older brother's words, though you were in a pained daze, only registering the pain in your side.

They would never forget the inhuman scream that pushed its way past your lips as Dick dig the tweezers into the wound. The pain was indescribable as your fingers clawed against the ground. You writhed in Jason’s hold, squirming away from the onslaught of pain. Dick cringed.

“Tim, keep her still.”

His hands were like cold vices on your arms as he pinned you down, trying to keep you still as his older brother rummaged through your body. Your screams had morphed into horse shouts by the time he finally got the bullet out. But then came the burst of agony as he pushed his hands down as hard as he could on your wound. You whimpered.

“I know. I know Y/N I’m sorry.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you began to lose a grip on consciousness. Black dots danced in your vision.

“Hey. Stay with us!” Tim patted your face. “We need to move fast.

Jason leaned you up against his chest so his brothers could wrap the bandages tightly around your stomach. Damien had returned, informing them that Alfred was on his way. Once the bandages were secured, you were laid back down in Jason's chest, eyes fluttering. Damien returned to holding your hands, rubbing his thumbs back and forth across the flat of your hand.

“Stay awake, Raven. Talk to us.” Tim prompted.

You were silent for a horrifying moment, before muttering out a few words. “...I’m sorry.”

“No. None of that. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I love you all.”

Your breaths were becoming shallower and you struggled to get the air you needed into your lungs. The black spots began to take over your vision.

“We love you too, Y/N. So, so much.”

You hummed contently. Your body had begun to go numb.

A dear ran down Damien’s cheek. You reached up to wipe it away as your older brother had done to you mere minutes ago.

“It’s okay.” You hushed. “It doesn’t hurt bad anymore.”

The two eldest vigilantes swallowed thickly, sharing a wide eyed glance between each other. That was when Alfred turned up, and the next minutes went by in a blur. The boys could do nothing more than watch as they whisked you away into surgery, praying that you would pull through.

~~~

Dick watched as you began to stir. Your face twitched and you shifted uncomfortably. He had his much larger hand wrapped around yours, and had done for a few hours, insisting that he stay with you. You were his baby sister after all. Bruce had tried to send the other to bed, but like Dick, Jason had insisted that he should be allowed to watch over you too. Bruce was about to protest, but he couldn’t dismiss the distraught look plastered on Jason’s face. He had no doubt that the youngest two were lingering around somewhere, minds too full of opposing thoughts to let them succumb to the sleep that their bodies begged them for. Damian had kept trying to sneak in before being dragged away by Bruce.

The room had been silent for a few hours as they watched your chest rise and fall. The surgery had been hard on your body, and for a while no one was sure that you were going to pull through. Albeit there you were lying pale but showing signs of waking up, on your bed.

Alfred and Bruce were frequently in and out of your room where you lay hooked up to all sorts of machines that made Jason cringe. His head was resting on the side of your bed by the hand that Dick wasn’t nursing. His eyes had begun to droop shut as the early hours of the day crept around, when you shifted the let out a pained whimper. When he turned his head, he was greeted by your striking eyes.

He scrambled off of the floor and into the chair that had been pulled up by your bed. “Y/N? Hey.”

“Boys?” You blinked, your head still groggy from the anaesthesia.

The eldest boy gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah kiddo. We’re here.”

Trying to sit up, the tug on your stitches elicited another cry of pain. Instinctively, both boys helped you sit up.

“Take it easy, little bat.” Dick told you as you gingerly pushed back the sheets. Your hip was bound tightly in a white bandage. “He got you good.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jay pressed. “You could have…”

“I-”

You were cut off by the sound of the door shuddering open and a pair of your ‘not so little anymore’ brothers' heads peeking around it. They were hesitant, glancing around the room until you gave them a gentle smile.

“Y/N,” Damian rushed into the room, wrapping you tightly into a hug.

“Hey Dami.” You murmured into his ear.

He was suddenly ripped away from you by a grinning Tim who chided “Hey, be careful with her, you demon spawn. It’s my turn.”

You chuckled as he pulled you desperately into his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re okay Y/N/N. I was so scared.”

You frowned, hoarse voice breaking as you spoke. “I’m sorry-”

“Damian.” A haggard voice sounded from somewhere in the hallway. It was followed by a pair of heavy set shoes. “How many times do I have to tell you to get back in bed-”

Bruce stopped abruptly at the sight of his children crowded before him. His eyes were clad with dark bags and his hair was unkempt on his head.

“Hi Dad.” Your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it nonetheless. Pushing past his sons, he was at your side in less than a second.

And that was when the reality of the whole situation hit you. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Dad. I’m sorry. I- I wasn’t thinking.”

“Shh.” He hushed. “This isn’t your fault. This is no one’s fault but Bane’s.”

“But-”

“Listen to the old man for once little bat. All that matters is that everyone is still together.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY THREE ⛤ DAY FIVE ->

🏷️ Taglist:

@senjoritanana

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charliemwrites · 10 months ago

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Part 6 of Nikto's Commandments!

A little angst because... yeah. Comfort next, though! Whenever I get around to it...

Content: Injury, Violence, Shock

Being shot feels exactly how you expected it would.

You’ve cared for enough bullet wounds, listened to enough agonized soldiers, to imagine it in vivid detail. Asked Nikto once. He didn’t have the words to explain it, just shook his head and ushered you off to the next thing. Mumbled something about not wondering after what wouldn’t come to pass.

Getting dragged bleeding and delirious with pain now, you have the hysterical thought I told you so.

Speaking of Nikto, you don’t know where he is now. You separated on O’Conor’s orders – Nikto needed for stealth, and you needed as support for another squad member. He hadn’t been happy about it, eyes searing into yours. But you had nodded for him to follow orders and ducked away to get the mission over with.

If you live through this, he’s never going to listen to you again.

You’ve got two men dragging your half-dead weight down the hall, another leading the way in front. A smear of crimson follows after your legs like a demented snail. You kick and try to thrash, but it just sends white-hot pain throughout your abdomen and leaves your vision spotty. One of the enemies says something – hard to hear over the beating of your heart, the rush of blood, the thrush of your blood-soaked clothes along the floor. But you hear something about torture and feel your already-ruined stomach sink.

KorTac doesn’t save compromised assets.

You can hear Nikto’s voice in your ear but can’t reach your headset to answer; the men have both your arms. Fuck, fuck.

His face flashes through your panicky mind. Handsome and ruined and still so sensitive to cold air and humid weather. Eyes so startlingly bright but fathomless. It’s like trying to find the bottom of the sky. You love waking up to them.

He’s getting more frantic now, voice hard but brittle. Others chiming in as well, but you hear his above all.

You murmur his name, the one you’ve only hushed in the quiet of a dark car. Wish you could tell him one more time.

There’s a shift in your captors’ gaits. A stairwell. Your body jolts down the first stair and sends spikes of fire straight from your throat. It’s an awful scream, loud and cracking and only serves to make it hurt worse.

But there’s a sudden, deafening silence in the echo of your voice.

Then Nikto.

“Copy.”

The men stop, realizing that your screams are going to be an issue. The one in the lead wrenches your head back, trying to shove some sort of fabric in your mouth. But the knowledge the Nikto is coming, that you just have to hold out, sends the pain to the back of your mind. You twist and struggle, teeth sinking into flesh.

Your boot catches on the corner of the step and you push.

The soldiers lose their grip, and you tumble halfway down the stairs, head bouncing off cement. But your arms are free, and you manage to grab the pistol at your thigh. Fire wildly and hit one in the leg with a ricochet off the wall. All the while trying to scramble out of sight before they can reach for their own weapons.

You hit the landing with a bitten-off yelp. But you’re low on bullets and you’re not confident in your abilities with a knife right now.

And then a blur of black armor slams into one of the men, a knee in his throat, crushing his windpipe. Someone follows just behind – you recognize Konig by height alone. He throws another down the stairs, and the soldier doesn’t hesitate to take the head start he’s been given. Doesn’t even pause to try to use you for leverage, just begins limping away. The third man is quick to turn tail while his comrades are being assaulted.

“Run, bastard,” Nikto laughs, ragged and manic.

He turns as if to follow and your heart turns to ice. “Stop!”

It’s like you’ve physically yanked on his leash. He goes rigid, head whipping around to take in the state of you. You can almost measure the fury that floods him when he realizes how badly you are.

“Nikto, I need you here,” you say, as calm and even as you can. Same voice you use as in medical emergencies – well, technically, you suppose this is a medical emergency. “Leave it to Konig.”

He jerks as if you’ve offended him somehow. Like you’re unjustly punishing him. You struggle up onto one arm, gun forgotten in favor of applying what little pressure you can to your abdomen. Your throat feels tight with repressed fear, struggling to breathe through radiating pain.

“I know you’re angry, I do,” you strain, “but I need your help right now. Revenge can come later. I’m sure Konig can save one for you.”

Understanding seems to dawn through bloodlust. Nikto darts to your side between one ragged breath and the next. He kneels beside you, pupils shrunken to pinpricks.

“Go on, Konig,” you call, “I’ll be alright.”

He nods and disappears. You turn to Nikto and softly call his name; instantly have his attention.

“I need you to apply pressure,” you explain, “I can’t do it myself.”

He does, but you know he’s trying to spare you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug.

“Harder, love,” you whisper, “or it’ll kill me.”

His mask shifts as he grits his teeth and puts his weight into it. You choke on a cry, swallow it down and try to blink through spots.

“G-good. Keep it like that.”

“You’re shaking.”

You hiss out through your teeth. “I might be going into shock.”

“That can kill you too.”

“I said ‘might’.”

“How do I fix?” he demands.

You swallow and lower your arms to your side. “Loosen my vest as much as you can. Radio someone else for help, they can get a blanket. Don’t let up on my side.”

You focus on regulating your breathing while he obeys, murmuring to himself in Russian. You occupy yourself with trying to translate – though it mostly sounds like curses. Still, it’s something for your brain to latch onto other than the severity of your injury. You wish you could risk speaking, but the adrenaline crash is already hitting, and you need to focus on staying conscious for as long as possible.

Soon O’Conor is there, the foil blanket flashing in the shitty stairwell lights. He also comes with a stim that stabilizes you enough for Nikto to scoop you up and get you to exfil. You lose the plot after that, swimming in and out of awareness through triage.

But through it all, you keep your hand around Nikto’s.

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto #nikto's commandments #commandments au

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bugboioli23 · 10 months ago

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Swerve x Human!Reader

Disclaimer: I haven't written fic for a few years so my skills are gonna be a bit shit to be honest, any criticism is welcome and id love to hear what you guys think 💚

THIS IS 18+ - size difference, valveplug, oral sex, fingerfucking, doggy style, riding - 2911 words - AFAB reader but no pronouns are used

You and Swerve had been friends since you stepped foot on the Lost Light. Something about his chatterbox personality and sitcom-like humor had you beaming whenever you were around him. The best nights were spent perched on the edge of the bar counter, rambling for hours on end with Swerve. Tonight was one of those nights. It was after the doors had closed, the bar empty and silent aside from the laughter ricocheting from the both of you.

“Really?!” You yelped, eyes wide in surprise as you stared at the grinning minibot.

“I'm telling you! You wouldn't believe the amount of mechs who come by here asking for you!” Swerve replied with a chuckle, shaking his helm in shared disbelief. “Not only that but they actually think they could frag you! I'm probably one of the few bots on here who could frag you full sized.” Swerve paused, face freezing for a second as he quickly backtracked on his statement. “I mean- not that we would- NOT THAT I WOULDN'T WANT TO- I'm sure you’d make a lovely frag- NOT LIKE THAT- I JUST MEANT- im sorry- ” Swerve seemed to shrink in on himself as he continued to mumble to himself anxiously.

Your face burned red at the idea. The thought of a bot being stuffed between your folds, trembling at the foreign sensation of the wet flesh of your cunt. You wondered about the anatomy that laid hidden under the panels of your metallic friends. How similar are you compared to them? Just how compatible are your species? You already had gotten an enlightening talk from Brainstorm about Cybertronian anatomy after you explained human anatomy to him. (For his holoforms of course. No other reason.) You knew what you could take, but the fresh reality that this could happen left blood rushing south.

“Uhm… ____? You good? I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, I’m sorry.” Swerve looked at you apologetically. His light pout and the puppy eyes you could barely see behind his visor brought forth images that made warmth surge through your body once more. How would Swerve act if you asked him to fuck you? He seemed like the type of Cybertronian who wouldn’t mind a little experimenting with humans. He seemed like the type to whimper; the type to beg.

Heat flushed through your face as reality caught back up to you. You flashed him a bright smile and waved your hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m alright. Just thinking.” You glanced at Swerve, who looked unconvinced. “Hey, weren’t you and Blurr going to open a bar before you came here?” You asked out of nowhere, hoping to turn his attention onto something else. It seemed to work because he was already telling you about how Blurr was secretly his best friend. While the bartender was distracted, you let your thoughts turn back to the ideas at hand. You found Swerve to be adorable, the way he seemed to always work with a smile despite people talking poorly about him. His fascination with your species’ tv and music and how he would light up when you offered another film for movie nights. After tonight’s conversation, you decided it’s now or never to shoot your shot with him.

“Swerve?” You looked him up and down with a smile, interjecting his speech on Blurr’s latest record break. “Do you think fragging a human would be possible?” You spoke sweetly, letting your voice fall an octave to emphasize your intentions.

“Uhm, wouldn't Ratchet be better at answering that than I would?” Swerve thought he was hearing things. In his mind there was no possible way that you just asked what you had asked. His head must've made that up. It had to be some kind of self inflicted auditory hallucination. The way you smiled softly and rested a hand on his arm before leaning closer must also be a trick of the optics.

“Swerve, darling. I asked you for a reason.” You replied coyly, glancing up at him with an endearing grin. He felt his intake hitch and a sliver of charge run down his frame.

“Oh.” He choked out, face tinted with the rush of energon. His cooling fans kicked on with just the mere suggestion of what tonight could entail. “I- I suppose we could- figure it out…” He grinned shyly.

“That’s a good mech.” You purred, wide grin never faltering as you hopped down from the counter. You sauntered out of the bar with a new sense of confidence, only pausing to gesture to him to follow before the doors closed behind you. Swerve had to take a minute to collect his thoughts before practically sprinting after you.

Your habsuite was uniquely modified for your species. Instead of a hard metal berth, you had a cushy soft bed adorned with a mass of plushies, pillows and blankets. Soft lighting glowed from lower points in the room instead of one harsh light from above. It had your special charm to it, and Swerve wanted to spend every moment he could in there with you.

“So,” You started plopping yourself down on the edge of your bed, patting the spot next to you, “I’m going to skip all the pleasantries here, I want you to fuck me.”

Swerve let out a whine, feeling a surge of arousal flooding through his systems. His spike pressurized quickly, becoming heavy behind his panels with an embarrassingly loud thud. “Did you have to be so bold about it?” He hissed through clenched dentae as you gazed at him with desire.

“I think it’s more fun to watch your reactions.” You hummed contentedly before climbing into his lap, “Can I kiss you? Would that be okay?” You spoke softly, but your eyes never left his face. Swerve nodded hastily, servos hovering above your body anxiously. His intake opened to start a flood of questions but you cut him off with a kiss, exploring the foreign texture of his pliable metallic face. The strange rubbery feeling of his glossa felt wonderfly new against the soft muscle of your tongue. You let out a soft noise of pleasure against his mouth before you were interrupted by a snap of panels retracting and an enticing pressure laying heavy on your thigh.

“Oh- Slag, sorry I- you’re so- I wasn’t able to-,” Swerve began, but you pressed a finger to his lips as you looked down to study the new part of him. It was about 8 inches long, the red tip of it already leaking prefluids. It was mostly white, with a stripe of red along the underside decorated with biolights which pulsed needily. You trailed your hand lightly along the length, your fingers barely unable to touch around the girth of it. You looked back up at Swerve who was hiding behind his servos, face tinted pink with energon.

“Listen… I know I’m not as big as other bots but please… don’t stop whatever you were planning to do.” Swerve mumbled shyly, peeking at you between his digits.

“Oh, hun. You don’t have to worry about anything. You’ve got more than enough for me to enjoy.” You smiled, sliding off his lap to kneel between his legs. “May I?” You asked, wanting to explore his anatomy further.

He let out a shaky exvent with a nod and you ran your fingers along the grooves and panels of the Cybertronian anatomy. It wasn’t until you had gotten eye level with his spike that you had noticed his valve. It was dripping with transfluid and the hooded node was glowing a beautiful blue. You looked up at him from your position, eyes full of lust.

“Change of plans. Lean back for me, I’ve gotta taste you.” You purred, firmly pushing against his midsection lightly as he rested his back against the wall of pillows. You gently pushed his thighs open and trailed two fingers against the slick folds of his valve, coating your fingers in the sticky substance. You studied your digits before popping them into your mouth. The pink fluid was metallic and sour, but addicting in a strange way. You wanted more. Spreading his folds with one hand, you delved into his valve. Swerve watched, entranced by the way you slid the flat of your tongue against him. The sensation made him let out soft groans, which encouraged you more. You took your other hand and gently circled his anterior node, ghosting the edges of it teasingly. Your tongue dove into his entrance and you felt the inner calipers twitch and throb with need.

“Oh frag… you’re good a-at this. I’m- hnghh… I don’t have enough stamina for t-this!” Swerve whined as you moved the hand separating his folds and you backed away from his plush valve.

“Don’t worry, you are doing so good. Just lie back and let me take care of you, okay?” You cooed and went back to lapping at the transfluid that fell from his folds. One hand finally gave his anterior node pressure while your other hand went up to stroke at his spike lazily. The result of your combined actions had Swerve clawing at the sheets, his intake falling open as he gasped and mewled out so many words you couldn’t tell what he was saying until it was too late.

Warm fluid gushed over your face as he overloaded while you were still tongue deep in his valve. His spike throbbed in your hand as you felt more transfluid land in your hair and shoulder.

“FRAG- Ah- hah…!” Swerve whined as his frame trembled through the aftershocks. “Oh slag im so sorry!” His visor came back online just in time to witness your mouth and jaw covered in dripping pink fluids.

You licked your lips and wiped your face with your shirt before taking it off and tossing it aside. “Hey.. hey no worries. It’s okay. You’re okay.” You kissed his cheek, patting his thigh softly. “You did amazing. I’m so glad I could make you feel good.”

Swerve let out another high whine, seeing your chest bare before him. He slowly raised his servos to graze the flesh around your nipples. You sighed softly and raised your hands to press his servos more firmly to your skin. Swerve was still panting from his previous overload but he leaned in to press his lips gently against your sternum. His servos wandered up to press and massage at your nipples, circling them like you did to his node earlier. Your back arched, pushing your chest further into his servos as your mouth fell open softly. Swerve looked up at you, visor glowing with excitement and awe. “You’re stunning. I mean- frag, look at you, coated with my overload. Mine…” He breathed out, eyes trailing down your body to rest at your pants. He seemed to swallow before shakily continuing. “D-Do you still want me t-to..you know.. t-”

“I still want you to fuck me, Swerve.” You finished for him, moving your hands to swiftly undo the buttons of your pants, pulling off your undergarments at the same time and tossing them behind you. You grabbed onto his wrist and guided his fingers up towards your wet folds. Swerve got the hint and gently worked one finger into the tight heat of your cunt. He could feel the gentle pulse and pull of your walls around his digit, and he could barely imagine what it would feel like around his spike. After he felt you loosen up a bit, he slid in a second digit. You let out a gasp and a soft groan at the stretch, knowing that this was just the beginning if you wanted to be prepared to take his spike.

Swerve gently curled and flexed his digits, exploring your sex thoroughly as his processor worked overtime to memorize which movements felt the best for you. His audials turned to max sensitivity to be sure he could hear every whine and murmur of praise that fell from your lips. He could feel the second rush of energon repressurising his spike the more he pumped his digits into you. You glanced down between the both of you to smirk at his array before leaning in and pressing another kiss to his jaw.

“Awh, look at you,” You cooed, lifting your hips up to grind the tip of his spike against your clit. Swerve let out a strained whine as his hips bucked up involuntarily. Your smirk only grew. “You’re such a pretty mech for me.”

“Hnf s-stop…” Swerve whispered bashfully, turning his helm away as energon rushed to his faceplates once more.

“I mean it.” You continued, slowly easing yourself down on his spike as you guided his gaze to meet yours. Swerve’s intake fell open and his spinal struts arched as your body enveloped his length. His servos flew to your hips when he finally bottomed out inside you. The heat of your cunt pressed upon every sensor and node on his spike with such certainty that he could barely concentrate on your words.

“Hhoh fraggghh, how are you s-so- so-ooHHFRAG-” Swerve had started to speak but you decided that now was the time to lift your hips and slam yourself back down. You started to ride the mech like an animal, your hips popping up halfway only to quickly push him back inside. Swerve let out a chorus of moans and yelps as his servos twitched against the soft plush of your thighs, squeezing every now and then to ground himself. It wasn’t until your legs started to burn that you were reminded of something. You quickly stopped your movements and grinned down at Swerve as he abruptly gasped and looked at you with a beautiful expression of desperation.

“Wh-why- why’dya stop?” Swerve asked, his speech slurred from the sudden absence of pleasure.

“Sorry, but I just remembered that you’re the one who’s supposed to be fucking me.” You pulled yourself off of his spike and he let out a pathetic mewl at the loss of your body. His pout was quickly wiped from his face when he witnessed you getting down on all fours and slyly shaking your hips at him. You turned to smirk over your shoulder at him as he gawked at you. Not another second had passed before Swerve was on top of you, his spike easily finding its way back into your slick folds. He started pounding into you, the weight of his body pressing down nicely on your back as he mounted you.

“Mnh, there you go, good boy Swerve.” You moaned out as his spike pistoned in and out of you, shoving your body into the mattress. Swerve was brought to a mindless ramble as your pussy sucked him in deeper and tightened around him.

“Ahfraggingprimusyouretight-“ Swerve whimpered as you clenched around him harder. Your body trembled as you felt his spike throb inside you. Swerve hovered over you, intertwining his servos over your fingers as he thrust into you rapidly. “F-Frag, ____ I’m not gonna l-last much longer-“

“Good, keep going. I want you to fill me with your transfluid. Overload in me like the good mech you are.” You grinned against the mattress, turning to look at him smugly, reaching down between your legs to rub at your clit. Swerve leaned down to mewl and whine against the back of your neck as he chased his own pleasure, pushing your hips further up with every pump of his hips.

“Fuck, Swerve- I’m-!“ You felt your eyes roll back at the drag of his thickness against your walls and you let out a filthy moan as you hit your climax. You felt the slick of your cum coat his panels as your sex tightened around him. The whimper that left his vocalizer was angelic as he let his spike empty itself within you. Thick ropes of transfluid coated your insides, the warm sensation of sheer fullness bringing you back down from your high. Your body continued to pulse around his spike, milking him of the last of his overload as he gave a few final lazy thrusts.

The two of you lay there panting for a while before he slowly pulled out of you, watching in awe as his cum started to slide down your thighs. You slowly turned and sat up, feeling your combined fluids seeping out of you and onto the sheets.

“Ah… that was… let me get you a towel.” Swerve gasped, stepping to the closet to grab a towel to wipe you down with, wetting it with warm water before gently cleaning you. He lifted and placed you on the other side of the bed, putting the used towel over the wet spot after cleaning and closing his panels.

You stared at the red and white mech with unveiled adoration as he finally sat next to you again. You leaned in and peppered his face with kisses as he gently rubbed your thigh.

“Swerve, you do know how to keep your mouth shut about some things, right?” You murmured sleepily, hoping the bartender could keep his mouth shut for at least a week or two before word got out that the human is a mechfucker.

“Uhuh, yeah. Definitely.” Swerve nodded with determination. You sighed with a small smile, already accepting that your next appearance in the bar would not be the same after this.

#transformers #mtmte #valveplug #self insert #swerve #transformers x reader #swerve transformers #buggyboi draws #buggyboi writes #swerve x reader #hes so babygirl #i wanna treat him well #transformers x human

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jermer10 · 2 months ago

Note

Could I ask for all of the tf2 mercs getting saved in a fight by the reader in a very dramatic/romantic way? Something like the reader using a shield to protect them from bombs/bullet while they pull the merc close to them? I think it would just be real funny for the mercs to be in the "damsel in distress" position. (If not all mercs then please atleast Demo, Engie and Sniper)(I love your writing by the way)

TF2 damsels in distress

gn reader | thank u for the ask anon!

includes: demoman, engineer, sniper

drabbles under the cut :P

Demoman: The battlefield is a mess of explosion and chaos. Demo’s got that wild grin plastered on his face as he tosses grenade after grenade - he’s in his element, laughter bubbling up between the sounds of battle. But in his enthusiasm, he doesn’t notice the enemy bomb rolling straight for him, its timer ticking down far too quickly. Before he can react, you dive in front of him, shield raised. The explosion rocks the ground, but the shield holds, keeping both of you safe. Without a second thought, you pull him close, his face pressing into your chest as you shield him from any further debris.

Demoman blinks up at you, dazed and disoriented. “By the gods... ye just saved me arse!” He’s half laughing, half in shock, his arms coming up to cling to you, despite himself. “Didn’t know I’d need savin’ today, but I ain’t complainin’!” He looks up at you with a cheeky grin and flushed cheeks, throwing a dramatic arm around your waist. “Ach, me hero! How can I ever repay ye for rescuing poor ol' me?” he teases, though there’s a genuine gleam of gratitude in his eyes. You smirk down at him, hand still firmly on his back. "Just stay alive, Dem."

Engineer: Engineer wipes the sweat off his brow, wrench in hand as he hurries to fix his sentry. The fight’s getting heavier, bullets flying, but his focus is on his machinery. He doesn’t even notice the red sniper dot that’s settled on his chest until it’s too late. But just as the shot rings out, you’re there. You lunge in front of him, shield raised, and the bullet ricochets harmlessly off its surface. You pull him close, pressing him into your side as you block any further shots.

Engineer blinks, wide-eyed, and his wrench slips from his grasp. “Well, I’ll be damned…” His face flushes red as he realizes what just happened—he’s in your arms, safe, and you just saved his hide. “Didn’t expect to be the one gettin’ rescued today,” he mutters, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. He’s clearly flustered, trying to play it off cool. “Guess I owe you one, huh?”

You glance down at him with a smirk, enjoying the rare sight of the usually composed Engineer looking like the damsel in distress. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.” He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ain’t often I get to be on this end of things. Much obliged, darlin’.” With a wink, you pull him back onto his feet, though he sticks close for a few moments longer, still rattled—and more than a little impressed.

Sniper: Sniper’s crouched in his usual perch, scope trained on the battlefield, picking off targets with precision. But even he can’t see everything, and when a stray enemy flanks him, gunfire erupts in his direction, too fast for him to react. Just before the bullets tear through him, you dive in, shield up. The bullets bounce off with a metallic clang, you grab Sniper’s collar, yanking him down and pulling him close to your chest.

He lets out a soft grunt of surprise, completely caught off guard as you press him into you, shielding him from further danger. Sniper, the lone wolf, the sharpshooter, now cradled in your arms like some helpless civilian. “What in the…?” He stares up at you, wide-eyed, his hat knocked askew. You smirk down at him, teasingly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” For a long moment, he’s just quiet, still processing the fact that you—not him—were the one doing the saving. Slowly, a small, lopsided grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, his cheeks flushing red. “Not used to being on this side of things.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmur, still holding him close. He lets out a soft laugh, looking both amused and embarrassed as he adjusts his hat. “Reckon I’ll owe ya for that one,” he mutters, still looking a little flustered. But he doesn’t move away immediately, instead staying close for just a bit longer, his quiet gratitude lingering between you.

#ask #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 imagines #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #jermer10 #tf2 sniper #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 demoman #tf2 demoman x reader #tf2 engineer #tf2 engineer x reader

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m4rv3l-girl · 11 days ago

Note

Bucky x reader

In a relationship, bucky doesn't want reader going on mission because it's a hydra Misson, they argue and don't talk to each other, bucky hears reader get hurt and he hears her say "im sorry buck, i love you" and then her comms go out and he can't do anything to help because he's pinned down and by the time he gets to her she's bleeding out and passed out and bucky is breaking down apologising and saying he didn't mean anything of what he said etc and I dunno how you would wanna end it.

Of all base passions, fear is most accursed

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: Violence. Injury. Angst.

The tension in the living room was palpable.

Bucky paced back and forth, his jaw clenched, his hands running through his hair in frustration. Y/N stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her own frustration mirrored in her tense posture. The disagreement between them had escalated rapidly, spiraling into an argument that neither of them had intended.

“It’s just a mission, Bucky!” Y/N exclaimed, her voice firm. “I’ve done missions like this a hundred times before.”

“Not like this,” he countered, his voice sharp but tinged with worry. “It’s Hydra, Y/N. You don’t understand what they’re capable of.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t patronize me. I know exactly what they’re capable of. That’s why I need to go.”

“No,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t need to go. Let someone else handle it.”

“And let them walk into something I’m prepared for?” she shot back. “You’re not being rational. This isn’t about me—it’s about the mission.”

“It’s always about the mission with you,” he retorted, his tone cutting deeper than he intended. “When are you going to stop risking everything like it’s just a game?”

Y/N flinched at his words, the sting of them landing hard. Her voice dropped, quieter now but no less resolute. “You think I’m reckless? That I don’t care about what I’m risking?”

“That’s not what I said,” Bucky muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, but the damage was already done.

“I can’t do this with you right now,” she said, grabbing her jacket and storming toward the door.

“Y/N,” he called after her, but she didn’t turn around.

The ride to the Quinjet was a blur. Y/N focused on the mission briefing, tuning out the knot in her chest that Bucky’s words had tied. She couldn’t afford distractions. Hydra facilities weren’t forgiving of mistakes.

The team deployed under the cover of night, slipping into the compound with precision. Y/N’s heart pounded as she moved through the dimly lit corridors, her comm buzzing with updates from the team. Her training kicked in, her body operating on muscle memory even as her thoughts kept circling back to Bucky.

She didn’t want to fight with him. She hated leaving things unresolved, hated the way his worried eyes had looked at her before she walked out the door.

“Barnes, stay sharp!” Steve’s voice over the comm snapped Bucky out of his spiraling thoughts. He was pinned down behind a concrete barrier, gunfire ricocheting off the walls around him.

He had stayed behind with the secondary team, watching the operation unfold from a distance. It had been his idea, a way to keep himself grounded while Y/N was out there. But now, every shot fired, every static crackle over the comms set his nerves on edge.

“Y/N, status?” he found himself asking, breaking protocol.

“I’m fine, Buck,” her voice came through, steady but faint. “Focus on your position.”

That was Y/N—always level-headed, even in the thick of it. But something in her tone didn’t sit right with him.

The hallway leading to the main server room was a cold, metallic stretch of shadows and faintly glowing panels. Y/N moved with practiced precision, her steps light and measured despite the tension crackling in the air. Beside her, Natasha was a blur of calculated efficiency, her movements as sharp as her focus.

“We’re nearing the server room,” Natasha’s voice was low and steady, the faint hum of Hydra’s security systems buzzing ominously around them.

Y/N nodded, her grip tightening on her weapon. The faint tapping of their boots on the steel floor seemed deafening, amplified in the vacuum of silence that surrounded them. For a moment, everything was still—too still. The absence of resistance in what should have been a high-security facility put her on edge.

“Doesn’t feel right,” Y/N muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s lips tightened into a grim line, her green eyes flicking toward the corridor ahead. “Stay sharp.”

The moment they rounded the corner, the silence shattered. Red emergency lights bathed the hallway in an eerie glow, and the screech of alarms pierced the air. Y/N’s heart kicked into overdrive as metal panels slid open along the walls, Hydra soldiers pouring out with weapons raised.

“Ambush!” Natasha barked, already moving.

Y/N ducked behind a nearby crate, her back pressed against the cool steel as bullets ricocheted off the walls. She could feel the heat of the skirmish, the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“They’re trying to box us in,” Natasha yelled over the gunfire. “We need to clear them fast!”

“I’m on it!” Y/N shouted back, swinging out from her cover to fire. Her shots were precise, each one finding its mark, but the soldiers kept coming, Hydra’s numbers seemingly endless. Her earpiece buzzed with the frantic chatter of the rest of the team holding the perimeter.

“Server room’s just ahead,” Natasha said, reloading swiftly. “Go, Y/N. I’ll cover you.”

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second. “You sure?”

“Go!” Natasha snapped, already moving to draw the fire away from Y/N’s path.

Y/N sprinted forward, her body low and agile as she darted between columns of cover. The hallway narrowed, the looming doorway to the server room coming into view. She could feel the heat of Hydra’s reinforcements closing in behind her, the air thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and sweat.

“Team, I’m almost at the server room,” she called through her comm, her breath coming in short bursts. “Nat, status?”

“Still breathing,” Natasha quipped, her voice tight but composed. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

Y/N reached the door, her fingers flying over the control panel. The lock disengaged with a mechanical hiss, the heavy door sliding open to reveal the server room bathed in a sterile white light. Towering racks of servers blinked at her, their hum a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

“I’m in,” she reported, slipping inside and sealing the door behind her. Her reprieve was short-lived. The alarms grew louder, and the vibration of approaching footsteps resonated through the floor. Hydra wasn’t letting this go without a fight.

She moved quickly, her fingers navigating the terminal with practiced efficiency. Lines of Hydra’s encrypted data scrolled across the screen as she worked to extract the files.

“Y/N, we’ve got a problem,” Natasha’s voice came through, strained. “They’re sending reinforcements your way. I’m pinned down.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard before resuming their furious pace. “I just need a few more seconds.”

“We don’t have seconds,” Natasha snapped, her voice tight with effort.

“Almost there,” Y/N muttered to herself, ignoring the frantic pounding of her heart. The data transfer bar crawled across the screen, agonizingly slow.

The door behind her rattled, the sound of Hydra soldiers attempting to breach it echoing through the room. Y/N’s pulse spiked, her eyes darting to the terminal as the transfer hit 90%.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered.

The door buckled under the weight of an explosive charge. Y/N barely had time to dive for cover before it blasted open, shards of metal scattering like shrapnel. She hit the ground hard, her comm crackling in her ear.

“Y/N, fall back!” Natasha’s voice was sharp, commanding.

“Not yet,” Y/N replied, scrambling to her feet. Her hand instinctively went to her weapon, firing at the Hydra agents flooding into the room. Each shot was deliberate, buying her precious seconds as the transfer ticked toward completion.

“I’ve got this,” she said into the comm, her voice resolute. But even as she spoke, she knew the odds were stacked against her. She was cut off, alone, and Hydra was closing in fast.

The explosion was deafening.

Bucky’s world narrowed to the static in his comm, drowning out the chaos around him.

“Y/N?!” he shouted, his heart racing. “Y/N, report!”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” her voice came through, faint and trembling. “I love you.”

And then, silence.

“No, no, no,” Bucky muttered, panic setting in. He surged to his feet, ignoring Steve’s shout to stay down. He fought his way through the enemy lines, desperation lending him strength.

By the time he reached her, she was crumpled on the ground, blood pooling beneath her. Her comm lay shattered nearby, her hand limp at her side.

“Doll,” Bucky choked out, dropping to his knees beside her. He pressed his hands to the wound in her abdomen, trying to stem the bleeding. “I’m here. Stay with me, please.”

She didn’t respond, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not reckless—you’re brave, and I love you for it. Just—don’t leave me.”

Hours later, Y/N woke to the steady beep of monitors. The sterile smell of the medbay filled her senses, and she turned her head slowly, finding Bucky slumped in a chair beside her, his head resting in his hands.

“Hey,” she croaked, her voice weak.

His head shot up, relief flooding his features. “Y/N,” he breathed, moving to sit beside her. “You’re awake.”

“You look terrible,” she teased softly, managing a faint smile.

Bucky let out a shaky laugh, his hand brushing her cheek. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes glistening. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted gently. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have trusted you. I let my fear get in the way.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their emotions settling between them. Finally, Bucky leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Doll. Always.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, her hand finding his.

It took weeks for Y/N to recover fully, but Bucky never left her side. The mission was a success, but the real victory was in the promises they made to each other—not unspoken, but loud and clear, built on trust and love.

——————————————————————————————————

Hey, I actually really enjoyed writing this, something with a bit more action! I hope you liked it.. 🫶

Requests Open!

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky angst

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no-droids · 2 years ago

Text

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long). As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession. You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets. The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it. The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to. You don’t even really feel like a person right now. The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life. It feels sick. Wrong in your bones. Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop. Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops. Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago. Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception. What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all. You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now. No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams. No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move. The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again. It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence. Silence. You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement. You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are. You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder. You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something. Reality, maybe. A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands. “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows. Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying? They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat. Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy. It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be. Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately. It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances. Oshua Ryler. Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened. A stormtrooper? His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense. What is he doing here? Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them. They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers. “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.” You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done. You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet. You hate looking at his face. It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust. His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat. He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby. You know what needs to be done. Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over. It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.” You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears. “They hold no power anymore. Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!” The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green. “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…” He stares wide eyed at you and gulps. “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now. “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?” You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side. “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?” The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around. “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!” You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him. Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about. “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!” He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight. “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty! They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling. You could still kill him. You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit. “Who put the bounty out on you?” You ask sharply. It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!” Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it. You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask. Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something. Din was cut off before he finished. Help? Know what to do? You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by. The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice. The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry. “How many of you are there?”

“At the base? Around three hundred,” he immediately spills. “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours. There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,” You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker. “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground. “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of. In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence. That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector. If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon. And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel. “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…” He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands. “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally? Sure. Realistically? You don’t say anything in response. Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do. The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it. They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip. Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you. Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease. It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression. Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood. Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color. Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?” You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder. Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again. “I need as much information as possible about the base.” You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm. Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard. It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest. While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking. Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now. Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission. Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides. What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors. Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger. Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next. His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears. When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much. He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread. If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces. He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind. Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers. Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base. He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man. If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go. With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get. He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat. Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range. Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind. He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl. Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard. Not far from here, three minutes or less. The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers. It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers. “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask. Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible. Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed. The turrets, then. “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel. “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport. TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?” You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got. You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here. Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here. The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here. Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not. He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul. If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator. “Mando?” You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway. Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it. That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to. Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction. Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose. Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily. It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?” Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls. “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit. “You cover your face like one. You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.” Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now. “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he? He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan. All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge. You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood. This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby. In a sense, it still feels that way. The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family. The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch. He’d know, you tell yourself. If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow. Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore. The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response. In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet. These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back. Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms. The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes. Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?” Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter. The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh. “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add. “How were you able to find us?”

Silence. The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now. He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red. Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality. The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead. Useless, then. Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor. Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention. “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon. The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite. It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened. But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it. The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what? This Mandalorian?” The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms. “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.” The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head. “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees. “He must want the beskar. I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive. He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!” A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed. There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury. It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues. “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth. He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize. Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible. You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety. Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually. It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive. Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk. They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost. You’re both long gone by now. They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest. Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response. His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it. How the fuck did he know? He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile. Who’s this, Mando? She’s just darling, isn’t she? Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods. “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides. Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man. The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul. His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun. He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?” The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember. He’s panicked before. He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time. This is different. This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection. There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now. The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat. You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it. Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you. Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out. His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision. For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground. There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about. Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed. It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground. Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him. Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up. Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?” You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on. Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them. If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways. The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge. Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!” You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull. You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door. “Now! We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up. Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel. Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears. The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping. You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense. Deadly tense. Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once. One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life. It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it. All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking. You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before. Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear. Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship. But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap. Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared. They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is. You can’t seem to breathe like he is. It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand. Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh. A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now. Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing. You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you. When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain. You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment. You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through. You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now. However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest. Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you. His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time. It’s… cold. A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin. Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood. You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word. You can’t find a single word to say. The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones. It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet. There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden. Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement. He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip. It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features. His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to. You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there. He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor. You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves. Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly. Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself. “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly. Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t. Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult. You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive. There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment. One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty. There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t. “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it. Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones. You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands. He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from. It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you. The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood. Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face. The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground. It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet. Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back. Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand. It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang. You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground. The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead. So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state. He doesn’t move. His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last. If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else. Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying. You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him. You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor. Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes. Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done. Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown. Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain. The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert. You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy. If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him. It was… isolating. Lonely by yourself. The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp. Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner. Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath. One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet. You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What? At least what? Comfort you? Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions? What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him? You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically. He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you. You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do. If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself. At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment. Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul. Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover. You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on. You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again. You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand. After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone. After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in. The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings. It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent. You don’t feel anything as you do it. You don��t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm. Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster. The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything. They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower. Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy. Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent. When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls. Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today. You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep. You don’t even try, it’s pointless. The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself. You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking. You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago. You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong… They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation. You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point. In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this. You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure. How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices? Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t. You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him. You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance. You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course. Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been. Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you. A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone. Multiple people, this time. He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done. The end result won’t change. You own this now. You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice. He wouldn’t argue with you. He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them. It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount. You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned. You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive. You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him. If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it. Focus on them both, alive and well together. Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness. It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself. Hours, maybe. Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are. You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways. After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair. He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet. “Don’t say anything. Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You did save him. You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent. “I tried. Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself. I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul. Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you. It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up. “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat. They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses. “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out. The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body. “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself. The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking. You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.” Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes. “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold. Again, everything turns numb. It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today. It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it. For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks. “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me. I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger. I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe. And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II. Do you know why I did that?” The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart. “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand. You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up. Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away. But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you. Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying. It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die. You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t. “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones. Especially the trained ones. Anything else was meant to be your last resort. Not your choice. Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself. The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him. Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried. You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen. “I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you. He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words. “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?” You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster. Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care. “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.” It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless. Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against. It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean. Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.” The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child. Never. You’ll die before that happens. “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that. Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing. Not even you.”

Din stares at you. His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant. It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become. You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both. He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet. It happened. What’s done is done, you can’t change the past. He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so. This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child. You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them. Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers. It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak. Broken. “You wore mine once before, and it was…” He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away. “It wasn’t real. It didn’t fit. It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out. I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?” You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad. You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but… Not a Mandalorian, he’d said. Of course not. Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.” Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again. “It was you covered in blood. It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger. You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship. And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too. You…” He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice. “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you. “You don’t fly into war zones. You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me. You said you tried to be brave… like me.” His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand. “I’ll never ask you to be brave. I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight. They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time. Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again. It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside. You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?” He murmurs to you. You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?” You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory. “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that. Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain. You’ll never be able to change it, though. This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else. Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come. You need to tell him. You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?” You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor. “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat. “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.” He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time. He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine. You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before. It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms. His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing. “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today. All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty. You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now. If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer. Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him. “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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mediumgayitalian · 9 months ago

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As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both boys are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way me never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second to late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

#THIS IS JUST A WIP ITS NOT EVEN CLOSE TO DONE #but i’m proud of it so #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #will solace angst #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #longpost #my writing #fic

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theodorecanaryhood · 6 months ago

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Love is a dangerous place

Jason Todd x Male! Geek reader

Warning: swearing, drinking, violence, unprotected sex

Danil Kulakov as Jason Todd

The streets of Gotham were filled with water as the street lights and signs bounced off the water, the rain hammered so hard as it ricocheted across.

Red Hood glared at his enemies with his mask drenched with rain, his guns in his hands. Fully loaded and ready for battle.

‘You motherfucker’ a thug screamed as he ran to Red Hood, the two crashed through the shop window.

Red Hood spun around, tripping the thug over as another man ran up behind, Red Hood pulled the second man down, roundhouse kicking him in the face.

The two men battled with all their strength, but in the end, Red Hood won while fighting with his enhanced strength from the pits and his brute rage.

‘Catch’ Red Hood joked as he shot both men in the arm, knee and then the heads.

Red Hood nonchalantly walked out from the busted windows, walking down the street to his motorbike.

Jason sighed heavily as he stripped off from his gear, welcoming the hot shower with his hand resting on the wall.

The shower head rained all over Jason’s bruised body. Causing him some discomfort as he lathered himself in soap.

The sun was shining down and throwing some heat, Jason’s sunglasses covered his piercing blue eyes. His leather jacket sat comfortably on him.

It had been such a long time that Jason had been able to get some reading done, all he wanted to do was sit in his favourite chair, a hot cup of tea, a good book and maybe a nap.

The vanishing eyes caught Jason’s attention, it was the last on the shelf. Jason reached for it as another hand did at the same time.

‘Sorry’ you said shyly as you saw a tower of a man standing next to you.

Jason’s grip on the book loosened as he got lost in your eyes, the y/e/c eyes he’d never seen up close.

‘It’s no problem, I’ve had my eyes on this book for a while’ Jason said, a small smile curving his lips.

‘Three seconds?’ You questioned as Jason chuckled.

‘No, not in this store, in general’ Jason followed on, both of your hands still placed firmly on the book.

‘Well it’s adding to my collection, the vanishing eyes is the last one’ you said as firm as you could.

You couldn’t deny the fact that your small frame would’ve not been taken seriously, not compared to…

‘Who are you?’ You asked as the man raised an eyebrow at you.

‘Jason, Jason Todd’

‘Well, Jason Todd, how about I buy this?’ You asked as Jason laughed.

You noticed the warmth of his hand as you registered it was still gripping of his skin as well as the spine of the book.

‘No, how about I read it, when I’m finished with it we can meet up over a coffee and discuss it?’ Jason proposed as you didn’t know what else to say.

You blushed as Jason smiled, looking deep into your eyes. His blue eyes pierced right through you.

‘Very dominating’ you kind of joked as Jason shrugged, tilting his head to the side.

‘Deal?’ Jason asked as he snatched the book from the shelf and your grip.

‘Seems I don’t have a choice, seeing as you’re already holding it’ you replied as Jason winked.

It was a deal as Jason meant what he said, he took your number and made an effort to text you an update on the book every so often.

The day he finished it he texted you to say it was all yours, the two of you met up for a coffee and Jason ended the meet up by handing you the book.

You weren’t too sure if Jason was intending on the two of you going out again, I mean, was it a date? Or just a deal with a stranger?

Your glasses sat in your face as you stuffed your face deep into the pages, the thriller book was as good as Jason said.

A ping from your phone distracted you as you saw Jason had asked if you were enjoying it, you replied almost straight away to say yes. Then Jason answered your question, a question in the back of your head.

‘You want to meet up again and talk about other books we’ve read? Amongst other things’ Jason texted, a flush of heat overcame your body.

Jason was a specimen in your eyes, he was tall, charming and liked to read too. There was a mystery behind his eyes, but you of course didn’t want to miss out. Agreeing to a date.

Your glasses were wiped against the material of your shirt, you noticed a small smudge that kept bugging you.

‘Hey’ Jason’s voice caught your attention, you turned around to see him.

‘H,hey’ you stumbled as Jason made you nervous.

He chuckled as he leant down a little and kissed your cheek, taking your hand as he lead you into the restaurant.

Dinner with him was great and Jason had a great sense of humour, he seemed like a big kid in some ways and was quite a klutz.

You admired the way Jason’s face lit up when he was talking about something he’s passionate about, you admired how gentle he was when taking your hand in his. Jason just admired the fact that you were taking an interest in him.

Jason had experiences with men not taking him serious, a big, rough and ready dude like him, geeking out over a book or a comic.

‘So, end of the first date mystery, are we going to see each other again?’ Jason asked, as he stood you at your front door.

‘Hell yes’ you laughed, Jason smiled as he looked into your eyes.

Jason leant down as he took your face in his, greeting your lips with a kiss. A kiss that set off fireworks in your body.

It was a kiss that made you smile till you fell asleep, a kiss that was etched in your memory. You wanted more, so much more of Jason.

Lying in your empty bed thinking about him, and only him.

It was a hard night to get through when you were hard in your pants, thinking of the day you get to have Jason naked with you.

Your mind was distracted as you saw in front of, a situation you wouldn’t be able to control. Jason held your hand tight as the group of men came toward you.

‘Fuck you queers looking at?’ A man in the group said.

You heard Jason let a breath out as a man went to swing a fist at you, Jason grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it until he heard a crack.

The man let out a scream of pain as another man ran towards Jason.

‘Jay, behind you’ you shouted as the man grabbed ahold of Jason.

Jason threw his head back and connected to the man’s nose, Jason was let go of as he turned to face the man, who was holding his bloody nose.

‘Keep your hands to yourself’ Jason growled as he punched the man in the face.

Turning to face the other me, Jason raised his eyebrows. The other men grabbed their things and ran off.

‘Thought so’ Jason smiled as he turned to face you.

‘Christ’ you huffed as Jason took your hand in his.

‘You ok baby?’ He asked you sweetly, you nodded. Grabbing Jason’s face as you kissed him. You popping onto your tiptoe.

It was a rush to get into Jason’s apartment as you slid his leather jacket off his shoulders, Jason continued kissing you deeply as he felt heat rushing to his groin.

Leaving a trail of discarded clothes everywhere, the levels of passion rose for sure. Jason had you with him in his bed within minutes.

It was hours of pleasure that you welcomed, making a strong effort to be as vocal as possible.

‘Y/n’ Jason panted as he pounded hard into you, he lost himself while buried deep inside you.

It was the first time the two of you had sex and it was mind blowing, Jason was generous and gentle. Yet you vocalised you wanted it rough and violent.

You wanted Jason to slap you, choke you, you in return leaving scratches over his shoulders and back.

‘Fuck, I’m coming’ you panted as you spilled over the bedsheets.

Jason gripped with his strength as he ran a hand down your spine, the other gripping onto your hip. Jason deep inside as he felt himself about to hit that special part.

‘Fuck, fuck’ Jason called out as he emptied his sperm inside your prostate.

‘Oh my God’ you gasped as you felt it rush inside you.

You weren’t the type to let a guy finish inside, or even let him get inside without a condom. But you wanted Jason now, and all you wanted was to feel every inch of him.

‘Shit, I need a drink’ Jason said as he gave your ass a slap.

Pulling out and grabbing his underwear, sliding it up as you hunted for your glasses, watching as Jason walked away.

It was a great time to relax as Jason poured you both some drinks, the two of you were talking and talking till the sun went down. Words slurring out as the bottle became empty.

‘Well, looks like we’re out’ Jason said as he shook the bottle upside down.

‘Damn, what to do now’ you chuckled as Jason reached over the table and held your hand.

‘Let’s fuck again’ Jason suggested as you rushed off your feet to go to the bedroom with Jason, again.

It was a night to remember as the sun rose and replaced the night. Jason wanted to stay where you were for the day. Not getting enough of your skin on his.

It was welcomed by you, you wanted nothing more than to stay there. Falling deeper in love as the minutes passed by.

#red hood #gotham #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #dom jason todd #dom x sub

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britany1997 · 1 year ago

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hello hello! i would love to request watching wrestling with paul which leads to play fighting him and either fluff or smut is fine. it’s up to you! ily & i hope you have a good day 🩵🩶

Pinned

Ofc I can write this for you! Hope you love it💕💕

Note: I wrote this before I realized you didn’t ask for Marko in this request lol😭 but I know he’s your favorite so I hope you don’t mind I left it as is!

Paul x GN Reader x Marko

Warnings: spice but no smut (Minors under 16 DNI),

You sighed from your place on the ratty couch in the middle of your boyfriends’ cave, faced with another night of losing the ‘what are we watching tonight’ coin toss.

Marko had to be cheating. You were convinced he’d somehow been using a coin with heads on both sides. How very two faced of him.

Paul plopped down next to you on the couch, jostling you from your thoughts. “Don’t look so down babe,” he said while nudging you with his elbow, “who knows, you might even like wrestling.”

You snorted, “doubt it.”

Paul’s smile slipped just a little, causing a pang of guilt to run through you. Hurting Paul was like kicking a puppy, it never felt good.

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder and pouting, “it’s just…we never watch anything I wanna watch.”

Paul placed his head on top of yours while you rested on him, “you can pick next time baby I promise.”

He moved to whisper in your ear, “I’ll hide Marko’s coin, don’t worry.”

You weren’t sure if Paul could actually pull one over on Marko, but a smile tugged at the ends of your lips anyway. Your boyfriend was too cute.

Your sweet moment with Paul was interrupted by Marko vaulting over the back of the couch and landing on your other side.

He draped an arm over your shoulder, a cocky smirk painted onto his face as he grabbed the remote. “Ready to watch some wrestling baby?” he asked.

You glared.

“What? ‘The world is watching,’” he quoted in an exaggerated tone, only serving to frustrate you further.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you grumbled while Paul’s frown grew. You knew you were being kind of a brat, but you couldn’t stand Marko’s smug face.

He winked at you as the WWE intro began to play. You couldn’t have stopped your eyes from rolling if you tried.

You felt your eyes glazing over as you reached hour three of non-stop wrestling. Made worse, of course, by constant hoots and hollers from your boyfriends as they watched from the edge of their seats.

You knew you should be patient, you knew you should be a good sport, but three hours? Enough was enough!

You groaned, “this is so stupid!” you accused as you watched a man in a Speedo throw his elbow into another man, “you know all this is fake right?”

As soon as those words left your lips, both boys turned to you. “Not true!” Marko argued, his brow furrowed in frustration.

You scoffed, “you don’t really believe that right?”

You gestured at the screen as dominik mysterio was knelt above Ricochet, grinding him into the mat as Ricochet’s legs were spread up in the air.

“C’mon! This Ricochet guy could totally just kick him off! There’s no way he couldn’t get free from that hold,” you argued.

Paul raised his eyebrow and looked across you to try and meet Marko’s eyes.

Marko was obviously not happy with your little outburst as Paul had to clear his throat to get him to stop glaring daggers.

Paul smirked at Marko before jerking his head to motion at you.

Marko shot him a confused look.

Paul sighed, his eyes rolling back into his head.

While you were distracted, hand slowly slithering to Marko’s lap in an attempt to steal the remote, Paul desperately tried to explain his plan. He pointed at the tv, gestured between him and Marko, then gestured to you with a wink.

The curly haired blond’s eyebrows raised in understanding as he worked out what Paul had been trying to say. He moved the remote to the edge of the couch just before your fingers could wrap around it.

Marko sighed dramatically, “maybe you’re right baby.”

“I am?” You asked as your face morphed in surprise, there were few things your boyfriend hated more than admitting he was wrong.

“Mhmm,” he hummed slyly, “it probably is all fake…which is why it should be easy for you to get out of Paul’s grip.”

“What?” your brain didn’t register what Marko had said until Paul pounced on you, his hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you in the air.

Your mouth fell open in shock, “Hey! Wait no! This isn’t fair!”

Your protesting was silenced as Paul pinned you to the floor, your legs splayed in a V, just as Ricochet’s had been.

You kicked and struggled to get him off you, but it was no use. His hands were on top of yours pressing them firmly to your chest and securing you to the ground. His body was wedged between your legs, keeping them apart and keeping you under his control.

You threw your head back in frustration as your struggling proved to be pointless. Paul smirked down at you, one of his hands sliding off your chest to grip your jaw and turn your face towards his.

“Wouldn’t mind having you like this more often baby,” he flirted.

Your cheeks flushed red as you realized the nature of your position, Paul firmly planted between your open legs, his hand enveloping yours… You were completely restrained and at his mercy.

Paul slithered closer to your face as he flipped through your mind, searching for all the things you wanted him to do to you like this.

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from your chest and holding them down on either side of your head.

Marko had had enough of watching. He slowly slunk down from his place on the couch to lift your head into his lap. He ran his hands through your hair, tugging gently every now and again.

Your heart raced as they manhandled you. You could have sunk into the floor from embarrassment when a soft whimper left your lips.

Paul pulled back a bit so Marko could lean down over your face, “watching wrestling might not be your thing, but it seems you like when we’re a little rough hmm?” the curly haired blond whispered.

Paul pressed a kiss to Marko’s lips before squeezing your thighs, “we’d rather play with you than watch TV any day baby.”

Paul’s smile grew as he stared down at you, “look at you, so helpless and cute,” he shot you a mock pout, as he motioned for Marko to take over holding down your arms.

Once Marko’s hands wrapped around your wrists where Paul’s had been, the blond rocker slipped his hands under your shirt, caressing and squeezing the skin.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he toyed with you.

Marko laughed softly to himself, “maybe if you’re good and still for us, we’ll reward you.”

Your heart pumped in your chest as your vision was clouded by their predatory smiles. You were in for a long night.

Maybe wrestling wasn’t so bad after all.

Taglist❤️:

@misslavenderlady @6lostgirl6 @pixielostboy @anna1306 @bloodywickedvamp @lostboys1987girl @consuming-karma @flower-crowned-lady @kurt-nightcrawler @mickkmaiden333 @arenpath @gothamslostboy @softchonk @memphiscity69 @walmartfairy69 @bitchyexpertprincess @solobagginses @ria-coolgirl @dwaynesluscioushair @warrior-616 @dwaynedelight @vampirefilmlover @rynsfandomsfun @arbesa-mind @peachpixiesstuff @aspenreaper

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galaxiasgreen · 14 days ago

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🎆🎇Flowers in the Sky

Ominis oneshot with fluff and light angst [G-rated, 2.6k]

“What do they look like?” he asked into her silence. “Fireworks?” After a pause, she gathered the tips of her fingers together, touched his forehead, and spread them quickly. “Like flowers in the sky,” she murmured. “Blooming outwards in the most vibrant colours you could ever imagine. Just looking at them makes you feel… hopeful.”

Ominis Gaunt had never celebrated Guy Fawkes Night, until one day he was caught unawares in third year.

A/N: Written for the prompt 'comfort food'. Feat. Gibby as the Reader as usual, but with more focus on their friendship. Short and fluffy, light angst. Enjoy! <3

[read on AO3]

Remember, remember, the fifth of November… — English folk poem, 1870

When Ominis was seven, Aunt Noctua invited him over for her birthday.

It was the first time he’d been allowed to leave the house without family supervision. His father, in particular, did not care to celebrate his sister, and since Ominis was his least favourite son, he had no qualms leaving him at her estate for a few hours, if it could give him a moment to forget Ominis existed at all.

Ominis didn’t mind. He got to spend time with his favourite aunt, and that alone was wonderful.

At sundown, she had the house elves prepare a cold dinner of game pie and honey-soaked parsnips that they ate in the morning room, Ominis babbling about his recent achievements, learning more braille words, new facts he’d picked up and new answers to questions he’d learnt about the world. Noctua was patient and listened intently, and when dinner was finished, Ominis sang her happy birthday over a cake three inches wide and plumped with buttercream frosting.

“Happy birthday, auntie,” he finished.

“Thank you, Ominis,” she said, clearly amused. “Would you like a slice?”

They moved to the parlour overlooking the modest gardens, walls a dark, pine green that absorbed enough lamp glow that it left them in relative darkness. With Noctua’s permission, Ominis took the cake to the sofa by the window to eat, digging the fork in by the light of moon.

A sudden, deafening bang from far in the distance made him flinch – he dropped his cutlery, and the plate skittered off his lap and shattered on the floor.

“Ominis! Oh, dear.” Noctua set her plate aside to kneel by the shards. “Are you cut?”

“No, I-I’m sorry, I don’t—”

It clapped again, a pulsing through Ominis’ ears. He shot up and scrambled back from the window.

“What— what is that? Is someone coming to hurt us?”

In seconds Noctua was gently rubbing his shoulders, easing a panic that made his heart beat too fast. “I’m sorry, Ominis, I should’ve warned you. It’s the Muggles in the nearby village, they’re celebrating Guy Fawkes Night.”

“W-What’s Guy Fawkes Night?”

“It’s a festival, don’t worry. Hundreds of years ago a Muggle named Guy Fawkes attempted to explode parliament buildings using barrels of gunpowder— oh, here comes another—”

This time he managed to steel himself against the great clanging that followed, and the ricochet of sharper bursts after that. Noctua hushed him, guiding him back to the sofa. His stomach churned. That noise was like a new log that crackled in a fireplace, only about ten times louder and far more unpleasant.

“They celebrate someone destroying their Ministry?”

“He failed, Ominis. That’s what they’re celebrating. Those loud noises – they’re fireworks. Little explosions of colourful gunpowder in the sky. It’s… imagine a Confringo hex, except brighter, more… beautiful.”

It certainly didn’t sound appealing. Like thunder without the growling build-up or the steadier heartbeat of rain. At least that, Ominis could brace for. Fireworks were one, abrupt beat. How could anyone find that beautiful? Another burst, making the hair on his arms stand.

“Can’t they celebrate quietly?”

Noctua chuckled. “Muggles don’t do life quietly, as you know. Reparo, Scourgify.” The plate mended itself and the rug was cleaned, but there was no saving the smashed cake. “I’ll fetch you another slice.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, expecting punishment.

But Noctua’s voice was a soft lilt, at odds with the cacophony outside. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “My birthday happens to coincide with Guy Fawkes every year. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to the sound.”

She talked much about the holiday that evening. Ominis wasn’t one for the histories of his own people, let alone the Muggles – but this festival piqued his curiosity enough to sit and listen between the staccato march of the fireworks. Despite how barbaric and antiquated the festivities were, there was something oddly charming about Guy Fawkes Night. A celebration of rebels’ folly. At one point Noctua quietened, head lolling to the window when the fireworks grew in frequency, and Ominis could tell she was relishing the spectacle.

“What do they look like?” he asked into her silence. “Fireworks?”

After a pause, she gathered the tips of her fingers together, touched his forehead, and spread them quickly. “Like flowers in the sky,” she murmured. “Blooming outwards in the most vibrant colours you could ever imagine. Just looking at them makes you feel… hopeful.”

She stroked his head then, knowing he would never, truly, understand. Ominis was content with it. He couldn’t enjoy the fireworks, but if she wanted this quiet revelry, who was he to stop her?

It became an annual tradition for them. On the fifth of November, allowed a few hours of recreational time together, Noctua invited Ominis over to enjoy her birthday fireworks together. The cake varied each time, from chocolate to red velvet to Victoria sponge, and though it wasn’t his favourite dessert, nor were the sounds he came to associate it with, something compelled him to accept the invitation each year. That something, the memories of spending one evening where he didn’t have to worry about his parents or Marvolo or whatever Dark Magic they employed in the annals of nightfall, became a comfort he looked forward to every winter season.

And when Noctua went missing, the compulsion dimmed – it would be wrong to celebrate without her, a strike against her memory. So he held off at first year at Hogwarts, clinging to the silent promise to wait until she returned.

She didn’t that year. Nor the second. On those days he retreated to his dorm and drew the curtains around his bed, wondering where Noctua had gone and whether, at that moment, she was remembering those evenings at the window of parlour too, the sky awash with flame and light. He did not understand what it was to look upon colour, but without his aunt to guide him through life, he did understand the feel of monochrome.

By third year, when the pain of Noctua’s disappearance had faded to scars, he was caught unawares during dusk on the fourth, when the rapid drumbeats in the sky signalled the start of Hogsmeade’s annual fireworks display. He’d flinched, startling you as you were crossing the bridge back towards the common rooms before dinner.

“Oh! Are you all right?” you asked, flicking your head between him and the village in the distance. “Is it the fireworks?”

“They’ve caught me off-guard, is all,” he said, taking a breath. Suddenly he could smell Noctua’s parlour, musky with clove and cinnamon and the dust of icing sugar. “I forgot it was the fifth tomorrow.”

“Ooooo, I love Bonfire Night! They used to have a big one in the middle of Waterlow Park, but then they moved further out the city to stop ‘trees catching fire’. Booooo! My friends and I got to run around the fancy, rich people houses asking for stuff to chuck in.”

“Sounds perfectly suited to you,” he mused.

“It was! I love burning things! HAHAHAH!” A firework howled skywards, trailed by a boom. “What do you do to celebrate? Shoot spells up, or something?”

“I’ve never been to a celebration.”

You stopped right in the middle of the bridge. He sighed. Here we go.

“You’ve never been to a Bonfire Night? Never thrown the little twig effigies into a fire? Or gone to a fireworks display?”

“Wizards don’t celebrate Guy Fawkes Night, Gibby. It’s not a tradition for us.”

“But why not? Imagine how different the magical world would be if the Muggle government exploded! There would be chaos!”

He snorted. “Any more than this morning, when you knocked over a crate of Chinese Chomping Cabbages that shredded twelves sets of robes?”

“Hey, I said I was sorry! And they shouldn’t have put that crate so close to me. Garlick knows I’d topple Big Ben if I could.”

“Regardless,” he said, withholding the deep urge to pinch his nose, “I can’t see fireworks, remember? I have no notion what appeals about them. To me they’re simply loud and jarring noises.”

“Ohhhh.” You hummed with thought. “Okay, they are very loud, but I promise they’re really pretty! Like big, brilliant bursts of colour.”

“I’m sure.”

You stopped, and tugged on his sleeve to stop him too.

“So you don’t like Bonfire Night?”

“I didn’t say that.” The bridge was empty, but he lowered his voice anyway. “It’s my aunt’s birthday on the fifth. She’s been missing for a few years now.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.” Although the truth of it hollowed him out. “I used to celebrate with her at her house. She’d feed me cake and we’d watch the fireworks together. She used to describe them to me, the colours. In hindsight, I think she was ashamed she enjoyed them.”

“Because they were Muggle?”

“Because I couldn’t.”

“Well, we’ll just have to change that, won’t we?” You jabbed a thumb towards the village. “Let’s go to Hogsmeade tomorrow! It’ll be fun, promise!”

“She was right, Gibby,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t be able enjoy them as you do. So thank you, but I’ll pass. Sebastian or Anne might like to go.”

You opened, then closed your mouth, and Ominis was about to let the subject go and tug you along before suddenly—

“OH MY GIDDY AUNT, I HAVE A GREAT IDEA! This is going to blow your socks off! Don’t go anywhere!” You started off, then jogged on the spot. “I mean, do go anywhere! But keep thinking! Thinking thoughts! See you later!”

“What are you—?” But you had already squeezed through the door and scampered ahead. “Wha—? Gibby!”

There was no telling what machinations were concocting in that head of yours. Sighing, Ominis gathered his things, casting an ear one last time to the fireworks in the distance. At least Noctua would be happy he’d made some approximation of a friendship, despite how frequently you befuddled him with your odd Muggle behaviour. Would his aunt like you as much as she liked the fireworks?

Or was it pointless to wonder for someone who was probably dead?

The next day, Sebastian and Anne were chatting about the Hogsmeade fireworks display over lunch, and how excited they were to go.

“Want to come, Ominis?” Anne leant to him and added with a whisper, “Gonna’ ram a sparkler down Sebastian’s trousers. You won’t want to miss it.”

“I’ll shove your head in a Catherine Wheel, how about that?”

“No, thank you,” Ominis said, as Anne kicked her brother under the table. “But I’m certain Gibby will enjoy it.”

“She’s not going either,” she said crossly. “What’s with you two? You’re not going off to snog, are you?”

That was odd. It wasn’t as if you were doing anything tonight – and you’d certainly not expressed disinterest in going yesterday.

“He hasn’t denied it,” Sebastian added smugly.

Ominis scoffed and got to his feet. “Yes, a passionate snogging session. It’s been booked for weeks. Tongue was an extra Sickle.”

He didn’t manage to find you before the lunch hour ended, leaving him in an unnerving state of suspicion. Your ‘ideas’ were about as safe as Garreth’s potions experiments. Every corner he turned, he feared someone would light a rocket or shoot a cannon in his face, but as night fell and the fireworks began outside, his fears slowly cooled to a low simmer. You must have gone, or forgotten. Either was ideal.

“OMINIS! There you are!”

Just as he reached the Slytherin common room, bound for an evening of relaxation, he found you hovering by the pillars with a tub strapped around your shoulders.

“I’ve been waiting for you!” you said, restless with excitement. “Dump your stuff and let’s go!”

“Go where? I thought you were going to Hogsmeade?”

“I had a better idea! Quick, we don’t want to miss any more!”

Reluctantly he left his bag and things aside, and let you lead him through hallways, across bridges and up stairs until you’d brought him to one of the Bell Tower’s balconies facing Hogsmeade and the sky beyond. The fireworks display was in full effect, barraging the air with streams of explosive confetti, but it was bitingly cold.

“Are you going to explain what you’re doing?”

You roped a blanket and scarf around his shoulders. “Yes, just— hold on…” Then you opened the tub’s lid. “Huzzah!”

Flicking his wand, he pieced together the scene: you, holding something out to him rectangular in shape. A tray. So you’d made something. Tentatively he reached forwards, brushing his fingertips over a warm papery baking cup, and the springy cake within.

“Fairy cakes!” you said. “Cakes so small a fairy could eat it. No actual fairies involved, thankfully.”

He took one, skimming his finger cautiously over the cake’s top, catching a small coin of frosting. Vanilla, he recognised, when he licked the spot off his nail. The cake itself had barely risen over the cup’s rim; it really was small enough for a fairy.

“I know your aunt went missing,” you said, lowering the tray, “but it sounded like she really cared about you, and you miss her, so I thought you might like to remember her…”

It wasn’t sadness or loss he felt, that sudden rush up his chest. It was yearning, nostalgia. Just the smell of the cakes and sound of the applauding fireworks, the percussive bass to your melody alto, was enough to coax a pensive smile to his lips.

Yes, he thought. It is nice to remember her.

“This is very kind. Thank you.”

Encouraged, you took a cake for yourself and knocked it against his. “Cheers!” you cried, a toast. “I didn’t know what flavour you liked so I made two sets of six.”

“You spent all evening on a dozen cakes?”

“Oh, pffft, Ominis, I can make these with my eyes closed. I took so long because there’s one more surprise! Try it!”

He took a bite. The flavour wasn’t gentle – it exploded full-force in his mouth, the sharp punch of lemon mellowed by the sweeter notes of elderflower, fluffy, moist and— hard?

The granule rolled along his tongue like sugar – when he crunched into it, it popped, sending a wave down his taste buds like a thousand fingers playing piano. The sensation was overwhelming. Pop pop pop pop pop. He froze at first, trying to understand what was happening, an allergic reaction, poison? – no, you would never – but quickly realised it wasn’t unpleasant at all. Actually it was… amusing.

“Do you like it?” you asked, bouncing. “Do you?”

“What is this? I— my mouth is… fizzing?”

You giggled. “It’s called fizzing candy! An American wizard made it. Not made public yet. He sent some to Honeydukes to sample!”

“But—” His brow tightened. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you make me cake with this fizzing candy?”

On cue, a firework shattered outwards, but no matter how loudly it clamoured over the horizon, it could never smother the sound of your laugh.

“To show you, silly! That cake… that’s what a firework is like. Explosive, and lively, and fun! And since you can’t see them, I figured you might as well taste them.”

It made sense how Noctua described them now. Like a Confringo hex in edible form. Everything, from the flavour, texture and now the fizz, pictured a firework so clearly in his mind it was as if he’d kissed the night sky.

And he supposed… yes, it was rather beautiful in its own way.

You bit into your own cake and chewed with your mouth open, making a noise that sounded like “Fee’s so funny!” as the fizzing candy crackled. “Wha’ do you fink?”

A firework squealed as he grinned.

“It’s wonderful.”

When it exploded, he took another tentative bite and found himself laughing, raising a hand cover his mouth, an attempt to preserve his manners. But you started to laugh too, big and brilliant and bursting, no care to what you looked like and how loud you were.

It gave him more hope than any flower in the sky.

Please like/ reblog/ share if you enjoyed <3

[A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet masterlist] [Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow #noctua gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #if you squint #gibby #acvasverse #my oneshots #my writing #my stuff

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abbys-wifey · 1 year ago

Text

the fair

request linked here

pairing: amber freeman x female reader

warnings: male hitting on us 🤮 fluff

a/n: i promise the requests are slowly being done i’ve got bad writers block atm sadly. feel free to send in more i promise they will all be done eventually.

Metaphorical drool drips down my chin at the sight of my girlfriend leaning against the bedroom wall, phone in her hands as she waits patiently for me to finish getting ready.

Putting the finishing touch on my makeup, I walk up to her and smile as she instantly turns off her phone and puts it in her back pocket. “You look beautiful baby.” She gasps reaching for my waist. “Ambs shush, your gonna make me blush.” I scrunch my nose as she laughs. “Isn’t that my job as your girlfriend?” She cocks her head to the side causing me to roll my eyes.

“I don’t wanna keep everyone else waiting, can we go to the fair now?” I ask gently tucking Ambers hair behind her ears. “One last thing before we go.” Amber whispers before pressing her lips to my own. Before I can even kiss back she removes them teasingly and takes my hand.

“You wanted to go now right?” She smirks. I narrow my eyes at her and gently punch her shoulder. “Fucking tease.”

Amber sticks her tongue out at me before heading to the car.

……..

“Took you long enough. What you have sex on the drive over?” Mindys quick with the insults as Amber and I arrive last of our entire group, although Tara isn’t far in front.

“Mindy shut up.” Amber rolls her eyes at the brown haired girl who makes a face back causing me to silently chuckle, the beef between my girlfriend and our best friend never not being amusing.

“Tara and I are gonna go on the roller coasters,” Chad interrupts giving the rest of us a small wave before heading off, his arm wrapped around Tara’s shoulders. “God they are almost worse than you.” Mindy fake gags with a glance towards Amber before turning to Anika and tugging her away towards what looked like a shooting game.

“Guess it’s just me and you.” I grin turning to look at Amber who pretends to roll her eyes. “On second thought I’ll just go with Mindy and Anika.” I shrug turning around only to be tugged into Ambers body as she grips my waist. “No. Stay with me.” She shakes her head with a playful grin before leaning down to kiss my lips.

“Fine. But I wanna play the game where you try to get the ring around the bottles.”

Amber nods letting my waist go but taking my hand as we walk towards the stall housing my favourite fair game.

“Uh just one round please.” Amber hands the teenage boy working the stall a five dollar note in return for five rings. I grin as Amber places the rings in my hand and stands back, arms crossed over her chest as she watches me play.

Throwing the first ring my eyebrows furrow as it clinks against the glass but ricochets off and onto the floor. “Bad luck beautiful.” The stall attendant grins at me. I chuckle awkwardly glancing back at Amber to see her glaring hard at the teenager enough so that I can’t help but crack a smile.

My next two shots both manage to land around the neck of a glass bottle, the stall attendee congratulating me with a flirtatious wink much to both mine and Ambers disgust. Throwing my fourth ring I hold my breath as it twirls around the neck of the bottle before falling off causing a sigh to fall from my lips. “If you get the next one in, I’ll give you a prize anyway.” The teenager grins moving to lean against the counter just inches away from my hand.

I chuckle awkwardly and turn my attention to my last ring throwing it towards the bottles. Whether it was lucky or not the ring lands squarely on the neck of the bottle. Amber smiles at me gently as I turn to her, my own bright smile covering my lips.

“As promised, your prize beautiful.” The worker grips my arm and tugs me towards him so fast I don’t even realise what’s happening. “Get your fucking hands off her.” Ambers quick to react pushing herself between me and the stall attendee. “Are you blind or just fucking stupid? She is not attracted to you dimwit.” Amber snaps at the teenager who stands slack jawed at the confrontation. “I-I didn’t realise. My bad.” He whispers taking a step back and raising his hands.

Amber scoffs and points to the large teddy bear hanging on the wall. “That’s her prize, grab it.” She orders and in seconds the large bear is in her arms.

“Here you are baby.” She turns to me, a sweet smile on her face as she hands me the bear and presses a passionate kiss to my lips making sure the teenager can see very clearly who I belong to.

“Thanks Ambs.” I intertwine our fingers and pull her close to me as we walk away from the stall.

“Ferris wheel?” Amber asks with a squeeze of my hand. I nod enthusiastically glancing up at her with an adoring grin. “Thank you for before, I didn’t even, like, realise what was happening.” I shake my head with a frown feeling rather grossed out. “He was an idiot, and plus, I don’t really feel like sharing you with anyone else.” Ambers free hand cups my cheek and pulls it to her lips as she presses a kiss on the side of my face. I blush softly and smile at her affection, a rare treat especially out in public.

………

“This is beautiful.” I gasp turning my body to the window to admire the view from the top of the ferris wheel.

The fair ground shimmers and glows under the moonlight, lights dazzling splashing colours left right and centre.

“I know.” Amber sighs wrapping an arm around my waist and resting her head on my shoulder. “I wanna stay here forever.” She whispers kissing the bare skin of my neck softly. My nose scrunches at the ticklish sensation before I lean back into her arms, watching the lights fade as we go further down the ferris wheel.

“Is that Tara and Chad?” I squint glancing outside the ferris wheel carriage at two people tucked in between two stalls making out. “It is too.” Amber laughs glancing at the small girl and the much taller man attempting to hide from the public eye. “That’s disgusting.” I cringe looking away as the ferris wheel begins another rotation.

Ambers breath hits my ear causing goosebumps to run down my neck. “It’s not disgusting when it’s my mouth on yours.” She whispers causing my whole body to tense, a familiar tingling feeling coursing through my stomach. “You are right about that.” I reply as the ferris wheel finally comes to a stop.

“You wanna go home and try it out?” Amber quirk an eyebrow, a suggestive smirk on her lips. I roll my eyes and move to collect my large teddy bear from the seat across from me. “Your the one telling Mindy why we bailed.” I retort exiting the carriage with my hand interlocked with Ambers.

“Anything to get you out of these clothes.” Amber whispers in return chuckling at the sight of my cheeks flushing red. “Who knew seeing your best friends making out would make you so horny.” I tease causing Ambers eyes to roll. “Please, seeing Tara and Chad sucking face did little to turn me on. That was all you.”

#wlw post #lesbian #fluff #mikey madison #jenna ortega #amber freeman #scream #mikey madison x female reader #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin #anika kayoko #tara carpenter

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mikeslawyer · 2 years ago

Text

mikeslawyer on ao3

don't you know the truth (that i'm so in love with you) [14,014 words]: soulmate au (will's pov)

please, tell me the truth (cause i'm so in love with you) [17,486 words]: soulmate au (mike's pov)

when we're finished saying nothing (can we please get back to us) [8,879 words]: will, post s4, finally decides to rip off the band-aid of his friendship with mike

it's not just a figure of speech (you've got me down on my knees) [2,091 words]: never have i ever ft everyone has a crush on will - mike's not happy about it

take my whole life, too (for i can't help falling in love with you) [1,641 words]: lettergate but valentine's edition

we could kiss (just like real people do) [2,789 words]: will starts flirting with mike - what could be a better solution than practice kissing?

the stars only answer our questions (not our pleas) [2,286 words]: will gets vecna'd with no music tapes around and no faith in mike's words

i'll make the moon shine (just for your view) [3,533 words]: my take on flickergate

kiss me with your mouth full of smoke (and don't let my heart burn) [2,307 words]: will, mike, two joints and the mystery of flirting

I don’t quite know what to say (but I’m here in your doorway) [5,439 words]: the mandatory will doesn’t know they’re dating fic

that’s my closest thing to closure (I can’t stop this rollercoaster) [2,261 words]: byler getting high in the celebration of 4/20

he’s gonna notice me (it’s okay, we’re the best of friends) [3,113 words]: will asks for advice how to tell the signs of someone having a crush on you - mike’s showing them all

heart on your sleeve (like you’ve never been loved) [3,180 words]: will gets shot with truth serum - mike won’t stop asking questions

I picked the petals (he loves me not) [10,098 words]: hanahaki au with vecna possessing the both of them

be that attached (to the person i’m holding) [3,474 words]: will has a fever and confesses. mike has a breakdown about it.

I keep biting my tongue just to keep you here (made you wait for someone I could never be) [2,468 words]: mike and el post break up talk s5 prediction

cursing my name, wishing I stayed (look at how my tears ricochet) [chapter 5/7, ongoing]: will is tormented by vecna - not by nightmares, but by his hidden dreams, taunting will with the vision where mike loves him back - while mike just wants to get his best friend back before he slips right through his fingers

never thought I’d let a rumour ruin my moonlight (well, somebody told me you had a boyfriend) [2,293 words]: will has a crush, whose description sounds a lot like mike. mike does not connect the dots.

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writinground2 · 1 year ago

Note

46 + 62 with one of the lionesses?

46. "I want to find my soulmate."

62. "Did we meet before?"

Right Person, Wrong Time - Lucy Bronze

The ball ricocheted off the cross bar again. Roughly running her hand down her face, Lucy let out a frustrated yell. Making her way to the end line, she glared down the field before taking off in a sprint.

Huffing at the other end, she dropped her hands to her knees, catching her breath. She took off before she fully caught her breath. Lucy repeated her sprints three more times before stopping.

She worked to toe off her boots, not bothering to unlace them. Growing frustrated, she gripped one in her hand, harshly ripping one off, followed by the other.

“You good Lucy?” Beth asked softly, having waited in the locker room for the older girl to come in.

Lucy let out a humourless chuckle out, flopping into her stall. Tilting her head until it hit the back, she slowly released her breath, giving a small shake of her head.

Beth placed a hand on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, “what’s going on?”

“It’s dumb, not even something that I should be this frustrated by,” she rolled her head to the side, making eye contact with the blonde.

“If you’re upset, there’s nothing stupid about it.”

“Great for my fitness though,” Lucy tried to give her a smirk, not quite reaching her eyes.

Beth tilted her head, waiting for Lucy to say more.

“This camp, it’s just getting to me that everyone seems to have someone, Kiera’s moved on. Which is great, I’m happy for her, and everyone. I just, fuck this is so cheesy, I want my soulmate.”

Beth watched on sympathetically while Lucy worked through her thoughts.

“I want that stupid feeling in my belly and my heart to flutter in my chest,” Lucy spoke wistfully, “I want that stupid smile on my face when their name shows up on my screen. I want to pretend to be mad at you guys for teasing me, but secretly love it because it means I am so in love.”

Beth almost wanted to tease the brunette about the way she spoke longingly, but she knew this wasn’t the right time, that Lucy was really struggling with these thoughts and feelings. She truly felt bad that she didn’t have anything helpful to say, instead choosing to awkwardly pull her into a side hug.

Lucy chuckled, pulling out of the hug, “you don’t need to say anything. I’ll get over it, just seemed to hit me suddenly.”

Beth nodded, waiting while Lucy changed, walking to the van together. Beth giving her a sympathetic pat on the back as they walked.

Lucy leaned her head against the window, tuning out the rest of the bus. Beth shook her head at anyone that looked ready to bother the defender.

“Shower up, make yourselves presentable, media in 45 minutes!”

Was called to them as they entered the hotel. Lucy groaned; she didn’t think she had it in her to pretend to in a good mood for an afternoon of media.

Pushing it to an hour, Lucy strolled into the conference room. With a glare from the media coordinator, she was ushered over to small brunette, casually tossing marshmallows into the air, and catching them in her mouth.

Sighing, she tried to shake off her foul mood, it wasn’t this poor girl’s fault she wasn’t in a good mood, she would do her best not to take it out on her.

“Hey, I’m Lucy,” she stuck her hand out as she approached her.

Y/N gave her an odd look, but smiled and shook her hand, “Y/N.”

“What are we playing?” she decided to just get right to it. The faster she could make a fool of herself on camera, the faster she could leave.

“Don’t worry about it, you don’t much look like you want to play a game right now," Y/N gave her a sympathetic smile.

Lucy winced at being called out but gave her a small nod.

“Tell you what, I need a quick shot to say we did it, then you can just hide out here until it’s time to move on. Marshmallows are great mood boosters,” Y/N gave her a wink.

The defender let out a relieved breath, happy she wasn’t going to have to play a game or answer the same questions she’s answered for every interview and every interviewer that thinks they’re being fun.

“Great, just take a couple marshmallows, toss them up, catch them in your mouth if you can. I’ll record it and piece it together from there,” Y/N instructed, handing over the bag of marshmallows.

Lucy took a few from the bag and set herself up in the view of the camera Y/N had set up.

She tossed the first one up and easily caught it in her mouth. Smiling while she chewed her marshmallow, she started to walk out of the camera frame only to be stopped by one hitting her in the chest.

“Get back there cheater, you didn’t toss it high enough,” Y/N giggled at the scowl Lucy sent her way, though did step back into the frame.

This time, tossing the marshmallow extremely high, it came down with a smack to her face, having lost it in the florescent lights of the conference.

Hearing Y/N chuckling at her, Lucy quickly tossed another and worked to get under it and catch it again. Smiling victoriously at Y/N just behind the camera, she slowly chewed her marshmallow.

“Better?” she waited before being directed to leave her spot this.

Nodding, Y/N motioned her away.

Lucy had to admit, the little challenge lightened her mood slightly. Flopping into the chair, Lucy watched Y/N fiddle with the camera for a second before joining her at the table.

The pair sat in comfortable silence, Y/N working away on her tablet while Lucy watched the rest of the team doing silly games or interviews. The first week of camp had been exhausting and it was apparent as the players went through the motions of the games, none with the same energy they usually had.

“Thank you for giving me a break,” Lucy broke their silence, appreciating the break Y/N had given her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Y/N smiled at her, “you all looked beat walking in here, last thing you needed was another person pestering you.”

“What were we supposed to do?”

Y/N gave a bashful smile, “honestly, nothing. You all looked like you needed a break, and no one can stay upset eating marshmallows. So, it was just going to be a little hang out time for everyone.”

“So why the toss up?”

“I needed to make it look like I was doing something!”

Lucy let out a burst of laughter as Y/N defended herself, causing the younger woman to blush.

They settled back into silence. Lucy found herself looking back over to the brunette though. There was something familiar about her, it felt like she had met her before.

“Did we meet before?” Lucy abruptly cut the silence again.

“A few times,” Y/N chuckled, taping away at her tablet.

Lucy stared at her waiting for her to look up from her tablet. Y/N flipped her tablet around, showing Lucy the Lionesses website. She looked at Y/N confused, but scrolled through the open page, realizing it a page of their board members. Finally coming upon Y/N’s name and picture, she realized why she looked so familiar.

A professional photo of Y/N smiled back at Lucy. Director of Marketing written underneath with a brief biography. She would have met the younger woman many times at any important Lioness events. And here she was, being grumpy and not recognizing one of the directors on their board.

Cringing, she turned the tablet back to Y/N. She immediately started apologizing, but Y/N waved her off, shaking her head.

“It’s ok,” Y/N gave her a smile, “apparently an intern no showed for this, and the media coordinator didn’t recognize me either, thought I was the kid, and sent me over here for this.”

Lucy looked shocked before letting out a laugh, “they thought you were an intern?”

“Ouch, you not thinking I couldn’t pass as an intern hurts way more than not being recognized,” Y/N pretended to look hurt.

The smile dropped from her face, thinking she had genuinely upset the other woman, “no! You could easily pass an intern; you look quite fit. I meant; you don’t look like you could be on the board. Not that you can’t do that.”

She trailed off when she saw the smirk Y/N was sending her way, “please continue to tell me how fit I am.”

Lucy scowled but was motioned to move on to the next media station before she could rebuttal. Her mood had greatly improved since spending it with Y/N for the last half an hour, her smile genuine for the first time in a couple days.

As she made her way around the room, she continued to glance over to Y/N’s area. And true to her word, everyone there looked relaxed and at ease, all happy it was one less interview. Y/N had been right, no one could stay upset while eating marshmallows.

As the afternoon ended, more people Lucy recognized came into the room, all well dressed in business attire. She watched as Y/N approached them, only now realizing Y/N wasn’t dressed like the media people were, but was dressed in form fitting dress pants, with a dress shirt tucked neatly into them. How the media coordinator didn’t realize she wasn’t press, was surprising now that she thought about it.

Lucy stifled her laughter as she watched the coordinator pale as the entire board of directors was introduced and Y/N stepped forward, realizing she wasn’t the intern they thought she was.

The defender could feel her dread start to settle in her stomach again. She had a great time with the Y/N, the little bit they got together. She had felt connected to her and couldn’t take her eyes off her for the rest of the afternoon. Now, it settled in though that it wouldn’t matter. Connection or not, Y/N was part of the board and Lucy was a player, they couldn’t be anything beyond that.

She had been thinking of soulmates this morning and was dreading how hers didn’t seem to exist. It only made sense the first connection she has with someone ends up being right person, wrong time.

She tried to focus on what they were telling the team, it was probably important, it was the president speaking. Her head shot up though when she heard Y/N’s voice again.

“I know I’ve only had the opportunity to meet most of you a few times and actually get to know you this afternoon. Being part of this organization has been a great opportunity for me. Watching you all help grow and develop this sport, as well as the impact you have had girls in athletics, you should all be very proud of what you’ve accomplished. That being said, I will be stepping down. Thank you all.”

She briefly waved to the team, before stepping back and allowing someone else to speak.

Maybe soulmates do exist. Maybe there is some force that allows people to be together. Maybe it is finally right person right time for Lucy.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #Lucy bronze x reader

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guinea-pig16 · 9 months ago

Text

Something Better || Chapter 7: Nightmares

Ghost x Reader x Soap

Fic is below the cut !! Please read the previous chapter here if you haven't already !!

______________________________________________________________

Word Count: 4,400+

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, self-loathing thoughts, graphic depictions of injuries, mentions of dead bodies (not real dw), guns, gunshots

______________________________________________________________

Bullets ricocheted off the walls as you and your teammates sprinted through the hallways. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you ran, mocking your panicked state. This was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to be an easy in and out mission, not a full blown battle zone. You fear your calls for backup went unheard. Your heart jumped as you spotted an exit. You motioned to your teammates the exit location.

“I’ll cover you guys, move out!” You yelled. They nodded and ran by you. As they passed, you counted each member. Your chest sank as your last teammate passed you. Someone was missing. You grabbed the last soldier’s arm and held them back.

“Where the hell is Parker!?” You yelled.

“He’s not already left?” They asked, worry lacing their voice. You shook your head and wracked your brain for where Parker could be. You let go of the soldier’s arm and motioned for them to head through the exit.

“I’m going back for him, go join the others and await backup.” You said and started moving back further into the building.

“Wait, you’re not going back alone are you!? That’s a death wish!” Said the soldier, grabbing your shoulder. You shrugged them off and gave them a determined look.

“I will not leave anyone behind, now move soldier!” You yelled. They hesitated for a moment, and then ran after the other team members. You raised your gun and slowly began making your way through the building. You followed the sound of distant gunfire.

You pressed yourself against the wall and shifted closer to the edge of the doorway. A stray bullet whizzed through the open door. You could hear men yelling inside. With a deep breath, you burst through the doorway and shot at the assailants inside. Within seconds, they were down, having been caught by surprise.

You glare at the figure that starts to slowly rise from behind a table. Storming over, you hit Lieutenant Parker upside the head.

“What the fuck were you thinking!? How the hell did you fall so far behind from the rest of the team!?” You yell, dragging him out from behind the table by his collar. He ducks his head staring at the floor.

“...I saw Veseli heading down this way after watching us scramble from the meeting room. I… I thought I could finish him off… That maybe this mission wouldn’t have been for nothing…” He says, gripping his gun tightly. You look at him, guilt welling up in your chest. You led them on this faulty mission. You should’ve checked it out for yourself before jumping in…

You huff and rest a hand on his shoulder. “...Don’t worry about it. But you’re goddamn lucky someone like you is hard to replace, or else you would’ve been left to be dog food…” Parker chuckles at that. You give him a grin. “Now come on, we’re not outta this hell hole yet. The rest of the team’s waiting outside. I’ll cover you.” He nods and the two of you inch towards the door. Parker peeks out into the hall before slipping out, giving you the motion to continue.

You slip out as well, remaining as quiet as possible. You both creep down the halls, bodies of your assailants littering the floors. As you near the exit, you hear footsteps and shouts in the distance. Dammit… They just keep coming… You think to yourself.

“Parker, make a run for the exit, I’ll cover you.” He looks at you in shock.

“L/N, you can’t be serious-” You cut him off, focusing entirely on the opposite end of the hall.

“I refuse to fill out a K.I.A. form tonight, Lieutenant. Now get your ass out of here.” You feel him hesitate. “Dammit, Parker, NOW!” You hear him start running down the hall. As he ran, gunmen round the corner, barely getting the chance to raise their weapons before you mowed them down.

Grunt after grunt came, but none were able to do anything against your onslaught. But they were starting to wear you down, your cartridge in your gun running low. You dropped your gun when it drew blanks and pulled out your pistol. You started back down the hall, inching towards the exit, trying to kill as many as you could. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, let them get to the rest of your team.

“L/N! Get out of there, there’s too many!” You heard Parker yell from behind you. You whipped around, seeing him standing in the exit doorway. Fury boiled up inside of you. I told that little shit to get out of- The thought was cut off as bullets riddled your back. A gasp left you as you felt three of them enter right underneath your vest. Blinding pain erupted from your lower spine as you collapsed.

You couldn’t feel your legs as your body met the ground. Loud ringing filled your ears as you numbly tried to sit up. Fiery, white hot pain ripped through your spine as you shifted slightly. You tried to move your legs to no avail. It felt like they were gone, like they didn’t exist. You heard more gunfire, and felt a pair of arms start dragging you down the hall. Each movement was agony, it felt as though someone had ripped off your lower spine.

Someone was speaking to you as everything around you faded to black. You closed your eyes. Opening them, you saw you were standing in a void. You looked down, and saw yourself, being dragged down the hall by Parker. Blood gushed from your lower back and torso as you laid there limply. You blinked, but you were no longer staring at yourself and Parker…

It was Soap, it was his lower back riddled with bullets, and it was Ghost dragging him down the hall. You tried to rush to help, but you were glued to the inky blackness, frozen, forced to watch as he bled out, as Ghost tried to save him.

“This is just a dream, it’s just a dream, this didn’t happen, it’s okay, they’re okay!” You told yourself. Your voice echoed throughout the void. The figures of Soap and Ghost stopped, as if they were frozen in time.

“But it could have happened… Because you hesitated…” Rang a voice from the darkness, your voice. “You almost got them killed… What happened to you could have happened to them… Because of your carelessness…” You looked at the figures again, only this time…

The entirety of 141 were sprawled on the ground, riddled with bullets, bloodied, dead. Gaz, Laswell, Price, Soap, Ghost. All of them. Dead.

“It’s your fault… You caused this…” You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. The voice echoed those words, louder, louder, louder. You tried to cover your ears, close your eyes, but you could still hear it, still see their mangled bodies. You dropped to the ground, unable to bear it any longer. A scream ripped from you and then-

You jolted upwards, a gasp tearing from your throat. Your breaths were labored as you quickly took in your surroundings, sweat clinging to your skin. You were in your room, laying in bed. You exhaled and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, attempting to calm yourself. It was a nightmare, it wasn’t real… You repeated to yourself. … But it could have been… You sucked in a breath. Guilt ridden thoughts started welling up inside, the darkness of your room feeling heavy on your shoulders. You curled in on yourself, trying to breathe.

It was suffocating, the darkness, the words that clanged in your head. You had to leave. You snatched your cane as you jolted from your bed and lunged for the door, wrenching it open. As quickly as you could, you made your way through the silent, empty halls, the clacking of your cane seeming to echo throughout the base. You needed air.

You thrust open the door that led outside and took in a deep breath. The crisp, cool night air filled your lungs as you breathed, and breathed, and breathed. You plopped down on a bench next to the door and stared at the moon. From what you could tell from its position, it was probably around 3 or 4 in the morning. You sighed and leaned your head against the concrete exterior of the base. What a shitty week… You thought.

It had been almost a week since the last mission, you had been avoiding everyone, unable to face them. Everyday, you would send a request to Laswell for a transfer, and everyday it would be denied. You couldn’t understand why she refused it, had she not seen how royally you fucked up? You froze at the worst possible time. You could have gotten the team killed if it weren’t for Laswell’s quick thinking. You huffed a bitter laugh. If only the team could see me now… How pathetic I’ve gotten… Your chest burned with memories of them… How they looked at you with admiration. It wasn’t 141 you were thinking of, it was your team… Task Force 441…

You frowned as you remembered your last meeting with them, while you were still bedridden in the hospital. You hadn’t said a single word to them the entire time. You didn’t even say goodbye to them when they left. How long ago was that…? A year…? A year gone by, and you’re right back at square one… How pathetic of you…

You heard a shuffle from the doorway. Turning your head lamely, you suddenly froze when you saw Soap standing there. He seemed to have the same reaction as you, him staring at you like a deer in headlights. His mohawk was ruffled, and he was dressed in a tank top, sweatpants, and a pair of slippers. You both stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, neither of you knowing what to say.

“Um… How’s it goin’...?” Says Soap, slowly. He cringes internally at his words. He’s pretty sure he knows damn well how it’s going. Not good!

“Um… Fine I guess…?” You say, looking down at the gravel beneath the bench. A beat of awkward silence bounces between the two of you.

Soap hadn’t meant to find you. He had woken up only a few minutes prior with the need for a drink and had been on his way to the break room when he saw the outside door open, a night breeze sweeping down the hall. It was just simple curiosity that led him here.

He hadn’t seen you since your outburst on the blacktop. That was about a week ago. He tried to talk to you only once after it happened, but was met with icy silence. He figured you just needed time alone. He considers going back inside and leaving you be. But… Just looking at you, he can tell something is eating you alive. There’s dark circles under your eyes, and your face is soulless and blank. You probably want to be left alone… But something in him keeps him from turning around. He’s seen Simon the same way. He can’t let you do this alone…

Against his better judgment he fully steps outside. “...D’ye mind if I sit whit ye for a moment?” He says gently. If you said no, he’d go back inside, no questions asked.

You take in a breath, preparing to tell him to leave you alone, but… You stop yourself. Do you really want to be alone right now…? Besides, does he really deserve to keep being pushed away like this? You sigh and wave your hand.

“Be my guest. I can’t tell you where to sit.” You say. Your focus remains on the ground as you feel him sit next to you. Silence washes over the two of you, but it’s not as awkward as before. You close your eyes and rest your head on your hands. Thankfully, it seems as though your thoughts aren’t as loud as earlier. Probably because you’re embarrassed someone’s found you in this state, especially Soap, who was the last person you wanted to find you like this.

Soap observes you as you sit there with your eyes closed. You look so small right now… So vulnerable. He can’t see any of your usual confident attitude, that sense of unwavering strength and determination. You look like a shell, a void that will swallow light whole.

“...How come yer out here?” He asks. He didn’t know if he’d get an answer or not. It wouldn’t bother him if you didn’t. He’s used to his questions going unanswered, having had that happen to him many times with Simon.

You sit there for a moment, considering. You let out a sigh. “Oh… You know… Nightmares and stuff like that… Nothing I can’t handle. Just needed to… To get away from it for a moment…” You say, exhaustion heavy in your voice. You were tired. Not just physically, but mentally. You were tired of being ripped from sleep by memories you wanted to forget. You were tired of being in your own head.

Soap hums in acknowledgment. You’re not the only one who’s been dragged from sleep because of nightmares. Both he and Simon have had to console one another after particularly bad ones.

“...D’ye want t’ talk aboot it?” He asks softly. Once again, he wasn’t expecting a yes or even an answer from you. It was more so a gentle offer, a reminder that you can talk to him and he would listen for as long as you needed.

You sat there, head still resting on your hands, pondering. It’s not that you didn’t trust Soap, hell, you trust the man with your life. You just… You didn’t know if you could bear telling him. Would he look at you differently? Would he treat you with pity, or disgust when he found out about your failure? You turned slightly to look at him for the first time since he came out here. He was sitting next to you patiently, his eyes void of judgment or pity. Maybe… Just maybe…

You let out a long sigh and sat up. You leaned against the wall of the base and crossed your arms, staring up at the moon. A minute or two of silence passed by. Soap turned his gaze from you and looked at the moon as well. Perhaps you weren’t ready to talk.

“I used to be the captain of Task Force 441.” You say, eyes never leaving the sky. Soap’s eyes widen as he whirls his head to stare at you, shocked. He knew you were a part of the team, but the captain!?

You can see his shocked expression out of the corner of your eye and grin a little. “I know, I don’t look the part, do I? Especially not now.” You let out a sigh and close your eyes. “I was handpicked by some of the higher ups, along with the other 6 members.” A smile graced your lips. “We were together for years, kicking ass, scaring off baddies, we felt unstoppable.” Your smile dropped from your face. Soap didn’t dare say a word, afraid you’d stop talking.

“...Do you know what our last mission was?” You asked quietly. Soap thought for a moment. He’d heard vague rumors. Some said it was something so violent it made them all quit. Others said it was a ruse so the team could retire. None of them felt like the truth though.

“Only heard rumors, didnae think any of them were true…” He said. You let out a bitter chuckle.

“Superiors must’ve kept the reason under wraps then…” You say. You look at the moon once more. “Several of our missions prior had been to take down operations from this criminal organization in southern Europe. Illegal weapon trades and all that. The leader, Bedarin Veseli, didn’t like that for obvious reasons.” You shut your eyes. “He managed to find out who we were, who we worked with. He… He went straight for our intelligence officer… My friend…” You clenched your fists. “He offered her a massive amount of money to lead us on a false mission so he could eradicate us… Apparently the offer was too good to refuse in her eyes…” You sighed.

“So, she cooked up a mission for us. She said she’d gotten word that Veseli had a group of hostages locked up in an abandoned base… The same base where Graves was hiding in earlier this week.” Soap’s eyes widened at that. So that’s why they were acting so strange… “We, of course, accepted it. I… I didn’t think to check out the facts myself…” Your eyes glazed over, lost in the memories of that night. “We went in, expecting it to be an easy in and out. We’ve rescued hostages dozens of times before, how difficult could this one be?” You chuckled. “How foolish we were… How foolish I was… We had gotten to the meeting room where the ‘hostages’ were supposedly being held. What we found instead were dozens of armed lackeys with big fucking guns.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised none of us were injured in the initial onslaught. We barely managed to get away.” You smiled. “Veseli may have had the manpower, but he still underestimated our skill. Sure, he caught us off guard, but everyone managed to escape.” Your smile slipped. “...Well… Not fully intact, I suppose…” You rested a hand on your right leg. “...I had managed to get everyone out, except for my second in command, Lieutenant Parker. I went back for him, ordered my team to remain outside and await backup.”

“I found him and dragged his ass to the exit, but not before more of Veseli’s men found us. I managed to mow down most of them, told Parker to run for it as I covered him.” You turned your attention back to the night sky. “...I got distracted and then boom. Shot in the back. Three of the bullets managed to hit right under my vest… Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital, being relieved of duty and told I’ll never walk normally for the rest of my life. I dream of that night every time I try to sleep.” Your words ring in the night air. Soap sits there next to you. He doesn’t know what to say.

The two of you are silent for a few minutes. Soap watches your face. It’s utterly blank, devoid of any emotion as you stare silently at the moon. He feels like he should say something, offer condolences, offer anything. He opens his mouth.

“I sometimes wish I had died that night.” You say quietly. Soap freezes, cold washing through him. You continue.

“Those months after the mission, I had hoped, begged, prayed to anything out there to let me die. I thought that dying was better than to lose my purpose in life, to face my failure… My failure as a leader, as a team member… as a soldier…” You looked down at your hands, taking in the details of your palms, your calluses, proof of the work you had put in to get where you are today. “I thought that death was better than the humiliation of defeat. Better than the knowledge that my enemy had gotten the better of me, that he had turned my friend against me, that he had crippled me for life…”

“...I thought that I had overcome that. I thought I had found a new purpose… But after the last mission… After I froze up and almost got you guys killed…” You grinned, but there was no amusement behind it. “Am I any better than I was then?” You gritted your teeth, your clenched fists trembling. “I let my emotions overcome me, let them blind me as they blinded me then. I knew there was something weird about the mission… I knew that there were holes in the story… But I… I didn’t question it… I didn’t look into it myself… Blindly trusting it because she was my friend… Like a lamb to slaughter…” You let out a broken laugh and pressed your hands to your face.

“Rather pathetic, huh?” Your voice cracked as you spoke. Your eyes burned behind your hands, throat bobbing. The dam of emotions inside you was wearing thin.

Soap’s brows furrowed as he watched you attempt to ground yourself, as you tried to brush off what you had just revealed. You were broken. You had been shattered, betrayed, and had shoddily picked up the pieces. You had laid all your soul bare to him, and were still trying to keep a brave face.

He gently laid a hand on your shoulder. “...Ye really think it’s yer fault…?” He asked. Hands still pressed to your face, you nod, body trembling. He removes his hand from your shoulder and crosses his arms, letting out a huff. “...Well that’s the biggest load o’ shite I’ve ever heard in me life.” You slowly process his words, your hands lowering from your face as you turn to him.

“...Huh…?”

“I said that’s the biggest load o’ shite I’ve ever heard in me life! Ye did nothin’ wrong! Ye were jus’ followin’ orders! How cuid ye have known ‘at she had betrayed ye? Especially if she were yer friend!” He sighed. “Yer real smart… But honestly yer actin’ like a right roaster right aboot now!” You furrow your brows. Roaster…? The fuck does that mean…?

He placed a hand on your shoulder again. “It wasn’t yer fault. Ye did whit any solider wuid’ve done. The only way ‘at bastard gets the better of ye is if ye let yerself fall into a hole ye cannae get out of.” You look at Soap, stunned. He glances away and rubs the back of his neck. “... Yer an incredible intelligence officer, one o’ the most skilled I’ve ever seen. Sure, ye froze up, but shite happens. None o’ us fault ye for it… It’d be a shame ifn’ye quit on us… We all… We all really like havin’ ye on the team…” He pulls his hand away. “We’ve all been through hell. ‘Ats the life of a soldier. But, we have each other… At the end o’ the day, we’re all surrounded by people who get it, get us… So, don’t think yer alone in this…” You let his words sink in.

You reflected on the past few months. Ever since joining 141, you had started to feel like yourself again. The joking, the banter, the conversations, every moment made you feel alive again. You had felt like you were alone, that you couldn’t talk to anyone about this. But you weren’t alone. Soap had reached out to you, so had Gaz, Price, Laswell, hell, even Ghost.

A smile creeped onto your face, and you turned to Soap. “...Thanks, Soap…” He gave you a grin.

“...Ye can call me Johnny, ifn’ye want to, ‘at is…” He said, face flushing slightly. You chuckled.

“Alright, thank you, Johnny, for listening to my tragic tale.” You say sarcastically. He huffed a laugh at that. The two of you sat in a comfortable quiet for the first time that night.

“D’ye miss yer old task force?” Johnny asked. You let out a hum as you thought.

“...I do. They were like family to me. I’m not… I’m not as upset about my leg anymore… I mean, look at where I am now, I’d never have gotten here without it happening I suppose.” You turned and grinned at Johnny, nudging his shoulder. “Besides, if it hadn't happened, I wouldn’t have met you guys!” He smiled and waved you off.

“Ahh, yer jus’ sayin’ that…”

You scoff. “Am not! I’m really happy to have met you guys! Besides, if we hadn’t met, who would listen to my rants about true crime tv shows?” Johnny places his face in his hands.

“Cannae believe ye out-rank me…” He mumbled. You barked out a laugh and patted his shoulder.

“I out-rank you either way, buster. No matter where you go, I’m still your superior.” He groaned as you chuckled.

You let out a sigh and stand up, grabbing your cane and stretching your stiff legs. You yawn. “Well, it’s late and I’ve barely slept. I’m gonna try to catch a few more winks before sunrise.”

Johnny looks up at you as you stretch. “So… Are things gonna go back t’ normal, then? Yer gonna go back t’ work whit Laswell?” You stop your stretches and look down at him.

“...Yeah… I guess so…” You rub the back of your neck and look sheepishly at the ground. “...Sorry if I worried you guys… I guess that’s really unprofessional of me…” Johnny waves his hand.

“Ah, don’ worry aboot it! Everyone goes through a rough patch every now an’ then!” He lowers his hand. “...Maybe next time though, don’ disappear for days straight…? Ye had Price and Gaz worried somethin’ fierce, even Ghost was gettin’ ready t’ knock yer door doon.” Your face flushes bright red with embarrassment.

“...I’ll keep that in mind…” You start to head inside, but pause and look at Johnny once more. “...Thank you, again. For listening to me… It… It really meant a lot.” He gives you a gentle smile.

“Aye, thas whit friends are for.” You smiled at him.

“Goodnight, Johnny. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bids you goodnight as well and you walk inside.

Johnny listens to your fading footsteps and clacking of your cane, the sounds slowly being overtaken by crickets chirping. He leans back and rests his head against the wall. He never imagined tonight would have gone like this. He never imagined how hurt you were. He thought back to how you looked earlier, hands pressed to your face, voice trembling. He knew you had gone through hell but damn. He never thought it was that bad.

…Maybe that’s why Simon had tried to comfort you that day. Maybe he could sense you were broken too. Speakin’ of Simon, he’s probably wonderin’ where the hell I am… Johnny lets loose a sigh and stands, stretching his limbs. How long had the two of you been sitting there? Must’ve been an hour or more. He headed back inside, making his way down the hall.

Hopefully, after tonight, you’d be more comfortable sharing your thoughts. Hopefully, you wouldn’t feel the need to bury them inside until they burst. He reached the door to his room, and looked down the hall. A small smile tugged at his lips as he thought about your laughter earlier.

He hoped you slept well tonight.

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Heyyyyy..... So sorry that I haven't updated this fic in awhile.... I fell out of the COD fandom after my hyperfixation ended lol... But!! I'm not going to give up on this fic!! I think I have a good story and I wanna tell it!! But, updates will probably be slow tbh since I'm in school so.... We'll see how long it will take. But rest assured, this fic will be completed one way or another!! Ciao !!

XOXOXOXOXOX <3

tagged people:

@sucka2me @deltottoro @zyonsay

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