#Ship and let ship I need to get my brain empty so I apologize for my rambles

[ezra-editss]

UPDATE

I started binge-watching and saw x-men 1, 2 & 3 and just a few minutes ago days of future past and let's just say I'm not okay.

I literally had to pause the movie at the plane scene, thought about it and started sobbing. I feel like I need a year to process this, so I'm just gonna give you what my brain is capable of rn and the rest comes when I'm ready😭

I constantly had to think about how this must be for Charles. Imagine you meet this amazing guy that you have a great relationship with, not just great, the best. You love him so much and you seem to want the same thing, but then he basically betrays you and takes your sister with you and you feel all alone. You lost the ability to walk and feel like you're slowly going crazy. So you spend almost ten years in your empty house, depressed and drunk. Someday this random man comes and suddenly, you're supposed to face the one person you never wanted to see again. Well, in one way, you do, because you actually just want everything back to how it was, but you know that won't work. But you do it, bc you have to.

IMAGINE THE NERVOUS FEELING YOU HAVE TO HAVE WHEN YOU BREAK INTO THAT PRISON AND YOU KNOW YOU'RE GONNA SEE HIM AND YOU KNOW HE'LL SEE YOU'RE THE ONE THAT GOT HIM OUT.

And then it happens and all those feelings overwhelm you and you have to bear being in the same plane as him. You get mad at him and you can see that he also still has all those emotions inside of him. And then he apologizes. And even tho you don't have your powers, you can tell he's being honest. genuine. It's what you wanted, probably. But what are you supposed to do? You can't forgive him, even if every fiber of your body wants you to. So you change the subject..

And Erik, who had been in prison for years, probably went through what had happened a thousand times in his mind, because he had nothing else to do. One day, this guy comes and breaks him out and he doesn't understand why, but whatever, he's free. And then the elevator doors open and he sees the person he'd thought he'd never see again and he's clearly not okay and it's because of HIM.

God, this is so painful. It's just two men who fell in love when they were younger and tried for years and years, even in a different universe, but they always ended up apart from each other. Even though all that they both ever wanted was to be on the same side.

(This turned out so much longer than I thought. Sometimes I just start writing and don't stop. That's also why it's always so messy. Anywayss, gonna see Deadpool 3 tomorrow, so let's gooo I hope that's gonna be happier.)

[yaut-jaknowit]

WAIT WAIT MY DRUNK BRAIN STARTED WORKING ON ANOTHE MXM IDEA

IMAGINE LIKE THE READER REUNITING WITH HIS MATE AFTER A LONGER TIME PERIOD FOR LIKE WTV ANGSTY REASON (broooo imagine the reader had gone thru smth traumatising like torture or some shit 😭😭) NAHHHH I MIGHT SPAM YOUR INBOX FR TONIGHT MY DRUNK BRAIN STARTED WORKING ON ALL LEVELS FROM ANGST TO NSFW LETSGOOOOO

Returned At Last Part 1

Pairing: Wolf x Reader

Word Count: 4506

Summary: All it was suppose to be a simple trip to earth. Wolf has a job to do. You're okay with that. You stay on the ship where it is safe. No one can hurt you from there. Wolf will come back and the two of you will leave. Don't let your guard down.

Author Note: Soooo I may or not have gone a little overboard with this. That's why it took a hot minute to get it out for you. Hopefully the length of it will be enough of an apology. But also, fucking love this, part of the reason why it's so fucking long.

I promise to all those who have asked me something, I am working on them. I just got side tracked with a few other writing prompts and drawing COD men.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 2

Traveling out in space wasn’t all it was showed in shows. Getting stranded rarely happened; aliens boarding the ship to take over has never happened; stress and anxiety running high was also a nope. Everything was chill. It was just you and Wolf, flying through space as he hunted down Xenomorphs. When he gets off his ship to do his thing, you happily stay back, safe. He keeps you content with books, games, and other supplies his bought.

Yet, everything wasn’t chill today. Not everything goes perfectly. You weren’t safe.

It all started with a distress beacon coming from earth, funny enough. When Wolf told you about this, you jumped at the call. He, of course, couldn’t say no to the ancients telling him to respond. So, the two of you went through the void of space back to earth. You were more than happy to return after some time away. You couldn’t go visit family, since they believed you to be dead. Wolf had ordered you to stay on the ship. Why? You didn’t know.

This was your home planet after all. You knew about all the dangers, nothing could truly hurt you hidden out in the middle of nowhere. From what you could remember, Wolf placed the ship to be far from the origin. He said something about a gut feeling. Eh, you didn’t pay attention to him as he grumbled and gather his gear.

The two of you said your goodbyes to each other. Wolf went down the ramp, mask on, just like all the other times he has. You waved at him as the ramp started to close, locking you inside. It’s not like he has you trapped in here. You knew the code to leave if need be. He wouldn’t do that to you. There’s always a possibility that you needed to escape. One you didn’t believe in but let him have his way. If that made him content and knew you were safe, that’s all that matter to you as well.

When time passed at an unknown amount of time, just like any other time, you took roost in Wolf’s pilot chair. An action that didn’t save you. A book in hand, eyes scanning over the pages. One of the songs you liked hummed softly through the quiet air. Not a care or worry in the world. Nothing could hurt you while on your planet. That you believed in.

Something felt off. Your eyes lifted off of the page and snapped over to your water cup on the arm rest. The liquid inside was vibrating. Next, you peered over to the engine controls, thinking they somehow activated. Nothing. They were dormmate. That’s when you felt the pilot chair slightly tremble constantly underneath you. Huh?

You shifted to sit normally, gaze settling on the empty plains that sat out in front of the ship. Void of life and beings. If this was California, this could possibly be an earth quake? But you were unsure. You’ve never lived there. You didn’t know. That was the problem at hand.

Unable to relax or return to the book, you kept a flickering gaze on the scene before you. It was just you, the ship, and yellow sagebrush fields. The water kept rippling in its cup. It confused you on what could be causing that. An earthquake wouldn’t last this long. How right you were.

An idea came to mind. Wolf has taught you a few things about his ship, the basics in case of an emergency. You pressed a button on the console. A map of the scanned area appeared, like an aerial view of the plains.

Off to the ships, seven o’clock position was a small group of moving black dots. They were coming towards you. Oh shit! People. Not good. At all. They were heading towards the ship, towards you. Your quick fingers found the comm. Button close by and pressed it. Wolf kept his emergency comm. channel linked to the ship open at all time. For a situation that called for this.

“Wolf? There’s cars heading towards the ship. What should I do?” you questioned, eyes flickering back and forth the map. There’s been only two times you’ve flown the ship. Both opportunities have ended almost ended in a fiery explosion. You didn’t believe you could fly it again. Those chances were without stress. You weren’t worried there were people coming towards your camouflaged ship.

That thought made you paused. The shields were up… The camouflage was activated. How could they know where to drive? It wasn’t luck or chance they were heading in the right direction in the middle of nowhere. Wolf parked his vessel in the middle of nowhere. They shouldn’t know where to go unless…

Wolf hadn’t answered yet. “Wolf? Please, I don’t know what to do. I can’t fly this thing, you know that.” Silence from his end. You could almost groan at that. “Answer me! I need your help, Wolf!” you yelled as if that’ll help him hear you. Why wasn’t he answering? Fear gripped your heart in its deadly claws. Said organ thumping against its bony cage.

Your hands grasped the edge of the ship’s console, knuckles turning white. The vehicles continuously grew closer and closer and closer. Wolf didn’t respond. Had these people already got him? You blew that thought off though. This is Wolf you’re talking about. He took on a hybrid Xenomorph and Yautja. Probably one of the most deadly aliens out there known to existence. Best of all, the head is hung on his trophy wall.

Where are you, Wolf? Your head hung low. Solutions were running rampant in your mind. What to do? What to do? What could you do? Well, for starters, the ship. Its shields were strong, able to resist most blasts from enemy ships. So, these humans would struggle to break in. Yet, that didn’t quell your racing heart.

On the other hand, what couldn’t you do? Fly the damn thing. Wolf hasn’t taught you how to use the weapon system. Something about ‘oomans’ and killing themselves in stupid ways. In his own way, that’s him saying he loves you. You were fucked. You couldn’t escape with the ship. You couldn’t use the two massive guns attached to the belly. All you were a sitting duck for these humans to find and do whatever they want.

To be honest, you could hide. The ship offered many places for you squeeze yourself in. All you had to do was keep quiet and pray to Wolf’s god to keep you safe.

Contrary to belief, you would think living and being mates with a hunter/warrior race would automatically give you the knowledge to fight. Yeah, Wolf’s taught you a few things… it wasn’t going to be enough against the at least nine drivers of the vehicles.

With one last drop of hope, you pressed the comm. button once more. “They’re getting closer, Wolf. Please, I need you. I can’t fight them alone.” You held your breath, ears listening for anything that could signal he heard you.

Nothing. The last bit of hope in your heart was squeezed out. All you had was yourself now. He wasn’t responding which worried you. First, you had to ensure they didn’t get you. So when they leave, you could go find him; against his command before he left. Wolf always told you to stay on the ship. That’s where it was safer for you. He didn’t have to fret if you got yourself in trouble. You listened to him, knowing it was better to do so.

One last look at the map -the black dots less than a hundred yards away, you started to think on where to hide. Someplace they wouldn’t look for someone, if they were looking for you. That likelihood was extremely low. How would anyone know you’re with Wolf? You’re a random person who went missing.

On Wolfs ship, there are five rooms, not including the cockpit. Its not really a room, but oh well. First to come to mind was the kitchenette. That was quickly marked off the list. There was the cabinets to possible squeeze yourself in. You would have to displace some cooking wear. Anyone with a brain will be able to tell something was wrong in there.

Second on the list was the trophy room. Another place marked off. Unlike the kitchenette, it had no true places to hide away in. Only a few small drawers in Wolf’s desk he uses for his tools.

Next, the bedroom. The bed was large with a lot of blankets, courtesy to Wolf and his ability to hunt. Yet, to smother yourself underneath them all… you didn’t know how long they would the on the ship. You could slowly overheat and die or suffocate and die. Both options weren’t fun sounding. You crossed that one off as well.

At this point, you were running out time and rooms. The hull wasn’t going to offer you much either. It had boxes and crates expertly stacked. They were strapped down, filled with whatever Wolf like’s to haul through space. Again, taking the stuff out to hide inside of the crates would be stupid. These people will notice the items and think ‘let’s check these boxes’.

Last on the list was the sparring room. This was your best choice out of all the places this ship has. It had a couple cubby’s for weapons that were currently empty. Said weapons were out on their respected racks for Wolf to train with. You hoped he was okay. That it was just a fluke on him not answering the comm.

Since the sparring room offered the highest chance of survival, you hopped down from the chair. Three steps from the cockpit’s door, you heard the computer alert to a proximity breach. Shit, they were already outside the ship. Now wasn’t the time to screw around.

Quick, unsteady legs carried you to the second closest door to the right from the cockpit. It opened at your closeness. You skidded to a halt. The doors. They would open for them, besides the outside one. Another way Wolf tells you to say inside, where it was safe. It wasn’t going to be safe for much longer.

Your eyes flickered to the other doors. Terror gripped your heart. If you were to lock only one door, it would announce to the people outside that there was something important in there. Why else would it be lock while the others weren’t? Now, you only had two options: lock all the doors, loosing precious time or leave all the doors, lowering your chances for survival. The former would take time to do, time you don’t know if you had. The latter would offer more time to hide.

It's like you could hear Wolf whisper in your ear: give yourself a fighting chance. The second option was you rolling over and giving yourself to the group of people outside. One you didn’t want to do. Wolf would be so disappointed if he ever found out. Instead, you took the training he’s instilled into you to heart and changed tactics.

Let’s play a little Home Alone.

The kitchenette’s door opened at your proximity with a whoosh. The sight before you offered the same result to hiding, nowhere to truly squeeze yourself into. Your hand slapped against the touchpad next to the entrance of said room. Its metal door slid close at the command. You heard the tall tell sign of the lock clicking into place. One do-

An explosion rocked you off your feet, side slamming into the warm, metal ground. You hissed out in pain and sat up, hand rubbing at the aching area. Your vision swam for a moment, making you shake your head to clear it. What in the world was that?!

Then it hit you. The humans. What were they doing? A grunt escaped you as you returned to your feet, unsteady. By the sounds of it, they hadn’t breached the door yet. That left you with extra time to lock the rest and go into hiding.

With a newfound courage and energy, you raced against a fatal clock towards the next door. It was across the wide hallway, with a concave floor in the middle. Like a small common area for Yautjas to relax while traveling through space. You reached the trophy room gateway and did the same action as before. It locked before you. Another down. Just a couple more…

After quickly finishing with the third door – the bedroom, you sprinted towards the second to last one: the hull. If you got this locked, it would take them even longer to get into here. The main entrance was in there, sealing this do-

Before you could take a third step, a blast forced the ship to pitch. It threw you completely off balance, back bouncing off of the nearest wall. Then, you crashed back onto your formerly injured side. “Wolf!” You cried out, writhing for a long moment on the ground. That was going to heavily bruise later. That you could promise.

Voices. You paused, stilling completely, down your breath. Voices down below. You gasped, eyes wide and scrambled back to your unsteady feet. That door needed to be locked, no matter what now. Injured or not. That was your last of defense before they stormed the upper levels, where you were.

Now, with that on your mind, you uncoordinatedly ran towards the hull’s door. It opened, just like any of the others at your presences. An array of curse words pouring inside of your mind at this. Those former voice grew louder, their boots pounding against the metal floor. The next second, you hit the touchpad far harder than you meant to. The entrance before you closed on your command, sealing the second to last door to you.

As much as you wished to take a second to breathe, you jogged over to the last door. “Get this door open!” someone shouted from the other side when you weren’t even two steps away from it. Already?! How quick were these guys?

When you stepped into the room, about to spin around to close it off, another explosion had you stumbling out of it. Before you know it, you were on the cockpits floor.

Through the pain and splitting headache, you staggered over to the panel. On the other side of the room, smoke encased the hull’s door. A flash of red dots could seen marking the smoke. Guns. They had guns. You don’t know why you thought that be news. If these guys know what they’re doing on a Yautja’s ship, of course they would have weapon. Fear still slapped you in the face. You weren’t your boyfriend. He could survive many shots from a gun. You couldn’t.

Your hand slapped against the touchpad, sealing you from them. For the time being. With how quick they were able to knock down the hull’s door… you didn’t have hope they wouldn’t be able to do the same to the others. You turned around though, eyes scanning over the limited area in here. One entrance, one exit. You stuck in here.

An idea came to mind. A while back, Wolf had to do some work on the navigation after a run in with a large beast on a random planet. He took you under his wing and had you sit next to him as he worked. He didn’t talk and just showed you what he did. It’s not like you could ever do it yourself without his help. You didn’t dare touch any of the important ship’s wiring, in case you screwed something up. He knew what he was doing. You’ll happily sit there, twiddling your thumbs while observing.

The spot you were thinking of was underneath the control console. It offered a hidden spot off to the side, away from sight. You could possibly squeeze yourself behind the panel. The area there was small and tight, even for a human. It would luck to be able to fully close it. Yet, it was better than just standing he-

“Find that pet of his!” The earth stopped spinning; your thoughts came to a screeching halt. What?! They know of you. It had to be you they were talking about. Why are they coming for you? How do they even know?! Your heart felt like it dropped six feet underground. You stumbled backwards, back against the closed door, hand on your sternum. They were looking for you. They have guns. You were going to die. They were going to kill you. Why? Why?! Your brain screamed at you. Tears started to dribbled down your cheeks as all you could was lean heavily against the door. They were going to kill you.

The only thing stopping you from accidentally announcing where you were was the hand over your mouth. It held in the sobs, the cries, the whimpers. What you couldn’t hold back was the tears staining your face.

Wolf was going to come back from his hunt to find you dead, your brain splattering his ship’s cockpit. Why didn’t he answer? Where was he? Why did he leave? He should’ve never come back here. Earth was bad. It held bad memories. It’s going to hold more. You dead. He’s going to go after them but it won’t bring you back. You’re going to die. They’re going to kill you.

One last sporadic drop of hope entered your heart. It might been the adrenaline racing the organ to feel that way or the terror that squeezed it. You’ll never know. You sprinted towards the control console, seeing the comm. channel light still on. “Wolf, please, I need you!” you whimpered, hands grasping the metal so tightly your knuckles turned ghost white. “They’re here. They’re on the ship. They have guns. They know I’m here. They’re looking for me.”

The longer you talked, the more it seemed you were going down a spiral. Big, fat, globs of tears splattered against the console. You sobbed, no longer caring how quiet you were. “They’re going to kill me, Wolf. I’m going to die. I don’t want to die. I need you, please!” you cried to him and fell to your knees. your head bowed, forehead touching the edge of the dashboard.

Your shoulders shook, sobs leaving your mouth freely. They had to have heard you at this point but you didn’t care now. All you wanted was Wolf to be here. Here with his arms around your body and protect you from the calling of death. “I don’t want to die,” you whimpered, eyes blurry with tears. “They’re going to kill me.” You were too caught up to hide. It was too late.

One last blast knocked down your last line of defense. You stood up and spun around at the same time, back leaning heavily on dashboard. Smoke clouded the most likely demolished doorway now. You held your breath, waiting for a bullet to pierce the unknown and strike you.

Instead, it was them that breached the heavy smoke. When their gazes immediately landed on you, all of their weapons faced you. “Hands up!” one shouted and used the barrel of his gun to motioned for you to put them up. Terror washed over your face at the sight. It froze you in the very spot you stood in.

“No, no, no, no,” you mumbled, shaking like a leaf. This is where you die. Wolf was somewhere far away, not answering the call. He’s going to come back to you dead. On the cockpit’s floor of his ship, cold and lifeless.

“Get the fuck on the ground, fucker!” another demanded of you. Move, your brain screamed at you. Move! Do something. Anything. Just move!

You fell to your knees, hands gripped in front of in a plea. “Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me,” you begged of them. Out of the seven of them, you saw the closest one’s eyes crinkle. He was smirking. He stepped towards you, staying a decent distance away. His gun continuously pointed at your head, finger on the trigger. Your body shook, eyes wide as you watched him, unable to move.

Said man chuckled, shoulders shaking with the action. “I won’t if you listen to us very carefully. None of us are afraid to pull the trigger and end you. Leave you here, deader than a doorknob,” he snarked and motioned with his gun for you to get on the ground. “Now, face down, hands behind your back.”

It struck you. They weren’t going to kill you. They were going to take you. You didn’t know what was worse. Being captured or head blown to pieces right here. Captured means they’re probably going to torture you. They’re going to ask about Wolf and when you don’t give in, they’re going to hurt you. You weren’t prepared for that.

“No!” you shouted at him, teeth gritting against one another. A slow, molasses of courage starting to seep into your veins. Wolf would want you to fight. You were going to fight. You weren’t going to let them capture you. You weren’t going to give up Wolf.

A chorus of laughter erupted from the group. The closest barked his laugh before marching up to you and shoving the barrel of the gun into your head. From the headache and bruising side, you hissed. “It think’s he has a choice, boys. What do you say? Show it how wrong it is?” he questioned his fellow patriots and kept the barrel of the gun pressed into your head. You refused to go down so easily.

Similar to yourself, you know where to hurt a man. Your fist curled into a shaky fist as your head turned to stared him in the eye. A newfound fire flickering to life within your eyes.

It was like he read your mind. The bottom of his combat boots met your uninjured side and sent you sprawling across the floor. You cursed as pain flooded your left side.

Before you could get back up, a knee knocked the air out of your lungs and stayed glued to your back. The barrel was returned to the side of your head. “See? Wasn’t that easy to just listen. You must do it for your owner all the time.” Owner? Who is he talking about?

“Get off of me!” you yelled at him and squirmed, doing everything in your power to get back up. The clicking of a gun cocking stopped you in your tracks. “If you kill me, there won’t be anywhere on this planet you can hide. He will kill you.”

“Your owner won’t do anything. You’re just his pet, a plaything to him. He’ll leave you to rot in the cell we put you in.” That former fear began to creep back inside of your heart. Wolf wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave you behind.

“You’re an ass,” you growled at him. That only earned you a chuckle from him and the others around. It was weak, nothing more than a mosquito flying around. Said man shoved his knee further into your back, forcing you to cry out. “Get off of me, you cunt!”

“Ohhh, the pet has a mouth of it. I thought that alien would’ve made you learn by now,” the leader – as you’ve named him, taunted before whacking you with the butt of his gun. You gasped, vision blurring for a moment. “Got nothing to say now?” You stayed quiet, not wanting to get hit again. “Look, boys. We did a better job than that alien.”

The others laughed with him. Humiliation flooded your veins. You had no choice but to listen now. They had made it clear they were willing to hurt you to get their way. “Alright, boys, get this thing cuffed and head out. I don’t want to stay here any longer than we need to be.”

That last sentence peaked your interest. They were scared of Wolf. Well, of course, who wouldn’t be? He’s a highly, well trained hunter with hundreds of years of experience underneath his belt. The first time you saw him, you were terrified of him. It’s a natural reaction to him.

Cuffed? They were going to take you. Capture you. Possibly torture you for information about Wolf. Information you’re not willing to give up so easily. Yet, you’re not trained. “No!” you snapped and struggled underneath him. You weren’t going to be taken! You didn’t want to be.

“Oh shut up, pet. I’ve had my fun and you’ve had your moment. We’re leaving with you alive or dead. Doesn’t matter to us. We get paid all the same.” One of the other soldiers entered your personal space and handed the leader a pair cuffs. The latter gave a gruff thanks. He hooked his weapon with a strap across his back. With the newly acquired cuffs, he snatched both of your hands and twisted them behind your back.

Your heart stuttered in its bony cage. Terror entered your veins as the first biting, cold cuff encircled your wrist. “Wolf!” you cried out, voice wavering with that one word. “Please Wolf. They’re going to take me.” You knew he couldn’t hear your pleas. You knew he hadn’t answered your calls. He somewhere far away, hopefully okay. It matter to you that you tried.

Where was he? You wanted him here, with his arms around you, protecting you. You didn’t care if he killed them and embraced you the moment after. You wouldn’t care about the stench or sight. You wanted Wolf right now.

The knuckles of a furled fist connected with the side of your head. You groaned. “Shut up, before you blow your brains out right here.” Before you had a chance, the same cold, bitter feeling of the second cuff encased your other wrist. They had you cuffed and ready to be taken. Why didn’t you just hide? Why were you so stupid sometimes in the face of danger? Why wasn’t Wolf here?

With the help of the second closest soldier – the one that handed the leader a pair of cuffs, they both easily lifted you off of the floor. Each had an arm under your pits and dragged you from the cockpit. The fight inside of you was gone before it had time to bloom.  You were captured, injured and crying silently. Tears stained your cheeks, falling to the warm metal floors.

Unbeknownst to you, Wolf heard every word, every cry for help. He heard your pleads for him as he raced back, full speed ahead. His older body aching more than ever to reach you in time. He heard the nasty name they called you. Those pyode-amedha were going to pay for laying a hand on you.

Wolf skidded to a stop in the cockpit. Your pungent odor of fear assaulted him. It was too late. The walls shook with a mighty, deafening roar.

[emile-hides]

If you could make only ONE fairy tail ship of yours canon with the magic of your brain which ship would it be? Please ramble. 💚

Laxus/Freed no question about it. It's not even a contest.

Would I like the Levy/Lily/Gajeel polycule to be real? Yes, yes of course I would, but Gajeel/Levy is canon and that's enough for me.

Honestly out of all my Fairy Tail ships (which you can see a full list of Here on my Ship Blog) Laxus/Freed is the closest to canon, and the only one I'd think "Big Win" if it did go canon.

I've never cared much about a ship I like going canon anyway. It doesn't effect much other than the amount of people talking about it.

Honestly what I'd rather do is uncanon some ships.

Number 1 being Erza/Jellal. I have such a thing against Jellal and I apologize he deserved his redemption I'm glad he didn't just like. Die or vanish into obscurity but like! I hate the idea of him and Erza being a canon couple with children some day!! Hate it!! It puts a bad taste in my mouth. I hate being negative tho so I'm not gonna ramble about it too much...

You know what else I want to uncanon?? The ship that floats the whole damn story; Zeref/Mavis

I hate it I hate it I hate it so much I hate how fanon treats it all cute and shit when it's probably the canon most Dead Dove do Not Eat kind of content canon has given us. I don't hate it because it's Dead Dove, that's actually what's holding it together for me, what I hate about it is how integral to the plot it is, how True Love it's treated, how sweet and tragic and twisted by fate it's treated.

It's not! Any of those!! It's a 400 year old man falling in love with a 13 year old girl and yes she's 20 Years Old when he actually realizes what he feels is love but she's still!! Physically!!! Thirteen!!! That's the Point Of The Curse!!! And then!!!!! He impregnates her!!!! AFTER HE THINKS SHE DIES!!!! HELL-FUCKIN-O????

I LOVE Zeref, and I really like Mavis too, I love The Curse Of Contradiction inflicting them both, I love the twisted "love" Zeref feels for Mavis, I love his desperation to find something to love to cling to project on to to save him to fix him to make him feel human again, I love Mavis' bleeding heart, I love Mavis' desire to save Zeref to fix Zeref to make him whole because she's so ful lof love for the world around her and she can see he's suffering and need someone anyone to help him

I think they're story is wonderfully dark. I think Zeref's obsession with her is something I'd very normally adore reading about, but the way it's treated in canon and fanon as a wholesome romance lovers torn apart by fate Romeo and Juilet Bella and Edward bullshit really ruins the whole thing.

Zeref/Mavis is really fucked up and I think we should treat it as such. Not in a boo hate the artist hate the shippers way but in a fun acknowledgment of Dead Dove content way.

[storiesforallfandoms]

oh captain ~ jack sparrow;pirates of the caribbean

word count: 2488

request?: yes!

“Can you do a Captain Jack Sparrow smut where the reader has a kink of calling Jack her captain”

description: in which she loves to call him her captain, even in the most intimate of situations

pairing: jack sparrow x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist

It all started as a joke.

I came aboard the Black Pearl in search of my sister, Elizabeth Swann, and her secret lover, Will Turner. It was no secret that they were travelling with notorious Captain Jack Sparrow and, although my parents did not exactly like Will Turner, they had sent me as a way to tell Elizabeth that they were giving her their blessing to marry Will.

Of course, the moment I - a single, young maiden that had often been described as “beautiful” by my suitors - stepped on to the ship, the captain himself couldn’t keep his eyes off of me. There was many a moment in which Elizabeth had to actually tell Jack that he was being too forward or too crass with me. I liked to play along with his games as well and would tease him back. My favorite way of teasing him was to call him “Captain” in a sarcastic manner.

The first time I said it was in response to Jack’s very bossy tone as he told Elizabeth and I to do something. “Oh, of course, Captain.”

I could see a fire light in his eyes even then as he looked at me. “What did you say?”

“Well, you insist that we on the boat here refer to you as your supposed title,” I had told him. “I was just saying it. I thought you would like that.”

“The way you said it,” he pointed out. “It wasn’t very...crewman like.”

“Oh, my apologies, Captain.”

The fire ignited in his eyes again, but he decided to leave it be this time and to go on to yell commands at his other crewmates.

That’s how it all started. It was just a joke, a way to poke fun at Jack without being too harsh. I used the nickname almost every time I saw him, and almost every time I could see a look on his face that was hard to understand.

That was, until I found myself bent over his desk moaning the original teasing nickname repeatedly.

I never expected to find myself falling for Captain Jack Sparrow. Elizabeth had told me many a story about his attempts at courting beautiful maidens, including herself despite her love for Will. The stories led me to believing that Jack was just a man who wanted to use then leave a woman. I wrote him off as nothing more than a scoundrel, a pirate captain. Oh, what a fool I was.

No one on the ship knew of our love affair, especially not Elizabeth. I loved my sister dearly and I knew she would never judge me for who I had fallen in love with, however I also knew she couldn’t keep a secret from our parents for the life of her, and the last thing I needed was to break my parents hearts by telling them that their youngest daughter had fallen in love with a pirate.

That’s why I continued to use the teasing nickname in such fashion in front of my sister, but every time I used it, I could see that spark of desire in Jack’s eyes.

There was one day that we were on course for some sort of treasure that Jack was dying to find.

“It’s been lost for hundreds of years,” he was explaining to Will. Elizabeth and I were trying to help some of the crewmen and overheard the conversation that both men were refusing to tell us. “Wealth and riches beyond your wildest dreams. You could buy over Elizabeth’s parents with that sort of money.”

“I don’t think anything could buy over Elizabeth’s parents at this rate,” Will joked. “But do you really believe it to be truth? I’ve heard it’s nothing but a - ”

“A pirate’s tale,” Jack finished. “A way to lead pirates to their deaths? I’ve heard those stories, too. But there’s only one way to find out.”

“Mad man is going to get us killed,” Elizabeth whispered to me. “He only cares for the riches he may get, he doesn’t think of the countless lives he’s risking.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” I responded. “Anything that will shower him in gold and recognition is his top priority.”

“What are you two talking about down there?” Jack called from his perch at the steering wheel.

Elizabeth and I shared a teasing glance before Elizabeth responded, “Just about how smart you are, my dear captain! This journey can only go right!”

Jack raised an eyebrow at the obvious sarcasm in Elizabeth’s voice before his eyes landed on me.

“We were discussing how much recognition you will get once you find this totally real treasure you’re looking for,” I said. I paused a moment before giving Jack a brief smirk as I added, “Captain.”

He shuffled a little, trying to make his lust seem like he was just annoyed with me and Elizabeth. I couldn’t help but smirk triumphantly at him before turning back to Elizabeth, who was also giggling.

“You both doubt me,” he finally said after a long stretch of silence, “but I’ll show you both, and this whole boat, that I am right and this treasure is real.”

He came down from his perch and walked into the room that was designated as “his office”, his eyes meeting mine for a split moment. “I’m going to study the map for some time, please do not disturb me.”

What he really meant was, No one else come disturb me, I will be fucking (Y/N)’s brains out.

I felt myself becoming tingly between my legs, a regular sensation that Jack was able to get out of me. I tried to keep a light look on my face, but it was hard to do so when all I wanted was to follow him into that room.

“You two should be kinder to him,” Will said, although he, too, was laughing. “He’s been kind enough to let us travel with him.”

“After trying to get under mine and (Y/N)’s skirts for a few months,” Elizabeth added. “He knows that we like him and that we are grateful for him. It’s just so easy to tease him sometimes.”

Tell me about it, I thought to myself.

“Maybe we should leave the captain alone to his mapping for a while,” Will said, wrapping an arm around Elizabeth’s waist. It was his only silent way of asking Elizabeth for what Jack was trying to get from me.

“Perhaps we should,” she responded and gave her husband to be a light kiss on his lips.

The two left without another word to me, which was alright by me. It meant that I didn’t have to make up an excuse as to why I was “disturbing” Jack when he asked me not to.

Once I was sure they were too busy with one another to notice me, I turned and raced for the door. I hastily did mine and Jack’s secret knock before shoving the door open. I was shocked to see that the room before me was empty - the desk where Jack usually sat waiting for me was empty, and there was almost no sight of him at all.

Before I could even consider why this had happened, the door slammed behind me and I felt someone take hold of my throat and shove me against the closed door. Jack’s lips met mine and I felt the familiar explosive feeling I had whenever we kissed. His hands were already roughly pulling at my skirt, trying to pull it up around my hips.

“Someone is impatient,” I breathed against his lips. “You told everyone not to disturb you, remember? You don’t have to be so fast and so rough.”

“But if I take you quickly once, I can take you again before anyone notices that we’re even gone.”

His dirty words ignited a fire in me. I giggled as he picked me up in his arms and laid me down on his desk. The poor thing had seen more of our action than any actual work that Jack had ever done. I was surprised that it was still standing after all this time.

I took hold of the back of Jack’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Our lips moved so perfectly with one another as his hands trailed up my bare legs, his cold rings leaving shivers where they trailed. I pulled at his pants, trying desperately to get them off. He chuckled against my lips, the vibrations running through my entire body.

“Who is the impatient one now?” he asked.

“Not like the great Captain to leave a girl waiting in her desire,” I teased, hoping the nickname would be used to my advantage.

Lucky for me, I knew that was the one thing that could break Jack. He roughly pulled at the strings around the back of my dress, causing it to loosen and fall off my body completely. Once my dress was a heap on the floor, Jack pushed me onto the desk so I was laying on my back. I watched as he undid his pants and pulled them down just far enough for his hard member to pop free. Just seeing how hard he was from the little amount of teasing we had been doing was enough to make me start dripping in anticipation.

I gasped as I felt him pushing himself into me. No matter how many times we had sex, I still continued to be shocked by how big he was. He made my eyes roll into the back of my head just by filling me with his hard cock.

His hand found my hair and he roughly pulled me up so my body was pressed against his. “What’s my name, love?”

“Captain,” I breathed, dying to move my hips against his to get some sort of friction between us. But I knew that would only result in him punishing me for being naughty.

My response earned me a few slow thrusts. I bit my lip as to not moan too loud, but it was hard to keep quiet during one of our rendezvous. They were often few and far between, leaving the two of us very pent up and needing of release when the time came.

“Say it again for me my pet,” he purred.

“Captain,” I moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him as closely as I could. “Oh, Captain.”

The grip he had on my hair tightened as he began to thrust into me more, now going at a quicker and more steady pace. I pressed my lips to his to try and muffle my moans, which were now starting to become loud enough for anyone who would be passing by to hear.

I moaned out the name a few more times, which led to me being laid back over the desk yet again with Jack leaning over me, his thrusts so rough now that the desk was being moved. I arched my back against him, trying to get him as far into me as he could go. One of his hands was gripping my thigh while the other was wrapped around my throat, pressing slightly against the sides every now and then, and causing me to feel lightheaded.

Jack was always able to hit a spot in me that made my brain turn to mush and my eyes roll back into my head. I could barley think straight when he was pounding that spot relentlessly inside of me, especially at that moment when the only thing I could feel was waves of pleasure rippling through my body.

I managed to pull my thoughts together enough to utter out a sentence, “I’m so close, Captain.”

“Let me feel you come undone around me, my pet,” he said. I could feel him twitching inside of me, indicating that he was close to finishing himself.

My fingers curled into the desk as I felt myself hitting my climax. My entire body seemed to curl in some way as I felt myself contracting around Jack. His hands slipped under my arched back, pulling my body up to press against him as he did his final thrusts and finished inside of me.

The aftermath of our love making rarely lasted long in fear of being caught. Jack held me for a short amount of time, kissing the top of my head and whispering sweet nothings into my ear, before he finally had to pull away from me and begin to redress himself. I pulled my dress back up.

“You mind tying me back up?” I asked him, turning around to present my still bare back to him.

He laced the strings through their proper holes and tied it tight enough that it would stay up, but not too tight to cause discomfort.

“Do you really think you’ll find that treasure you’re on route for?” I asked him once he was finished. “Do you think it’s real?”

“I choose to believe every treasure is real until proven otherwise,” he responded. “I know everyone on the ship thinks that I’m leading us to our deaths, but I truly believe there is something waiting for us at our destination.”

“Well, if you believe it then I believe you,” I said. “What do you plan on doing with your riches once you get them?”

“I’ll share them amongst the crew,” he started. “There’s supposedly enough to keep a dozen men from having to work for the rest of their lives, and I have just a little over a dozen men on this ship. What I keep for myself I’m going to use to get a better ship. The old Black Pearl is starting to see her end I’m afraid. And, with whatever is left, I intend to buy you a rock so big and so stunning that any royal woman would be jealous of it.”

He lifted my hand to his lips and gave my knuckles a soft kiss.

“You intend to marry me?” I asked him.

“Of course I do. Why do you seem shocked to hear that?”

I chuckled. “Well, the stories I’ve heard about the great Captain Jack Sparrow, none of them made it sound like he would ever settle down with a woman.”

Jack smiled and wrapped his arms around my waist, looking lovingly into my eyes. I could get lost staring into those beautiful eyes of his.

“A man must know when the right woman has come along,” he told me. “Especially a pirate. And the moment you stepped foot on my ship, I knew you were the right woman.”

“You sweet talker,” I said before pressing my lips to his. “When you do get me that ring, just know that I will say yes.”

“Of course, my love. And I cannot wait to have you to sail the seas with for the rest of my life.”

[kyber-kisses]

Children of Wrath (Pt.3)

Din Djarin x Jedi!reader

Warnings: slight canon divergence, mentions of ptsd, clone wars spoilers, more angst.

Summary: at the end of the clone wars and the fall of the Jedi Order, one Jedi goes into hiding in the most unusual of ways until a Mandalorian stumbles across her. . . Two decades later.

A/N: sorry for the slight wait Bebes, I’m currently going though the big sad rn and don’t have the motivation, but I hope you enjoy and pls ask if you want to be added to my Taglist for this fic!

After you somewhat of a breakdown, you had quickly pulled yourself together, brushed yourself off and told the Mandalorian that had freed you that you were fine.

But both of you knew that wasn’t true.

As he guided you across the rocky terrain of the uninhabited moon, he would every so often cast you a glance still trying to figure out what kind of person you were.

You remained silent, your fingers every so often moving to graze the odd weapon that hung from your belt as your feet crunched against the gravel beneath your boots.

He could see the pain in your eyes even if you weren’t looking at him. It made sense though. If what you had been saying was true you were going through all the grief that should have happened twenty years ago when everything you knew fell apart.

Twenty years worth of loss was hitting you all at once.

As the two of you finally reached his ship, he chose to speak up, the two of you standing side by side as you watched the ramp lower.

“Where would you like me to take you?”

“Take me? Oh right.” You nodded, suddenly realizing yet again you had no clue where you were going or what you were doing. “You can just drop me off at the nearest inhabited planet. I’ll figure it out from there.”

The Mandalorian nodded before walking up the metal walk way and into the belly of the razor crest, you following behind a moment later. Eyes taking in the interior of the ship you didn’t realize your savior had made his way back to you.

“Here, you must be hungry.” Extending his palm, he gave you several ration bars, the silver wrappers staring back at you from his hand.

“Oh. . . Thank you.”

“Sorry it’s not much, but seeing as you haven’t eaten in over two decades-“

“You don’t need to apologize. This is better than I could have asked for.”

Despite being adorned in head to toe armor, you found it somewhat easy for yourself to read the man in front of you. He had a shy awkwardness to him that you found somewhat endearing. You watched as he brought a gloved hand up tot he back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly.

“I’m gonna get us in the air. You’re welcome to rest down here if you’d like.” The bounty hunter giving you one last nod before climbing up the ladder and into the cockpit, leaving you to stand in silence.

Fiddling with the silver wrapper of the ration bar, you sink to the floor of the ship, leaning against the wall as you did. You barely noticed the ship start up around you, too consumed by all the thoughts and questions beginning to flood your brain.

What all had happened in the past twenty some years? Why did the force feel so. . . Empty? And what had become of all the people you had cared about? Where were Anakin and Obi? Were they ok? Had they survived order 66? What about Padme? She was pregnant the last time you saw her.

You had only been awake for several hours but you already felt exhausted, the weight of twenty years lost settling over you like a heavy cloud. With a deep sigh you let your face fall into your hands, dropping the ration bar at your side.

“Where did you all go?”

Your words barely came out as a whisper but it was enough to bring the tears from earlier back to your eyes.

You don’t know how long you sat there on the cold metal floor of ship. Maybe minutes, maybe hours- who knew. But eventually the silence became too loud for you and you pulled yourself back up onto your feet, only getting as far as the ladder to the cockpit before stopping.

Peering up the vertical ladder in front of you, you contemplated wether or not you should stay down here or pull yourself up into the cockpit with the Mandalorian that had saved you. Your body made the choice before your mind did and before you could comprehend what was happening you were grabbing onto the rungs and climbing.

You had so many questions about the state of the galaxy, about everything that had happened since you were last awake, and as of right now the only person you could ask was the Mandalorian.

You were silent as you entered the cockpit, even as you made your way towards the vacant passenger seat besides him and sat down.

“How are you feeling?” His modulated voice bouncing around the cabin as he spoke.

“I’m alright. Surprisingly tired though. . . Even after being asleep for twenty years.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised by that. Being suspended in carbonite that long probably gave you at least a minor case of hibernation sickness.” He explained, flexing his fingers across the control handles of the ship.

“Right-“ letting out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding you looked down at your own hands folded softly in your lap.

You had gotten hibernation sickness once before when You had gone on a mission with Anakin and Obi-wan to break an imprisoned Jedi out of the Citadel. You had suffered the worse case of it out of everyone and when you finally got back on board the Resolute Kix had kept you in the medbay for over a week.

At least this time you didn’t have temporary memory loss or blindness like before, thank the force.

“I never got your name before.” Din added, his curiosity over you getting the best of him as he gave you a sideways glance from his pilot seat.

“That’s because you never asked.”

“Right-“

“It’s Y/N though.” You smiled lightly, taking your eyes away from your folded hands and directing them towards the endless sea of stars in front of you.

“No last name?”

“Oh I do. . . You just have to earn the right to know it. What about you metal man? What’s your real name?” You leaned forward, settling your elbows on your knees as you looked at him.

Underneath his helmet, Din let the beginnings of a smile cross his features before turning to look over his shoulder at you. “You have to earn the right to know it.”

“Ha funny. Using my own words against me. I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

“I do. . . On occasion.”

Smiling yet again you leaned back, allowing your head to rest against the back of the seat as you crossed your arms over your chest. In a way he reminded you of someone from your past.

Rex.

Rex and his sweet awkwardness and never ending kindness. How he could be lighthearted and fun when the time was right and commanding and ready when needed.

Squeezing your eyes shut yet again you fought back another wave of tears, battling down your rising emotions yet again.

Rex. Where was he? Was he still alive? Did he save any of his brothers?

The mandalorians modulated voice snapped you back into the present a moment later, “are you alright?”

Shit.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. Like I said, just a bit tired.” You paused before speaking up a moment later. “Can I ask you a question though?”

“Sure. I can’t promise I’ll have an answer though.”

“What happened to the galaxy after the clone wars ended?”

The question seemed to small to you but you could practically feel the mandalorians mood change align with the sharp inhale he took. Maybe you had taken it a step too far.

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have asked. I was just curious.” You quickly apologized, sinking further into the seat you occupied.

“No, you don’t need to apologize.” He quickly interjected, “it’s just a loaded question that’s all.”

“I know, I know- I just-“ you swallowed thickly. “It’s been two decades since I was last part of this fast ecosystem we call our galaxy. I felt like such a big part of it back then, but now? I feel like I have to play catch up just to walk amongst others again.”

A band of heavy silence stretched between you, the only sound that could be heard was the ship itself. You don’t know how long it lasted but eventually it made your stomach knot up.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want t-“

“Where do you want me to start?”

*. *. *. *. *. *. *. *.

If you weren’t exhausted before, you were now. The knowledge of the history and events that had happened while you were asleep felt like a heavy block of cement had been laid on your chest, weighing you down.

The Jedi had been exterminated from the galaxy, the republic had been ripped down to its studs and replaced with the Galactic Empire, Palaptine became Emperor, the clone army had been disbanded, a Sith known as Vader had risen to power, and a weapon known as the Deathstar had destroyed countless planets.

And that was only part of it.

You sat in stunned silence, nails digging into your palms as you continued to fight back any rising emotions.

You had lost. The Republic had lost. Everything you had ever stood for had fallen apart around you while you lay locked in carbonite.

In the pilot seat the Mandalorian stayed silent, allowing you time to process. He couldn’t imagine what you were going through. He may had been raised by the Death Watch but that didn’t mean he didn’t have sympathy.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” You looked up at him, “you were only a child when the Empire rose to power. You didn’t slaughter my people and destroy half the universe.”

Din let out a breath. You were right, but he did understand what it was like to lose the people closest to you, to be thrust into a world you didn’t understand. Both of you were just children raised to be fighters.

Another blanket of silence fell over the two of you, this time only lasting a few seconds.

“Do you have a refresher?” You spoke up, looking over at the man piloting the ship, “I- I need to get the stink of twenty years of not bathing off of me.”

“Oh Uh, it’s just down the ladder and to your left.” He nodded back towards where the entrance to the cockpit was. “There should be some spare clothes in the compartment next to the sink as well.”

With a rushed thank you you got up from your seat and made your way back down the ladder, leaving The Mandalorian to his own thoughts and questions.

The fresher was small. Almost too small. You had no clue how the Mandalorian and his broad shoulders was able to fit in here. It couldn’t have been bigger than the full sized mattress you used to sleep on in the Jedi temple.

Once the door had slid shut firmly behind you and the distinct sound of the lock was heard, you began peeling of the layers of your Jedi uniform until they were just a pile of beige and brown cloth on the floor, your lightsaber placed neatly on the tiny counter next to the sink. Turning on the faucet for the shower you didn’t even wait until the water had turned warm, instead opting to step in while it still ran cold.

The cold spray of water ran in heavy streams and rivulets down your bare skin, rushing towards the drain as you stood stoically still beneath the waters.

Despite the sound of the running water, your thoughts were still too loud. To you it still felt like the Resolute had crashed yesterday, but now your mind felt like it was overheating at all the new information.

You could feel your breathing start to pick up speed just as your mind had. You had learned to control your panic at a young age, it was part of your training when you were still a youngling and back then it was so much easier to control- but now? Now it felt like wrestling a hurricane into submission.

War did that to you. Watching your friends die did that to you. Feeling them die did that to you.

This wasn’t your first panic attack- and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. You usually got them after particularly harsh missions, when the losses were heavy and ending war seemed impossible. Obi-wan had always been the best at helping you through them.

But he want here anymore.

No one was.

So you let all the fear, and panic, and grief tumble out of you all at once right then and there. Letting yourself fall back against the cool metal wall behind you, you sunk to the floor. . .

And screamed.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch) The Awkward Chronicles

(Author’s Note:  Here is some wild Bad Batch content for you.  I’m still not entirely sure why I did this, but I was sitting here laughing and blushing at this madness.  I’m one of those people who gets embarrassed so easily, so this fic was a ride for me.

-We all have ideas on what it’d be like to live and fight with the Bad Batch.  These are some short examples of the less glamorous things that can happen when you dwell with five males on a tiny ship-

Warnings:  Some awkward situations, embarrassment, some crude humor, potty humor)

Link to The Sequel

   You were walking down the hall, minding your own business, when it happened.  The lights went out.  As a matter of fact, it seemed that power in the entire ship was down.  You were left stranded in the pitch black, feeling around for the wall for only a few seconds before a low hum sounded and the emergency lights came on.

   The hall was cast in an eerie red light.

   “Tech!” Hunter’s growl made you jump.  That’s when you remembered; the last time you’d seen the Sergeant was when he excused himself to the refresher to take a shower.  A loud bang sounded on the door just a few feet away from you.  “Tech, what’s going on?”

   Before you could respond, the door slid open, and a very disgruntled Hunter emerged. It was quite a sight.  His long hair was damp and full of suds, some of which was falling into his eyes, and he wore a towel around his waist.  He was trying to blink the soap from his eyes, and he must not have seen you there because he marched straight into you.

   You yelped, hands shooting up instinctively to try and cushion the blow.  They landed on his broad chest, and you shrunk away awkwardly.  The dampness of his skin and the proximity was enough to make your face flare up.  Embarrassment quickly took its toll.  You were glad that the emergency lights were dim.

   “__________?” Hunter asked in disbelief, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes.  His grumpy demeanor was replaced with surprise.

   “Um, yeah, it’s me,” you replied.  “Sorry.”

   “I’m the one who ran into you,” he said in amusement.  He was right, but something about the situation just made you feel like you should apologize.  Maybe it was the way you were trying so very hard to meet his eyes and not let your attention wander.  

   Funny enough, Hunter didn’t seem at all bothered by the situation.  He continued to stand there unabashedly, eyes flickering past you.   “Where’s Tech?  Do you know what’s going on?”

   “He was making repairs in the cockpit,” you said. 

  “Would’ve been nice if he at least waited until no one was using the shower,” he mumbled.

   “Yeah, very true.  Here, I’ll just…”  You glanced at the floor, biting your lip.  “I’ll, um, tell him to hurry up with the power.”

   “Thanks,” Hunter nodded.  He gathered up his damp hair which had started to drip more suds down his shoulder, and turned to head back into the refresher.  You spun around and hurried toward the cockpit, ready to face-palm.

   That image won’t stay burned into your mind or anything.  Nope.

- - - -

   You glared at the empty roll.  It sat there tauntingly as your brain desperately thought of options to solve your current predicament.

   If you really wanted to, you could pull your bottoms up just enough to shimmy out of the refresher and grab a new roll of toilet paper in the supply closet.  It was a small ship, though, so there were a few things that could make the plan go awry.  Someone could easily walk by and witness the unfortunate situation.  Or worse, someone could be waiting for you to exit the refresher and slip in after you walk out the door.

   Your best bet would be to see if someone could bring you a roll.  Wrecker was the most ideal choice.  He was likely the one who left you with an empty roll in the first place, and he was the most relaxed of the group about things like that.  Not to mention you’d rescued him from the same situation a few times already.  You could count on him cracking a joke and then just moving on.

   Speaking of which, you heard his heavy footsteps going down the hall right then.  Relief washed over you as you grinned and gave the refresher door a knock.  “Wrecker!  Can I ask a favor?”

   “Sorry, ________!  I’m moving something for Hunter,” he grunted.  “Crosshair’s here though!  He can help you out.”

   Your smile faded.

   Crosshair was not a bad guy, but to say that you weren’t exactly eager to ask him to get you toilet paper was an understatement.  How could you bring yourself to ask the man and have him know your awkward situation?

  “What do you need?” Crosshair’s smooth voice was muffled through the refresher door.  You took a deep breath as you decided to take the plunge.

  “I, uh, I need someone to grab toilet paper from the closet.”

  It was dead silent on the other end for a minute, and you were inwardly cringing.  Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest, and your face practically burned with shame.

   “Isn’t there any under the sink?”

   “Already checked,” you said.  “Someone forgot to restock it.”

   “That would be Wrecker.”  He sighed in annoyance.  “Give me a minute.”  It felt like forever before you heard him knock on the door again.  “I’m...I’m just going to leave it here.”

   “Thanks,” you called through the door.

   His footsteps faded away, and you cracked the door open just enough to snatch up the roll.

   In hindsight, Crosshair had been pretty cool about the whole thing.  You weren’t sure what to expect, but your wildest imagination had envisioned his tone being laced with disgust, or at the very least irritation toward you.  Or maybe a snide comment.  Even so, it didn’t do much to derail the embarrassment that had set in when you joined the others in the cockpit.  You had a hard time looking Crosshair’s way for a while.

- - - - 

   Where could they be?  You rested your hands on your hips, frustrated.  You had searched every inch of your bunk for your boots to no avail.  Hunter and Wrecker were waiting for you outside the ship to join them for a supply run.  The only thing you could think of was that perhaps during the last crash-landing, they slid up to the front.

  With a sigh, you typed up a quick message to Tech on your holopad.  He was already up there working on one of the panels: maybe he could check.

   Three dots appeared on the screen, which meant he was typing up a response.  Then, they disappeared.  They reappeared once more.  Confused, you were about to head up to the cockpit anyway before a ping sounded on your device, alerting you of his response.

   I take it you were asking about your boots.  If that’s the case, then yes, they’re here up front.

   Your brows furrowed.  “What…?  I did ask about boots.  What does he think I wrote?”   You scrolled up to see your original message, covering your mouth in shock.

   It read: Tech, have you seen my booty?

   You quickly typed up a response.  Oh my gosh.  Yes, I meant to say boots.

   That explained his hesitant reply before.  Your face heated up at the thought of the brainiac reading your typo and short-circuiting for a moment, being unsure of how to go about it.  You choked back a laugh on your way up front to fetch your boots.

   Tech was kneeling down beside the panel when you arrived.  

   “Heyy,” you greeted.  He paused his work to lift his helmet.  There was a hint of amusement in his gaze, and you could see the way he was fighting a smile.

   “Hello, ________.”

   “About earlier,” you grimaced.

   He finally cracked a smile, chuckling.  “No worries.  These things tend to happen.  I set your boots over there.”  He nodded in the direction of the co-pilot seat.  Face flushed, you grabbed your boots off the chair and pulled them on before heading out to join Hunter and Wrecker.

- - - -

   “Alright,” Hunter shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Who was that?”

   Everyone in the cockpit exchanged looks, some accusatory.  Under normal circumstances, you’d think the whole thing was childish.  But for someone with Hunter’s abilities, you sort of understood why every time someone passed gas, it became a game of “who did it?”

   It was almost always Wrecker.  Sometimes he’d admit it proudly, and other times he’d try and deny it.  This time, it seemed, he was out for blood.

   “It was __________,” he said.  “I heard it.”

   All eyes turned to you, including Hunter’s vexed expression.  You glared at the largest Bad Batcher with your heart thumping in embarrassment.  “Was not!”

   The corner of his mouth twitched.  A hint of a smile, though he quickly hid it.  “Come on, _________.  It’s bad enough that you disturbed Hunter’s ‘advanced senses.’”  He quoted the phrase that he’d heard Tech throw around before.  “But don’t try and cover it up.”

   “It wasn’t me.”  You replied in disbelief.  Turning to Hunter, your eyes took on a more pleading look.  “You’ve got to believe me.”

   “You’re being awfully defensive,” Echo noted.

   “Yeah, awfully defensive,” Wrecker repeated, nodding furiously.  “Own up, ________.  That one was really bad.”

   You sighed.  “This is silly.  It wasn’t me, and you know it.”

   “Maybe it was,” Crosshair shrugged.  “And maybe it wasn’t.”

   “Either way,” Hunter interrupted, shooting each of you a look.  “I’ll ask all of you one more time.  Try and hold off until we land, so I can leave.”

   The cockpit fell into silence once more, and you turned around to take a seat in one of the passenger chairs, brooding over the situation.  Wrecker shot you a cheeky grin, and you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the smile that crept its way onto your features at his childishness.

- - - -

   “__________, could you fetch me another wrench?” Tech asked, grunting as he pulled out a few wires from the opening in the wall.  “I’m going to need it in a minute.”

   Your eyes caught something shiny on the tool kit he had laid out on the floor of the cockpit.  Kneeling down to pick it up, you shrugged.  “You mean like this?”  Tech glanced your way and shook his head.

   “A smaller one.”

   “Oh alright,” you sighed.  “Be right back.”  You moseyed your way out of the cockpit, taking your time because it was a slow day and there was no rush.  It was unusual for the ship to be so quiet.  That was most likely because Wrecker wasn’t on board.  He went with Hunter and Crosshair to see the planet a little.

   On your way back to the rest of Tech’s tools, you saw Echo making his way up front.

   “How go the repairs?” he asked.

   “Pretty good,” you said with a nod.  Both of you had paused to converse for a moment in the hall. “I’m grabbing some more tools for Tech.  Apparently the toolkit he brought up front doesn’t have the wrench he needs.”

   Echo chuckled.  “Well, good luck to you.  I’ve got my own repairs to make, or else I’d help.”

   “Well, thanks anyway.”  You smiled.

   “__________!” Tech called.  “If I am to proceed, I will need that wrench.”

   “One second!” you called back.  Shrugging, you mumbled, “duty calls.”  Echo and you both stepped aside so the other could pass by first.  A few chuckles floated into the air, and before you knew it both of you were taking a step forward at the same time.

   “Wow, okay, I’m sorry,” you said, feeling a little shy at the awkward close proximity.  Both of you sidestepped, bringing your chests together again.  Echo fidgeted a little with the contact.  Heat flooded your cheeks at how you were so close you nearly kissed.  Your friend rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.  

   “Ah, sorry,” he mumbled.  “Why don’t you just go ahead?”  This time, he managed to take a step back and over against the wall, lighthearted laughter leaving his lips as you walked past.

   “Sorry,” you told him again over your shoulder.  As you walked away, you felt that familiar twinge of embarrassment.  Poor Echo looked somewhere between amused and a little embarrassed himself.  You were a little relieved to hear another laugh from him down the hall.

[jessikahathaway]

Ambrosia - Prologue

Park Jimin (Aphrodite) X Reader

Genre: GreekGod!AU, Genderbent Aphrodite!AU, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn and Smut (Future)

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, Jimin in a SUIT, Namjoon being a lil nosy, profanity (if I forgot anything please let me know!)

Words: 3.1k (YA GIRL PROCRASTINATED TOO LONG AND DIDN'T GET THE FULL CHAPTER DONE SO WE'RE DOING A PROLOGUE. K? K.)

Summary: Cast out of Olympus with the task to find his one true love, Aphrodite is certain his match will come to him. But as the years drag on, what happens when the God of Love, gives up?

Days in a flower shop in the middle of a decent sized town can pass by fast or slow. There can be days with what feels like hundreds of orders coming through the tiny store, and then there are the days where the employees just wind up looking at their phones the whole time and not one soul passes through the door.

But on special days, all it takes is one person to walk through those doors and everything changes.

This is a story of one of those days.

--

Tuesdays could seriously go fuck off for all you cared. This particular Tuesday was proving to be a test on every ounce of your patience and every single time you heard that door bell ring as the gates of hell opened, your shoulders sagged a little more. Something about their flowers wasn’t right. The blue wasn’t like the sky but like the sea and that’s an issue. The flowers look wilted. Always something.

But, like you did every day you turned to the customer and gave them a huge smile, ready to help them with whatever they needed. Even if it meant losing your sanity little by little.

The day passed this way, going on and the clock didn’t seem to be moving at your desired pace. So, you sat on the chair behind the desk at the front and gazed out the window.

It was a warmer spring day.

The trees were budding and life was returning after a long winter. You loved this time of the year. Everything becoming new again, alive and welcoming. But, it also means more work for you. It’s never been a problem, but this past year has been particularly hard.

Your younger sister passed away.

She’d been fighting a long illness, one with a poor prognosis. At a young age you and Sana were placed in the foster system, living with a decent enough upbringing. The foster parents were never mean or cruel, but they weren’t your parents. Whom you barely remembered now. So when you turned eighteen you asked if you could become her legal guardian. Your foster parents had agreed, wishing you and her the best of luck...

But luck had never been on you or your sister’s side.

Her illness started to rapidly progress, causing more and more doctor’s visits and more money being pulled from your measly savings. It wasn’t enough. You were having to take out loans and everything just to keep the lights on in your apartment.

Sana, however, kept her spirits high no matter the situation. She was the positive one. The bright one that everyone gravitated towards in school. She was your light. And now your life is duller. Your sister loved to go through the streets in her wheelchair, looking at the budding leaves and flowers that were growing on the trees.

“Look Y/N!” she’d squeak. “They’re so beautiful. I want to open a flower shop, and I’m going to sell the most beautiful flowers to people.”

As her birthday present you decided to open the flower shop.

It was her last one.

Looking out at the spring blooming in front of you it was hard to be happy, knowing how much your sweet Sana would’ve loved it. Life often wasn’t fair, but you hadn’t expected it to be so. You weren’t a bad person, but bad things had happened. But you were alive, and had a life to keep living.

As much as the flower shop was Sana’s dream, you couldn’t sell it when she died. It had become your safe haven. A little place to call your own. Even if it was Sana’s dream, you had made it real. Real enough for the both of you, and now you gotta keep it going. Even if the loan to open it made your wallet want to cry, it was enough. Plenty.

Because it was yours.

A single tear fell down your cheek as you thought of your beloved sister, and her cute cheeks and beautiful eyes that never held an ounce of fear or regret. A few petals fell from the blossoming tree outside in the wind and fell to the ground in a swirl of pastel hues that made you smile.

More tears moved down your cheeks and you wiped them away in frustration. She wouldn’t want you to be upset, she’d want you to be happy and to continue with your life. Keep going and make something of yourself.

Sana used to say that you were always Y/N the big sister and never just... Y/N. And you knew it was true. You were supposed to take care of her, but now that she’s gone... T-There was no one to care for but yourself.

You’d have to be enough.

Suddenly, the bell above your door ran proudly, making your teary eyes refocus on the person entering the store. Those tears were quickly replaced with a look of wonder.

A man walked through the door, head held high and his eyes scanned the area like he was inspecting it. Wiping your already sweaty palms on your apron you approached him with a gentle smile.

“Welcome to Sana’s flowers, how can I assist you?” you asked, coming towards him. The man took in your appearance and a calm expression steeled over his face.

“Hi, are you Sana?” he asked, referring to the name.

“No, Sana was my sister,” you said, swallowing hard. The man seemed to understand.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to impose,” he said, bowing lightly.

“You’re fine, no worries. How can I help you?” you asked, looking at his apparel.

He was dressed in a fine suit, tailored to his every inch, must’ve been expensive as hell. You could probably open a whole new section of your shop with the money he was dripping in.

You weren’t known for having an upper class clientele, not that the occasional businessman came in and asked for a bouquet of your finest flowers. Sometimes two... Shaking your head you focused on the man in front of you as best as you could. But, his features were so striking it was hard to keep your eyes from wander...

“Park Jimin,” he introduced, holding his hand out politely.

“Y/N,” you said, extending your own hand and taking his in yours. Shaking gently he gave a smile that could rival the very stars in the sky. This man was more breathtaking the longer you looked, making your palms start to sweat even more.

“A pleasure, Y/N,” he said. “I’m having an event to celebrate my family's company. It’s the 125 year of it’s business and we are looking to source from the local populace instead of corporations to provide a more intimate setting for the investors and other members of the company,” Jimin said, rambling off a lot of information for your sleep deprived brain.

“I see, so you’re looking for floral arrangements?” You asked, heading towards your book of options. Jimin followed you over, leaning towards you so close you could smell his cologne. A spicy scent that wasn’t overpowering but more... alluring? Inviting?

Shaking your head you pulled up your options of centerpieces and the like, showing him what styles you had available and Jimin paid close attention to each set. Asking questions about what flowers would look good in what vases and if they did better in foam or water.

“For events I prefer the foam personally. Less likelihood of someone knocking a vase over and water getting everywhere. But the flowers are more mobile in the water, so it’s about what you’re looking for in regards to the feel,” you said.

Jimin seemed to weigh his options for a moment. “I like the traditional styles you showed me. The simple little flowers decorating around the larger arrangements, it looks classy and provides the color I’m looking for,” he said, nodding.

Making a note you grabbed a notepad to start writing all the information down.

“So when is your event? A month, two?” You said, throwing out a few different times.

“Two weeks,” he said. You froze, swallowing hard.

“Ah, I see,” you said, biting your lip.

“Is that a problem?” He asked, looking up at your pained expression.

“It’s just, the flowers might take a minute to get here. And I arrange everything by hand, so it takes me a little longer. How many tables were you going to have and the garlands for the stairways as well?” You asked.

“Well as for tables I have 150 dinner tables, 50 cocktail tables and 8 large banquet tables. There are two main stairwells that wrap around to the main area so there will be about 400ft worth of garland necessary,” he calculated slowly.

“Okay,” you said, rubbing your temples slowly.

“How many people do you have on your payroll?” He asked, looking around and noticing the empty space.

“Just me. My friend Namjoon likes to come and help sometimes but he’s a full time nurse so,” you shrugged.

“Would you be able to do this in two weeks with just by yourself?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I can always try,” you said, giving a gentle smile.

“How much would it cost?” He asked.

“Depends on the flowers you want, you already picked the style so one second,” you said, grabbing your calculator and running the numbers really quick. “I can do expedited shipping on the flowers to get them here faster but then you run the risk of stems getting broken and not having enough. But I can order more to compensate but then that’s more money,” you said.

Finally you had a total and you frowned.

“It would be around $2,156 if we did the expedited shipping and ordered more flowers to compensate for the potential broken ones,” you said, biting your lip. That was a lot of money to spend on flowers for a simple dinner event. You knew it, but with everything he wanted and the time frame it was the best you could do... You didn’t even charge him for the probability of Namjoon helping. Because then it would jump up to the 3,000 dollar mark and you weren’t going to push your luck.

After a few moments, Jimin pulled out his checkbook and started writing the check out. Your eyes bulged when he pushed the piece of paper towards you, his pen clicking with a sense of finality.

“What kind of flowers should we get?” He said, a smile on his face. You looked down and almost flung the check right back at him.

$5,500

This man had just dropped over five thousand dollars without blinking.

“Th-This is too much,” you said, trying to push it back towards him.

“You charged me for base flowers, and it’s super short notice. Take the extra as a tip,” he smiled.

“I-I can’t accept over two thousand dollars as a tip. If I get audited I’ll be screwed,” you said.

“No you won’t, it’ll be fine. Please, take it,” he encouraged, placing the check back in front of you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep yourself from panicking. You did have a large loan payment coming up, and this would lessen that blow significantly...

But wasn’t it wrong?

“Alright...” you trailed off, taking the check and stamping it before putting it in your deposit bag.

“What type of flowers do you recommend using?” He asked, looking at you with a gentle gleam in his bright eyes.

“Peonies and hydrangeas are a great combo with complementary color palettes. I always love doing grass pieces as a nice natural moment but, baby's breath is a classic and more traditional if that’s what you’re looking for,” you said.

“Can we do the soft blue hydrangeas and white peonies?” He asked, looking at the sample photos you had.

“Yes, the white peonies would bring a nice fullness and the hydrangeas can add the color,” you explained.

“Perfect, let’s do that then,” he said, nodding.

“Okay! I’ll get the order to go in and get the expedited shipping and we should get them by the end of the week. They’ll go into the fridge and that should help keep them fresh,” you said.

“Here.”

You turned around to see a small card placed on the table in front of you.

“What’s this?” You asked, lifting the small thing to your eyes.

“My number,” he said, grinning. “Message me when the flowers come in.”

“O-Okay, absolutely!”

Jimin smiled then, a bright dazzle expression that had your mouth drying in longing.

“I look forward to hearing from you, Y/N,” he said.

“I look forward to it as well, Mr. Park,” you said politely. Jimin tutted and shook his head.

“No, Jimin will do just fine. Have a great day Y/N,” he waved, turning on his heel and heading out the door.

You looked at the numbers and sighed.

God you were so fucked.

—

“So, let me get this straight,” Namjoon said over the phone. “Hot guy in a suit comes in and orders a fuck ton of flowers you know you can’t do yourself and you agree because he dropped an extra few grand in the check? Y/N! You can’t do that, I’ll only be able to help you arrange the bouquets the day of. So you’ll have to put them all together yourself! When will you sleep? Eat? Poop!?!” He yelped.

“Firstly, my bowel movements are none of your concern,” you stated. “And second of all, I can’t refuse that kind of money! The next loan payment is going to fuck me over if I don’t have this padding. Please Joonie, tell me you can help me at least the night before,” you pleaded.

“I really can't Y/N, I’m working night rotation. So, I could maybe stop by in the morning but then the flowers have to sit longer,” he reasoned.

“Yeah I know... Can you switch?” You said, a soft voice replacing your whining.

“I wish I could, but there’s hardly any staff that night as it is. And we’re all pulling hours we don’t like. I can’t ask them to do more. Poor Taehyung has already covered me this month and I would rather throw myself in front of a car than ask again,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re busy and I’m desperate, but... I’ll figure it out,” you said, rubbing your face in exhaustion.

“What kind of asshat doesn’t come in until last minute to order a huge ass amount of floral arrangements?” Namjoon asked.

“An asshat named Park Jimin apparently,” you said, twisting the stem of a flower in front of you.

“You-You mean the Park Jimin?” Namjoon stuttered.

“I don’t know how many of them there are, Namjoon. I just know what this one looked like,” you said.

“Doesn’t he have like, neon pink hair or something?” He asked.

“Um, no? It was blonde-ish when he was in here,” you said.

“Plump lips?”

“Yeah?”

“Eyes that command the panties of women to drop?” He asked.

“Sir, my panties stayed firmly in place so I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about,” you huffed.

“For now, Y/N, for now. Anyways,” he said dismissively. “If this is the Park Jimin we’re talking about you need to be very careful.”

“What? What are you talking about,” you whispered.

“He’s like a sex God or something. He’s got game better than Jordan, okay? But he never commits to anyone,” he said, seriously.

You rolled your eyes, even though the man couldn’t see you.

“My heart isn’t in danger here, Namjoon. We’ll be fine. I can handle an attractive businessman,” you said.

“Yeah, but can your cum thirsty twat handle it?”

“Sir, I’m gonna hang up,” you warned.

“As a nurse I demand to know the last time you got laid,” he said. “It’s for you health of course.”

“That should be a HIPPA violation,” you complained.

“Yeah, not a friendship violation though. Tell me when was the last time you were left boneless between the sheets my guy,” he said.

“I don’t see how this has to do with floral arrangements,” you sighed. “But since your bitch ass needs to know it was about a year ago.”

“Well, maybe it is time to get back in the ring,” he reasoned.

“Namjoon, there’s no need to get me a suitor. You’re not my dad trying to get another cow on the farm or something,” you joked.

“Do you think Park Jimin would give me a cow if I gave him you?” He asked, sounding too serious for your liking.

“I’m really gonna hang up now,” you said, pulling your phone away from your face.

“Just, be safe Y/N! Don’t work too hard, I love you!” You heard screamed from the receiver.

“Yeah love you too Joonbug,” you said, hanging up and looking at the clock. The numbers glared back at you like they were judging you for being up this late. But you simply shrugged and went and took a much needed shower.

That man had you sweating like a sinner in church.

As you bathed you tried to think of your next plan of attack, but the water was too warm and soon you found yourself relaxing into the stream happily. Once you were done you cracked open a can of beer and sat down in your living room ready to start the night right, when a message floated across your screen.

Joonbug: IS THIS THE CULPRIT?!? Jpg.1013

You stared at the screen with an unamused face, but picked up your device anyway. Namjoon had sent you the picture and you could tell the fucker picked the first one off of google images like the lame hoe he was, but you looked regardless.

And, surprisingly, it was him.

The cherubic cheeks and wide smile, bright eyes and an alluring body. You sighed and texted him back.

Y/N: Yea, that’s him.

Joonbug: OH REAAALLLLYYYY???

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Joonbug: You can’t resist. THIS.

Y/N: I’ve resisted your rat poison for years, I think I got it.

Joonbug: EXcUSE MEEEE??? I am at least some kind of like, sexy poison???

Y/N: I’m dying either way, why do I care if it’s sexy or not?

Joonbug: :((((((

You left the conversation at that, but your mind began to wander. How were you going to finish this order and not embarrass yourself in front of a multimillionaire?

Maybe you bit off more than you can chew...

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 11 - Fightin’ Words - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] to clarify before I begin, I do NOT hate Faye. There will be a following chapter to explain how we got from point A to point B, since now that I see it, this chapter seems like a stretch. I apologize if the writing is a little shitty, I got too excited when writing it, and I was basically vomiting words onto my screen. Enjoy!

Previous chapter: Ch.10

⛔️ WARNING: this chapter contains implied sexual content, drinking, and strong language

-

There is a clear difference in kissing. One was for lust, meant to excite and give pleasure to the receiving, as a plus on to tie in all the ingridients for good sex. The other was for love, showing affection and those deep emotional feelings that both parties were in need of.

The lines were blurring.

Wanting this to be a strictly physical relationship, other elements started to incorporate their way into your escapades. And now Spike knows almost everything about you. Eating habits, what makes you laugh, and the type of people you hate. Talking for hours on end, both of life and it’s ridiculous nature, there was no off time between you both. It felt good.

The quiet moment after you left his room for your own, a faltering feeling of sadness and loneliness enters Spike. The urge to grab you and bring you back to his bed for the night was strong. He tried to get you to stay (always subtly), but to no avail. Well aware of your need for space, he always respected your decision.

The crank that was once rusty, was in Spike’s head as his mind ran endlessly of if you liked him or not. It was a thought, a discussion he wanted to put off for so long. The consequences of his doubt were going to hurt, especially when it was going to be that time to go. The reassurance that this was only a fling, a friends with benefits deal, was on its way to be tossed out of the trash chute into space.

“Trust me, Spiegel, I’ve had plenty of time as a child to know what I’m talking about.” You said as Spike passed you his cigarette.

“About what?” He asked, completely clueless.

“Rocks. Crystals, geodes. Have you not been listening?” You scolded, scoffing as Spike shook his head.

“The library in the city gave the orphanage books they didn't want anymore. My favorite book was the one about rocks on Mars, of course it was simplified for my small brain…”

Head in his hand, Spike listened as you rambled mindlessly of all the different rock formations on Mars. As much as he wanted to learn, he couldn’t help but be distracted by his acknowledgment of your presence. More specifically, the air you brought in the room. Spike began to think of it as his favorite perfume, sweet and sultry, with a hint of spice. It made him feel safe.

You were so attractive when you were educating him. He hated to hear it from Jet or anyone else, but you made it interesting.

“You’re pretty hot.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah thanks. Anyways, like I was saying…”You replied, flattered by his sudden proclamation.

“I’m serious. You’re talking all smart to me, and I can’t help but tell you that.” Spike smirked. “I think I learned more from you than in high school.”

You laughed softly. “I tell you because I know you’re dumber than a bag of hammers.”

“Is that so?” Spike raised his eyebrows. Why was your teasing making him feel even better? “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“I only have one, and not that.” You smiled slyly, the glint in Spike’s eye becoming more noticeable.

“I’m about to make it two.”

“I would love to see you try.”

You put your hands up to defend yourself, Spike’s smooth moves rendering you helpless. In a second, he had your arms pinned down by your sides, a deep throated chuckle emitting from him as he watched you struggle. There was no danger but that of falling to his charm and whim.

“I don’t regret this.” You panted.

“Sounds like the best decision I’ve made.” Spike mumbled, gaze traveling all over your face. He brushes the stray hairs from your face, fingers tracing your hairline and ears. He was so close, you could feel his breath on your neck, threatening to brush his lips on yours.

“Can I ask you something?” Spike broke the silence. You nodded eagerly.

“I-“ He began, cut off by the loud knocking on the door.

“Spike? Spike? Are you there?” Jet called out.

There is no answer, except you panicking over whether Jet sees you naked or sprawled out on Spike’s bed. The only sound that could’ve been heard was the thuds of you scrambling around the room, looking for your bra and panties. Spike watches in amusement, not caring at all at the dilemma you both were in.

“Yeah?” Spike called out, the clink of his lighter going off.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come up to the bridge for a drink, got a few good bottles of gin from our last bounty.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Good.” Jet finished. Footsteps drew further away down the hallway and supposdely onto the stairs. You sighed in relief, getting dressed at a leisurely pace. Safe, once again.

“Y/n, you can come too if you would like.” The loud booming laughter of Jet filled the hallway, masking your dread.

This evening was going to be delightful.

-

“Where's the gin?” You said in confidence, like you weren’t just caught in Spike’s room. Hopefully he wouldn’t see the slight limp in your step either.

“I have it, but I knew it would be a good bait to get some help up here.” He replied.

“Then I want at least half the bottle as a down payment. And an apology.” You scowled, taking a peek on the holo computer, skimming over the briefing for the next bounty.

Jet chuckled. “Now young lady, I have something very important to ask you.”

“Huh, you and Spike. I’m not too scared of yours.” You glanced at him, sitting in his seat.

Jet rested himself against the table, nodding. “I was going to say that us boys and Ed really enjoy you here. These last few months have been the best one this ship has seen in a while, and you are welcome to stay however long you want, kid.”

You knew you were doing well, but now you caught the bag. Jackpot. “You’re just saying that because I feed you all.”

“That's part of it too.” Jet grinned. “But I’m serious, (y/n). I think all of us could vote in favor of a new crew member. What do you say?”

Thinking, you remembered your freedom, sought as a child. That’s all you ever wanted, was to be out and allowed to do whatever you could. But deep down, the thing you really needed was a home. A family.

You could find that here on the Bebop. Even if you got a rocky start, it was smooth sailing for now. You felt wanted. That’s what you needed.

“Doesn’t sound too bad. I’m down.” You beamed.

“Glad you agreed, or else it would’ve been real awkward if you said no.” Jet replied, giving you a soft pat on your back.

“Mmm, would you kick me out if I declined this most generous offer?” You teased.

“Kid, you have my respect, I would let you pack first then throw you out.”

You cracked up, the deal was done. As you sat in your new home, you couldn't help but feel eternally grateful. “I really owe you one, Jet. You really got me out of a tight spot.”

Jet nodded as he searched for something on the control board.

“Was..was that how Spike came around? Picked him up like a stray?” You asked, surprised at your brazen question.

Jet stops messing with the controls, paused as he tries to peace his words together. “To be honest, I can’t even remember when or how Spike joined me here. He just popped up one day, and I haven’t been able to shake him off.” Jet gave a small titter. “Ah, (y/n). The man’s been through it tough.”

“Can I ask?” You said meekly.

“All that time spent together, and he hasn’t told you?” Jet chaffed, a smirk starting to grow.

Shit. “We haven’t spent much time talking today.” Fuck it, no use in denying it now.

“That’s what I thought.” He snickered. “Well, let me put it this way. A heartbroken man is a lonely one. He roams the galaxy in search of finding a way to fill the void left in him, either desperate to find something new. Or leave the void empty, allowing himself to wither away peacefully.”

“Hmm.” You replied shortly. A lot wasn't said, but it made sense.

“I’m only saying this once, (Y/n). He’s changing, and for the better. I haven’t seen him smile so much sober. I have to thank you for that.”

You made a change, as small as it was. You hear footsteps approaching the bridge, the sliding door opening to reveal Spike. As he quietly passes you by, he shoots you a small wink, making you blush. Spike sits down with a sigh, his legs propped up on the control panel.

“Easy, I’m still working there.” Jet warns as he hands Spike a drink.

“Then how come you're not sitting here?” He smirks, side-eyeing you to watch him kick up dirt.

You smile back, letting their conversation fade away slowly. This moment, you had to screenshot it. It doesn’t look like a normal family, but it wasn't dysfunctional. You had a crazy red haired computer genius as a sibling, along with a dog that you think could do math better than you. It topped nicely with a protective mentor and teacher with one robotic arm, and a man who you didn't think you could even get near without getting your arm bitten off.

Someone was missing. She hasn’t been seen all day, but that’s typical. As an official member of the Bebop, there was no back burner now. You could turn off your predatory instinct on your prey. The hunt on Faye was over. You didn't have to be her best friend, just tolerate her attitude enough when she decides to stay on the ship for longer than a day. You really didn't want to fight her, but sometimes she made it so difficult. Besides, you were too tired anyways.

The little get together was carrying on joyfully, now joined by Ed and Ein. Ed wandered aimlessly in all directions on the bridge, babbling on about all the buttons and flashing lights. You sat next to Spike in your own chair, feeling the small soft padded pushes of Ein on your legs.

“What is it boy?” You asked sweetly, reaching down to rub the top of his ears. He jumps on his hind legs, trying his best to climb up onto your lap. You cooed at him, picking him up and placing him snuggly on your thighs. You swore you could’ve seen him smile as your pet his fluffy face, massaging his soft head.

Spike leaned over, whispering. “Do you think I can get a massage too?”

Before you could respond, Ein gave a small huff, one eye opening to watch out for his competition. “I’m sorry, but the baby said no.”

Jet laughed as Spike smiled. You looked down to see that Spike’s glass was still full, while Jets was drained of all gin. You were working on yours at a slower pace. “You don’t feel like drinking tonight?”

“Hmm?” Spike looked down at his drink, sloshing it against its glass walls. “ Oh, I’ll get to it.” He said before reaching out and touching your back gently, his fingers tracing circles on your spine.

What a win-win situation, Ein gets to be loved on and you get to be petted, you thought. Goosebumps rose on your arms as Spike continued. The sky turned to night, all the stars in the galaxy could be seen from the bridge’s giant front window. Ed was curled up in a ball in front of it, tuckering herself out. Ein provided some warmth to Ed, loafing on Ed’s stomach. Their snores mixed in together, obnoxiously loud, but incredibly cute.

Spike never got to his drink, so he offered it to you instead. Two was all you needed to finish off the night. You took over Ein’s spot on Spike’s lap, your arms wrapped around his neck as you conversated with the boys. His hands rubbed the side part of your stomach before interlocking, his heated palms providing comfort. You wouldn’t mind falling asleep here.

The flash of Faye’s Redtail blinded you as she clumsily parked out on the flight deck. You didn't care as long as she didnt destroy the hangar, then you all would be in huge trouble.

“She’s home early.” Jet stated, watching as she stumbled out of the ship.

“It’s not even midnight yet. Think she missed us?” Spike called out sarcastically.

“Doubt it.”

This was the last of peaceful silence for the night, you thought. You were hoping not to jinx it.

BAM!

Everybody around you whipped their heads to the source of the sound, except yours, because you knew exactly who it was and what was going to happen. Ein used Ed’s stomach as a launching pad, frightened at the loud noise. What could you say, you have a knack for sensing a challenge. The only thing was, you were not in a mood to seek it. It was brought to you, sucking all good energy out of the room and switching it to a fireball of jealousy.

In walked a staggering Faye, pleased with her grand entrance. She tipped to one side, before switching to the other slightly. Just one look was all it took before you gulped the rest of your drink down, flipping the glass on its head. You could see out of the corner of your eye Spike’s focus was on you. His brows furrowed, head tilting as if to ask what were you doing. Your reply was a swift head rub, his hair swooshing.

“Evening, Faye.” Jet chimed, pushing the bottle of gin closer to his side behind him on his control board. There was no way she was getting any more tonight.

Your gaze changed to Jet, who you thought could also sense the new air in the bridge. He sat at the edge of his seat, arm resting on his knee. What was he waiting for?

A small hiccup bounced off the metal walls, prompting Faye to trip and catch herself on the main control board in the middle of the room. Her eyes closed, she began to shake her head side to side, a small manic giggle escaping her mouth.

“You just-just can’t keep your fucking hands off of him, can’t you?”

You felt a shiver of shock rest on your shoulders as you turned your head to face Faye. Before you could speak, Spike opened his mouth to defend you.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Spike retorted, his hands now pressed firmly on your waist.

“Everything was just fine without her, you-“ Faye snarled as she pointed to Jet, “just had to have a heart.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Jet replied cautiously.

Faye circled around the control table, using it as support or else she tumbled over. A mumbled slur of insults, consisting of calling you a slut and Spike an idiot. She was drunk, you thought. Let it run off like water. She will be fine once she’s in her bed, snoring her way into a killer hangover. You couldn’t shake that feeling that you needed to start gearing up. You wiggled out of Spike’s hold, planting your feet firmly down as you lean on the control table.

“I..I honestly don’t get it.” Faye said aloud.

“Get what, Faye?” You piped up, the slightest shake in your voice.

Oh! So it can talk!” She cackled out loud. “Let me tell you what, since you asked!”

“Please, I would love to know.”

Her pointer finger shoved right in your face, furiously wanting to make contact. “I-I find it hard to believe that you managed to get him to fuck you.”

“Jesus, Faye, in front of the kids?”

“Fuck that! She’s going to hear what I have to say, whether the slut likes it or not.”

As angry as you should’ve been, coolness was all you displayed. The voice in the back of your head reminded you of unforgettable advice you knew all too well. Alcohol could be a very good truth serum.

“What a f-fucking slut … you know how I think y-you managed to stay on this tin can of a ship?” She muttered. “You have to be f-fucking the captain.”

“That’s enough! Leave until you sober up.” Jet stood up, standing in the space between you and Faye. “Not having any of that on my ship.”

You looked at Spike, face frozen in a silent menacing fury. Leaning back on the console, you kept glancing to see Faye moving further and further away towards the door. That was it, the show's over. But someone had some kind parting words.

“Hey, how about this! I bet Spike has to cover your face while fucking your ugly ass, I would too, you stupid-“

Your knuckles had never stung so bad, but it felt so good to watch Faye’s head swing back. A flurry of raged-filled punches landed on either side of her face, so fast it didnt give her enough time to react. Waking up, Faye gave a heavy footed kick to your side, prompting you to scream out in pain.

Each swing of her high leg swings missed as you ducked, giving you a chance for an uppercut into her stomach. You could hear the sound of the wind knocking out of her with each punch. Faye’s hand pulled your hair back roughly, fists meeting across your face, swiping your nose. Intense pressure built up, the threat of blood leaking out of your nose becoming evident. She wanted to play dirty?

We can play dirty.

You used everything you had in you. Scratching, biting, kicking. You were not going to lose. You did not give two shits if she was vulnerable, this bitch was going down. It felt like forever until you felt the strong arms of Spike yanking you away from the fighting ground.

“Hey, hey, hey!” You heard Jet roar, becoming a flesh and metal cage around Faye’s upper arms, taking a small beating as she tried to claw her way back to you. Ed was yelping and screaming at the top of her lungs, while Ein barked and yowled at the commotion.

“Stop, (y/n), its me you’re hitting, damn it!” Spike yelped as you gave the last swings, realizing that the fight was just about over. You panted, the painful injection of adrenaline overcame your body. You watched on in pity as Jet tried to get Faye to calm down. As you trudged back to your seat, with the help of Spike, the last word was finally given out of the door.

“Get comfy bitch, I’m going nowhere!” You screamed.

“And I know who burned your ship, but there’s no way I’m telling you, you dumb cunt!”

Other insults flew in your direction, but were ignored. You stood in disbelief as you let the major bombshell play over and over. Feeling the soft tug of Spike pulling you back gently down to your seat, letting you wallow for a second. He knelt in front of you, examining your growing black eye and red welts on your face. “Damn, that's going to leave a mark.”

You looked away from him, tears welling in your eyes.

“Oh (y/n), I didn't mean it like that, it doesn’t look that bad.” Spike apologized as you sniffled.

“It’s not that. I-its that..'' sobs so quietly, but causes the greatest quivering, “she knows who did this to me, and won't even fess up because she hates me. What kind of shit is that?”

Tears fell freely onto your lap, pain induced by your loss fueling more hurt. It was so cold by yourself, a shell encasing you in. Through the mists of your tears, the shell was just Spike’s chest moving closer in. The heat of his body provided consolation without words, the tightness and slight rocking bringing you down to a clearer, more relaxed consciousness.

“I’ll catch them for you.” Spike mumbled into your ear, his hands massaging the back of your head. “It won't bring anything back, but if that will make you feel better, I'll do it.”

This wasn’t an empty promise. There was sincerity behind Spike’s words, wanting to help you. It was now confirmed just how much you meant to him. He was willing to assist for payback. His offer was sweet, but it didn't feel right. This wasnt his struggle, it was yours.

You were going to catch them, and only God knew the hell you were going to bring.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

[rocinawanda]

The Expanse - 6x06 (SERIES FINALE)

Loved it. Let this be the tldr before I ramble on, I loved it. This finale, this final season, this show. They did me justice, I am satisfied. I am emotional.

where do i even start fuck, SPOILERS!

Okay cue the ramble apologies in advance for the long post.

Oh my god the different fight sequences I didn’t think they would even go off like that firstly Drummer and her band of Belters thinking they were only going up against some frigates but it was the Pella disguised like the Roci a few seasons back god damn. It was a miracle that Camina made it out of that alive and that decision by the pirate guy whose name escapes me really helped turn the tide. Amazing.

Then the Rocinante in the ring space HOLY SHIT that was so incredible wow. Bobbie BOBBIE facing all of those guns and her manoeuvre was exactly the same as when we first meet her on the Mars training course in season 2!!! I was sobbing. Amos going to shield her when she was down i simply cannot I love them both so much. PEACHES earning her keep, I was so scared for her because of her diagnosis and thinking she might faint I genuinely thought she died fixing the reactor problem but then Naomi going down to help and check on her, my emotions I love this found family.

THE SCENE IN THE KITCHEN. Did I mention that I love this Rocinante family so goddamn much and they even referenced Alex again and left an empty seat for him I was in floods of tears. Its always the scenes in the kitchen of them eating together throughout the show, firstly with Miller, then toasting to Miller after his sacrifice, after Bobbie joined the ship, then this final one with Clarissa before we knew what their fate would be.

Naomi thinking she killed/sent her son off to his death with the entities at the Ring gate broke me, that little flashback to baby Filip I could not handle it. Her courage and willingness to do what needed to be done even with such a huge sacrifice whew. Naomi Nagata the woman that you are.

Jumping to Laconia real quick Cara is crazy I feel so sorry for her parents goodness gracious, her brother is a zombie, I predicted correctly that the scene from the trailer was from his perspective and that whole storyline this season just confirms that no matter the focus on what our Roci team or the politicians are doing, there is always going to be some mad protomolecule shit going on in the universe that they have no idea about. This is the world they live in now, may as well embrace it.

Look at Jim turning the tides at the end and making Drummer the President of Ring transportation you go king I knew you’d never want to be in the position. It was so funny when they all turned to look at him at the table you could hear his brain going “hold on w-wait a minute, no that’s not what i meant”.

CHRISJEN LIVES I was so worried about her with the bonus content showing her health issues and even the one soldier on the ship saying he was worried about her like he embodied me. But she lived fuck yes I am so happy.

rip(?) Marco, at the very least GOODBYE BITCH hope you have fun floating through the cosmos with your disintegrated narcissistic self. It would have been nice to see him suffer but this will do. woah Filip is alive he deserted the ship before the transit and is now going forth as Filip Nagata okay go on get your redemption off by yourself, it is what Naomi wants for him.

Overall I am so satisfied, all of our Rocinante family are alive and thriving on the ship they will go off and live their lives together. The final shot of the Rocinante just flying off into the distance was *chefs kiss*. I will miss this show so much. Quite literally my favourite television show ever. I am so glad they didn’t let me down, as if they could.

I’m looking forward to reading the books and the The Expanse game with Drummer that will release in the future. I’m not done with this world. I’m glad i’ve been able to write these episode posts for this show, it truly deserves. Bye for now Beratna.

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

Love of My Life

It was then Katara’s turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

After the final battle, Katara and Aang reunite.

(Written for Day 3 of Kataang Week 2021: Missing Scenes/Post-Canon, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3, or continue reading below.)

Azula was taken away at some point, maybe by the Fire Sages, but her bloodcurdling screams and broken sobs were hardly a pinprick at the back of Katara’s mind as she kept her attention trained to the lightning wound blasted across Zuko’s solar plexus. Her hands glowed with the water she was continuously pulling from the now-burst piping system in the courtyard around them. She had no enhanced spirit water as with Aang, but fortunately Zuko’s injury was less severe and—thanks to her quick defeat of Azula—no longer life-threatening.

Zuko winced, and guilt flashed through Katara’s stomach for silently dismissing his pain. “Sorry.” She moved the water further upward on his chest, over a spot where the skin was more blistered. “Better?”

A low hiss escaped Zuko’s lips as the cool liquid skimmed the wound, and he managed a weak nod. “Thanks.” His voice was raspier than usual. To be expected. “For this, and for… and for stopping Azula.”

The urge to laugh rose in Katara’s throat, which she immediately suppressed because Tui and La, what was wrong with her? How was now an appropriate time for laughter? “Well, you’re welcome,” she said instead, giving him a weary smile, “but next time, how about you don’t taunt her about the lack of lightning, hmm?”

Zuko grimaced, and Katara knew that particular reaction had nothing to do with the wound across his chest. “Let’s just hope there will never be a next time.”

Katara couldn’t argue with that.

The following minutes were quiet as Katara slowly moved the water up, down, and around Zuko’s injury, her hands themselves hovering less than an inch above his chest. While she knew it was only a figment of her imagination, Katara could’ve sworn there was still blue lightning—Azula’s lightning—flickering across the wound, sparking at her fingertips and prickling across her skin.

Maybe, then, it was this lingering remnant of the Avatar’s slayer that had Katara so on edge. Maybe that was the reason why tension still thrummed through her body despite that she and Zuko were safe now, despite that they’d won.

“He’s going to come back.”

Zuko’s words broke the heavy silence, startling Katara so badly her concentration flew out the figurative window. The water around her hands lost its glow and splattered across Zuko’s chest like she’d emptied a full bucket on top of him. Frantic apologies spilled from her lips as she bent the water off his upper body with similar haste, but Zuko—wincing—pushed himself into a sitting position before she could begin the healing process again.

“Zuko, what are you—”

“Aang is going to come back,” he repeated, staring at Katara with an intensity that probably shouldn’t have been possible for someone in his grievously injured state. A testament to her healing skills, truly, and also to Zuko’s general stubbornness.

“I know he will,” Katara said after a pause, bending the water she’d again collected around her hands into the leather waterskin that hung at her hip. “If memory serves, I was the one telling you that on our way here.”

Zuko chuckled. “I know. Sorry. You just seemed like…” His eyes flickered across her face, searching for vulnerability Katara refused to bare. “Like you needed the reminder.”

Katara sighed, not meeting his gaze. “Look. I know Aang will come back. I know he’ll win.” Spirits, maybe he had won already. “I mean, he’s the only one who can. But I guess I’m still—” Katara cut herself off with another sigh, blinking back exhausted tears. “Fine, you’re right. I guess I’m still worried.”

Aang would return victorious, yes, there was no doubt in her mind. But at what cost? What price would he have been forced to pay? Sacrificing his body through the loss of a limb? Sacrificing his soul through the loss of that which his people valued above all else? Katara knew, she knew that if anyone could stop Ozai without killing him, it was Aang. But what she didn’t know was—was how.

Spirits, Katara wouldn’t be able to handle it if Aang returned to her broken in a way she couldn’t heal. She’d already witnessed him die once, watched his body go limp as life left it. She wasn’t ready to watch his spirit disappear, wasn’t ready to watch hope leave his heart, too.

Zuko opened his mouth, presumably to offer more words of comfort to her, but he was interrupted by Appa’s body stiffening—the sky bison was so large it was impossible not to notice the reaction. He’d originally been standing guard, for all intents and purposes, while Katara healed Zuko, but now his eyes were glued to the sky as he released a bellow that shook the stone of the courtyard beneath them.

Katara grabbed Zuko’s arm to keep him from toppling over, but instead of resettling himself, Zuko tried to stand up, as if the giant wound on his chest was nothing more than a mere papercut.

“It’s Aang!” was the only explanation he gave as Katara relented with a huff and helped him to his feet. “It has to be. What else would get Appa acting like this?”

Privately, Katara agreed with him. Hope beat in her heart so rapidly it ached. But since Zuko had wildly, unexpectedly, completely out of the blue transformed into an optimist—seriously, had the lightning gone through his brain?—well, that meant she had to be the one to temper his optimism with a little realism.

“It could be a threat,” she responded honestly, not releasing Zuko’s arm until she was certain he’d gathered his balance.

Zuko shot her a doubtful look. “You sure?” He pointed at Appa, whose tail had started shaking—okay, yes, probably with excitement, Katara would admit that much.

It was then her turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

Seconds later, those otherworldly clouds split open to reveal a Fire Nation airship, and on the exterior Katara could see flashes of blue and green fabric—Sokka and Toph, it had to be. Spirits knew she probably should have been concerned about who was steering the balloon, but once it was clear the ship was heading steadily towards the ground and wouldn’t face a disastrous crash, Katara’s mind returned to its previous mantra.

Aang. Aang. Aang.

“Remember to breathe, Katara.”

Katara shot Zuko a mild glare at his wry tone, but exhaled, because he was right—she’d been holding her breath. In fact, she was still holding far more tension in her body than could be considered healthy, but Katara knew that overwhelming stiffness wasn’t going to ease until she saw her friends alive and well, until she felt Aang’s heartbeat in sync against her own.

Katara’s breath hitched as the airship came to a stop far from herself and Zuko, hovering above the stone ground of the courtyard. It was much larger up close—no wonder it couldn’t land properly. There was a deep rattle as a metal plank, of sorts, some kind of steel pathway lowered from the ship and scraped across the ground with an earsplitting screech. Onto it stepped—

“They’re alive!” Katara gasped, blinking back elated tears as Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Suki—and Momo atop Suki’s left shoulder—stepped out onto the platform. One of Sokka’s legs was in a splint and he had to lean onto Suki’s side for support as he hobbled along, but— “They’re all alive!”

Aang was alive.

They’d done it. A little bruised, a little broken, maybe all around worse for wear, but—

They’d done it.

“Come on,” Zuko urged, taking an unsteady step forward and immediately wincing. He didn’t let the pain stop him, though, powering another foot ahead. “Let’s meet them halfway.”

Katara rolled her eyes, ducking under Zuko’s arm to brace him against her side, careful to avoid his injury. “Idiot.” Standing on his own was one thing, but walking by himself was an entirely different matter. She could already tell Zuko was the kind of person who made a terrible patient.

But Katara walked with him all the same, slow and steady. As they got closer, she could better see the physical state her friends were in. Toph had only a few scrapes across her arms and face. Same for Suki. Sokka had clearly done a number on his leg, as he was hardly putting any weight on it despite the well-made split, and not to mention that Suki continued to brace him while he walked. Aang was—

“Appa!”

Well, Aang was getting smothered by Appa, Katara noted with silent amusement as the sky bison practically tackled Aang to the ground, nuzzling and licking him with unabashed eagerness.

“Buddy, I’m okay!” Aang managed to wheeze out amidst his laughter, giving Appa a tight hug. “I’m okay, I promise.”

He seemed to be telling the truth, at least based on what Katara could discern from afar. His orange robes were torn to oblivion, with only his Fire Nation pants remaining. She could see minor burns across his chest and one area on the left side of his ribs that looked to her like it would become a painful bruise, but overall—

“If you guys are here with no Azula,” Sokka joked as they all came to a stop, snapping Katara’s attention away from Aang, “does that mean Zuko finally gets to rule the Fire Nation?”

Katara allowed Zuko to keep some of his weight on her even as they stood still. He laughed at her brother’s comment. “Katara’s the one who technically defeated her in the Agni Kai. Maybe that makes her the Fire Lord.”

Katara groaned and rolled her eyes, ignoring the amused snickers of her friends. “Tui and La, no. I refuse. I resign. I—I abdicate. The throne is all yours, Zuko.”

She turned her attention to her brother’s injured leg as Suki began recounting the details of their battle in the air, including how they’d managed to pilfer an airship of their own. Up close, Katara was relieved to see that no bone had broken through the skin in Sokka’s shin or thigh—that would have made it much harder for her to heal. She made sure Zuko was stable on his feet before stepping away to study the injury further. But as she crouched at Sokka’s side and went to bend water out her flask for the preliminary healing process—

“Hey. That can wait.”

Katara blinked, staring up at Sokka in utter confusion. “Excuse me?” His leg was broken, she couldn’t just—

Sokka jerked his head towards Aang, who was busy freeing himself from beneath Appa’s weight. “Go greet the hero of the hour. My leg will still be here when you get back.”

Toph snorted. “Of the hour?” She shook her head. “Give him credit, Sokka—Twinkle Toes is the hero of the century.” Momo chirped before jumping from Suki’s shoulder onto Toph’s, as if agreeing with her.

Katara turned to look at Aang, her mind tuning out the rest of her friend’s teasing banter that followed. He was—Aang was more than the hero of the century, at least to her. More than the Avatar, more than an airbender, more than—

Aang must have felt her eyes on him, because he paused in petting Appa to turn around and give her a shy grin. “Hi, Katara.”

With those two words, the dam burst, and Katara sprinted over to Aang with all the speed of a roaring wave. Her arms crashed around his bare shoulders like water beating against the shore, and Aang wrapped his arms around her waist in return. Katara could only squeeze him tighter, his face pressing into her shoulder.

“You stopped him,” Katara whispered. Her words were shaky, or—spirits, maybe it was her entire body that was quivering. “Ozai. You stopped him.”

Aang nodded into her shoulder, and Katara slackened her grip just enough so he could lean back and reply. “Yep.”

Katara’s right hand instinctively rose to cup his face. She could see it in his eyes—tired, yes, but still so full of hope, the warm gray as rich as the shimmering moon. “You found another way, didn’t you?”

Aang smiled at her, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and spirits if that wasn’t an image Katara wanted traced into her memory for the rest of time. “Ozai is alive. But he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Katara had a million questions, the first being the obvious How? How did you do it? But no query fell from her lips despite her overwhelming curiosity. Instead, all she could do was stare at Aang, tears of relief sliding down her cheeks as she smiled and smiled and smiled and—

“I am so proud of you,” Katara said, the words halfway to a sob as she pulled Aang into another crushing hug, marvelling at how perfectly his body fit against hers. “I knew you would do it, Aang, I knew it. Only you could.”

Aang laughed. “Must’ve been your belief that got me through it.” His arms tightened around her, as if he, too, needed the unspoken reassurance that Katara was there, that she was real, that they had won, the same way she needed such comfort from him. “At one point, I’m not even sure I believed I’d succeed.”

“It’s a good thing I never doubted you, then,” Katara whispered, and Aang laughed again.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Katara wasn’t quite sure what Aang was thanking her for—her faith then, her presence now?—and in truth, she had a feeling Aang didn’t precisely know, either. But what did precision matter? They were here, together, alive. Beaten and bruised but not broken beyond all repair. Neither of them had lost what they couldn’t live without.

For Aang, the vestiges of his peaceful people. And for her…

Aang.

Katara hadn’t lost Aang. Not like she had before, not like she couldn’t bear to ever lose him again.

“Alright, lovebirds! That’s enough time spent hugging the life out of each other. Come tend to the wounded, please.”

Katara rolled her eyes at her brother’s obnoxious interruption, but she released Aang after a final tight squeeze. She really did want to take a look at Sokka’s leg. Besides—she and Aang now had all the time in the world. All the time in a peaceful world, at that.

Aang followed her back to the rest of their friends, and Katara had just knelt down to examine Sokka’s injury when Aang burst out into loud, unprovoked laughter. The sudden sound made her jump, and it was only thanks to some quick thinking—and inelegant bending—that she avoided spilling the water from her waterskin all over the stone courtyard for the second time in the past ten minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Zuko asked, the apparent reason for Aang’s laughter. “What did I do?”

“No—you didn’t—” Aang cut himself off with a wheeze, and Katara couldn’t stop herself from glancing behind her to see what on Earth had him in stitches.

Aang pointed at Zuko’s chest, biting down hard on his bottom lip in a clear attempt to withhold further laughter. “That. Azula shot you with lightning, right?” When Zuko nodded, he said, “And Katara healed you?”

“I did,” Katara confirmed. Sokka gave her a disapproving look, probably because she was yet to begin healing his leg, but—well, this time Katara had no real excuse beyond her own intrigue. Whoops. But it wasn’t as if his splint wasn’t holding up perfectly. The expertise with which it was secured suggested Suki had been the one to fashion it, and that meant Sokka would be fine for a quick moment longer.

Aang’s laughter returned in full force, one arm wrapped around his stomach while his free hand gestured wildly behind him. “We—We match!” He turned around, and—

“Oh, for Agni’s sake,” Zuko groaned, and Katara found herself unable to contain her laughter. In a matter of seconds, they were all laughing at Aang’s revelation. Even Zuko, once he’d gotten over himself.

Tui and La. Katara loved her friends, she loved her life, she loved being alive with her friends by her side and—

Aang.

She loved Aang.

Oh, spirits.

[winchesterxxi]

A Human Wiretap (Poe Dameron x Reader)

GIF BY @captain-flint​

Rating: G (General Audience)

Type: Fluff

Summary: While in Kijimi, Reader is shocked by the revelation of Poe having been a spice runner before becoming a Resistance pilot, unaware that he knows about her own secret

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: None

A/N: let the stream of Poe content commence

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

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Kijimi was the last place you wanted to be right now. You had always known of this place to be infested with pirates and all the lawless beings of the galaxy, the country being practically a crime heaven.

The destination had been appointed as The Thieves' Quarter, the place you were told you could find Babu Frik, and to your unrest, your husband seemed to be able to navigate the streets of the foreign planet pretty well, occasionally stopping against a wall at any given corner, looking around for any threats.

“Are you sure you never came here?” you ask one time while leaning against his side on a cold brick wall, waiting for the safe sign.

“Not really.” He says looking over at the snowy empty street, before turning his head back at you for a split second “Coast’s clear, let’s go”

And just as he took the first step to round the corner, an armoured woman came into view pointing a blaster at Poe’s face.

Not even allowing a second to process another thought, you reach for your own blaster, pulling it from its holster and aiming it perfectly so that it was secured in the direction of the person’s head on both of your steady hands.

“Heard you were spotted at Monk’s Gate. Thought He’s not stupid enough to come back here.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Poe mumbles from his stance.

“Blaster off him. Now.” You warn from your spot, a scowl upon your face, ready to shoot, in case she dared to make another move.

“Zorii!” Poe exclaims in fake enthusiasm, before snapping his head quickly between the two of you. “She won’t ask twice, I would listen to her”

“You pull that trigger, you’re next, honey.” You assure her, readjusting your fingers as to place a stronger grip around the camera.

“She used a pet name, she’s serious.” Poe nods and nervously warns the woman whose weapon was now closer to his forehead, almost pressed against it.

“We’re only here to find Babu Frik, we don’t want no trouble.” You tell her cordially, expecting to explain your presence in the clearly unwelcoming planet and maybe have her help you. You eye the woman up and down, eyes scanning the shining golden armour, before settling on the deep black visor.

“Who are you?”

“Honey,” Poe speaks, being careful not to make any sudden moves that could make the woman pull the trigger “this is Zoriii. Zoriii, this Y/N, my wife.”

You are a little taken aback by the fact that they seem to know each other fairly well, given the assurance that Poe had just given you moments ago, that he’d never step foot on Kijimi.

Her helmet turns to you “Wife?” she scoffs “I guess there really is someone for everyone.”

“You have no idea.” he smirks, a momentary lapse, and you snap a look at him.

“I could pull this trigger right now.” She says, pushing the blaster harder against Poe’s head, and you take a step forward.

“You do that, my blaster is the last thing you’ll see in this life.” Sharp words leave your mouth, both you and Poe knowing damn well that you were badass enough to keep the promise.

“Babu only works with the crew. That’s not you anymore.” Zorii says, still talking to Poe, as if your presence and the one of your weapon aimed at her is non-existent.

“What do you mean crew?” you ask her, and for a moment, her attention is directed to you, before slowly tilting once again in your husband’s direction, whose hands were still up in the air in a surrendering feat.

“Oh your wife doesn’t know?” her voice, goes up an octave, clearly amused by whatever is about to unfold. Your eyes scan between the two of them waiting for some kind of explanation of whatever secret conversation was going on in front of you. “Funny he never mentioned it…”

“What is she talking about?” you question Poe but he gives himself no time to utter a word at you, just quickly waving his hand and facing Zorii.

“Zorii, married people are still allowed secrets- “ he tries but she is too quick to reveal the information you were dying to be delivered.

“Your husband was part of the Spice Runner Gang.”

You can’t stop your jaw from going slack at the revelation, not being able to form any coherent words and instead just moving your mouth like a fish out of water, dwelling on whether you felt hurt, angry or any other emotion of the rush that caught you in that moment.

Poe’s shoulders slump slightly and he bites his bottom lip, eyes closed in frustration. He then turns at you, hands still up, as you were still gripping the blaster, which was now pointed at him as he was walking towards you, cautious steps, one at a time.

“I can explain.”

“You were a smuggler? AND A SPICE RUNNER AT THAT?” You drop your blaster to your side, stepping towards him, your brain having decided on anger as the momentary emotion.

“Y/N-“

“In 2 years of marriage NOT ONCE did it occur to you to mention that!?” you yell the two middle words, incredulous at your husband’s secret, having spent your whole relationship that he had always been a resistance pilot, just like he had assured you.

“Oh, don’t act like I’m the only one with a secret here!” his hands drop to his side, and he is no longer trailing in front of you like a lost puppy looking for forgiveness but instead returns to his conflictual side, a defence mechanism, you’ve come to learn.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, genuinely clueless as to what he could be referring to. And definitely not expecting him to voice the secret you fought years to keep.

“I know you’re a Sywalker!” he says loudly, and its as if your spirit has left your body, the blood draining from your face, and for a moment you forget that breathing is a necessary bodily function.

“H… How do you…”

“The week before we got married I-…” he takes a deep breathe in, running a hand through his wild curls, now dusted with white snow. “I heard you and Leia.”

Poe was making his way to the X-Wing hangar when he stumbled across an ajar door from where he spotted your figure passing across it and disappearing multiple times.

It wasn’t until he stepped closer and leaned against the wall, that he got the full picture.

You were pacing back and forth in an empty resting room of The Radus, pattering your boots across the white floor as Leia sat by the window, looking at you in this impossible frenzy, fingers pressed against your mouth while the other hand rested on your hip.

Your motion comes to a halt in front of her, turning on your toes to face her.

“Should I tell him?”

“I think you should do what you think to be the right thing.” Leia answers her, reaching forward to grab your nervous hands in hers.

“We’re getting married next week, but I don’t think telling him would be any good…”

That’s when Poe’s heart sank to the bottom of his chest, tightening at the implication of your wedding and a number of awful possibilities running across his mind as to what you could be hiding from him.

“He’ll think…I don’t even know. I’ve spent more than half of my life hiding this and if he finds out… What if he thinks I’m a freak? And…And just leave me?”

Poe, from across the door, inches closer, curiosity getting the best of him and brows furrowing.

“Y/N, honey, Poe has been around plenty of force-sensitive people. I can assure you that my niece being one won’t scare him away.” Leia assures you while giving your hands a firm squeeze, and you let your head fall back, closing your eyes.

Wait, what? Poe was really trying to connect the dots at the amount of information that he had been bombed within this short amount of time.

“Not the daughter of Luke Skywalker.” You sigh.

“You knew?... All this time…” your eyes brim with tears.

Poe turns to Zorii who still stood behind him, the blaster having been lowered.

“Can you…give us a moment?”

“Who the hell do you think you are to be asking favours right now?” she snaps but Poe’s eyes plead at her for a single ounce of sympathy. “I’m staying right here.”

Poe turn around to face you, still very aware of the blaster pointed at the back of his head and he lowers his voice so that only the two of you can share the conversation.

“Honey…”

“You still married me?” you are looking down until you speak, watery and red eyes finding those of Poe who’s demeanour completely changes upon your question. He rushes to your front, gloved hands finding your upper arms, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You knew I was lying to you and you still… you still…”

“Honey,” his hands slide up from your arms to your cheeks “Look at me. I love you. I know why you did it. I probably would’ve done the same. I’m not mad, never have been, never will be.”

You were fighting the urge to ramble on, but upon looking into your husband’s sincere eyes, you relaxed your whole body and he takes that as a cue to pull you in for a hug. With your face flush against his chest, you mumble an apology, fists tightening around the fabric of his cloak.

“I’m sorry… for snapping at you earlier. It was very hypocritical of me.”

Poe smiles against your forehead, before placing a tender kiss against its warm flesh.

“It’s okay, honey, I swear. At least…at least I think I owe you an explanation.” Poe takes a deep breath in “I… When I was a teen, still living on Yavin 4,… their ship crashed near my hometown and I just… I needed out of there, I wanted to be reckless. So I joined them.”

You pull your head away from his chest, craning it upwards.

“Zorri’s mom was… she was the leader of the Spice Runners and she had this plan of inviting other crime lords here to form alliances, but she really was just planning on killing them. Zorii offered to fight against her with me and take control of the Spice Runners but I was done. Honestly, I wanted a better life.”

“And you got it. Congratulations.” Zorii’s voice makes the two of you snap back at her, Poe’s hand rushing down to your side, grabbing your hand and stepping slightly in front of you. “You know, I’m still digging out of the hole you put me in when you left to join the Resistance.”

Her helmet then turns in your direction and you have no time to manoeuvre the blaster back to pointing at her, afraid that she’d shoot.

“You. You’ll do.” She says referring to you “A Skywalker. A bounty for her might just cover us.” She says and you frown at the word us until you find your peripheral vision starting to get dotted on the sides by equally armoured soldiers who you assumed to be Spice Runners.

“Djak’kankah” she commands.

“Don’t djak’kankah” Poe pleads, knowing the meaning of the word.

Just then, when you perceive that the smugglers are running in on you, you quickly snap up your blaster and take them all one by one with perfect aim, sliding your leg under Zorii’s feet and akeing her fall to the cold ground right in front of you, both of you pointing your blasters at each other.

“We could really use your help. Please.” You huff, trying to calm your beating heart from the adrenaline of the previous moment.

“Not that you care…But I think you’re okay.” She breathes through the helmet.

“I care.” You let a sly smile tint your lips, sliding your blaster back into its holster and offering the woman who just seconds ago was dead set on killing you your hand.

When she is hoisted back to her feet, she walks ahead of the both of you signalling for her to be followed but as she is about to pass Poe she throws him a few words.

“She’s a keeper.”

“Don’t I know that.” He smirks, turning back to see you walking to catch up to him. Before you can say anything, his gloved hand is already pressed against your cheek as he brings his lips down to crash against yours.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” You whisper against his lips “But I still need to-“

“You can tell me all about it tonight. While laying in bed. No rush.” He smiles assuringly at you and you swear if you didn’t have a mission at hands you would melt into his embrace for as long as the galaxy aloud you to.

“Let’s find that droidsmith.” You smile at him, before placing one quick kiss against his jaw and walking towards Zorii, leaving the former Spice Runner, current lovestruck Resistance Pilot, completely enamoured and stunned behind you.

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TAGLISTS

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@blondekel77​  @pedrobreakmyback​

POE DAMERON TAGLIST

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[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Okay so I’ve just binged through all your Sam&Bucky series and I love them all!

So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

{{{  I cannot even begin to tell you how excited i was when i got this prompt!!! like this is.... some of my favorite stuff to write!!! sorry it took me a little bit but i had other idea intruding on my brain and then inspiration struck me this morning at work and i came home and started this immediately! thank you so much! i hope you enjoy it!!!!! AND THANK YOU FOR READING MY SERIES YOU ARE SO SWEEEEETTTT!!!!!!  }}}

Ao3

Word Count: 4,989

Static in the Dark

His phone buzzing on his nightstand wakes him. Sam reaches out blindly in the dark, knocking over a water bottle and groaning to himself, he pats around, making a small noise when his fingers connect with the vibrating phone. He turns it in his hand, finger pressing down and lighting up the screen, his eyes are blurry but he can read the name clear enough, BUCKY. Sam smiles at the grumpy picture of Bucky he’d set as his contact picture and then his eyes fall on the time in the corner of the screen.

1:27am.

Sam’s heart pounds in his ears. Bucky doesn’t call in the middle of the night. Not even when he should. When he has nightmares. He always waits until morning to call Sam. Or he brings him breakfast and they eat on the boat, sometimes talking about it, sometimes not. But he never calls when he knows Sam is sleeping. Never. Sam slides his finger over the screen and lifts it to his ear swiftly, his hands shaking.

“Buck? You okay?” it’s natural, he asks on instinct. The line crackles and he hears bits and pieces of Bucky’s words.

“Sam get-“

“They coming for you and-“

“Don’t – who they are but-“

“I’m stuck- be there –“

“can’t get loose. Sam, get Sarah and the boys-“

“Run.”

The line goes dead. Sam’s breathing is heavy. He tries to call Bucky back, he doesn’t answer. Sam jumps out of bed, grabs a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, pulling them on as he runs out the door to his truck. He didn’t know what was happening, or where Bucky was, or if he was safe. But he’d said to get Sarah and the boys, and he’d said to run, his voice sounding strained between the crackling on the phone. He’d never lied to Sam before, and he’d do anything to keep Sam’s family safe. So Sam starts his truck, backs into the yard to turn it around, and puts his foot down, grass flying from beneath his tires as he goes.

~

Sarah wakes to Sam’s hands shaking her shoulders. He’s trying to whisper her name but his voice is loud to her sleep heavy ears.

“What? What’s happening?” she mumbles, letting him pull her out of bed, stumbling in the dark when he presses her shoes into her hands.

“We have to go. We have to get the boys and leave.” He says, his eyes intense in the dark. She can see him now, the fog of sleep evaporating at the mention of her boys.

“Why? Sam what’s going on?” she asks, pulling her shoes on and immediately heading down the hall to her boys’ room.

“I don’t know. Bucky called me. The line was full of static. He sounded-“ Sam cut off, looking at her in the dimly lit hall. She moved her hand to his arm, comforting.

“What?” she asked, giving his arm a squeeze, worried about what he might have heard, seeing the worry in her brothers’ eyes wasn’t helping.

“I don’t know he sounded, in pain maybe? Or like he was struggling? He said he was stuck. I don’t know Sarah, I don’t know.” He was shaking his head at her, her heart pounded in her chest, he looked lost. Like a ship out at sea that had lost its anchor. She moved her hand to his shoulder, and then to cup his cheek.

“Bucky’s strong. He’ll be okay. And he called to warn us, so he’s okay. He’ll be okay.” She nodded, looking him in the eye, making sure he was seeing her. Hearing her. He nodded back, swallowed hard. Sarah watched him push his worry away, and they both went into the boy’s room and woke them. There was a chorus of questions from the boys, both of them growing more frantic as neither she, nor Sam, gave them any answers. She shoved jackets on them both and then her and Sam each grabbed an out stretched hand and ran out the door.

They were half way to his truck when Sam stopped them, his arm reaching out, holding them back as he looked around. Sarah knew that look, he’d heard something, or felt something. His instincts had always been wound so tightly. He tilted his head to the side, closing his eyes, listening, and then.

“MOVE!” he shouted, grabbed Sarah’s hand and pushing them all back, nearly tackling them out of the way. Sarah hears what are unmistakably gunshots, and then sees sparks on the ground as the bullets hit where they’d just been standing. She grabs the boys, both of them screaming, as Sam herds them to the side of one of the buildings. He kneels in front her as she holds the boys close.

“I need you stay here. Get to the truck when I give you the signal.” Sam says, he’s holding her head in his hands and her only thought is that his hands are so cold, he must be freezing, he’s not even wearing a jacket.

“What’s the signal?” she asks, breathless, her heart is pounding, her grip on the boys will no doubt leave bruises on their skin.

“When I tell you to run.” He looks at her, brows rising, making sure she’s with him. She nods for him to continue.

“You run.” He says,

“You get to the truck. And you get out of here. You hear me. You go.” He leans forward, kissing her forehead roughly, a long press of lips. He looks at the boys.

“You stay with your mom. Do not let go of her. Right?” he asks, they both nod frantically in unison, and Sarah can feel them shaking where they’re pressing against her.

“Good boys.” He kisses them too, hands curled around the backs of their heads briefly as he pulls them all close. And then he’s gone. And the night comes alive with sound.

Time seems to slow and speed up all at once. There’s more gun fire. And sounds of things Sarah has never heard before. All of them loud, making Sarah’s ears ring, she holds her boys close, pressing their heads up under her arms, trying to keep them from the noises, knowing it won’t help. The sounds move away, not far, but they aren’t right on top of them anymore. And then she hears Sam yell. The signal.

She grabs the boys and yanks them forward, all of them stumbling as they run through the dark to Sam’s truck. They make it to the door and she fumbles with the keys, trying to find the right button in her panic. She drops the keys and then hears footsteps, running, coming toward her, toward her boys. She turns, grabbing the boys and tossing herself, and them, to the side, just as a body slams into the door of Sam’s truck. She looks up at the man, dressed in black, his face covered. She and the boys scramble back across the ground, her hand hitting something hard as she crawled backward. Her fingers wrap around it and pull it forward, a crowbar, the metal is cold in her hand as she stands, a shield between this man and her children. The man laughs at her, she raises the bar over her head, ready to fight, to the death if she has to. He will not touch her boys.

He never gets the chance.

He’s slammed sideways, into the truck, the dent he’d already put there widening and spreading along the side of the truck. The body that had slammed into him, coming out of the dark silently, but fast, faster than should have been possible. Sarah feels relief flood through her as she sees a small glint of light. The man who had been threatening her slides sickeningly to the ground, not moving. The body that had slammed into his stands up, grunting a little before looking at her.

“Bucky.” She breathes, that relief almost buckling her knees as her boys dash forward and grab at her. Bucky is at her side in seconds.

“Hey. You okay? You all alright?” his hands are on her face, they’re cold like Sam’s, they move from her to the boys, checking them all for injury.

“We’re fine. We’re okay.” He nods and then stops, his eyes moving over her and the boys and the empty space behind them.

“Where’s Sam?” his voice is tight. Sarah feels a pang in her chest. The look in his eyes. She can’t place it. But it’s familiar.

“He ran that way.” She looks over his shoulder.

“To give us time.” She says, and it sounds like an apology, but if Bucky hears the plea in her voice he doesn’t say anything, just nods.

“Alright I got him. You stay here. And hold onto that.” He eyes the crowbar and gives her a little smile, always so cheeky. She smiles at him, nods, and watches him run off to find her brother, a glint of hellfire in his eyes.

She grabs the boys and shoves them into the bed of Sam’s truck, climbing in after them and standing over them, looking over the top of the truck, looking for her brother. She sees a shadow run toward Bucky, it crashes into him and sends him flying through one of the large store front windows nearby. She hears the glass shatter and grimaces. But he jumps back through the window and tackles the man that had hit him, a yell going through the air as he collides with him. She watched him raise his fist, and bring it down, twice. The man stops moving and doesn’t get up. Bucky stumbles away from the body on the ground and walks toward the gun fire she can see, muzzle flashes burning images onto her eyes in the dark.

The gunfire moves from Sam, to Bucky. He holds his hand up in front of him, blocking bullets with his hand and then curling his arm as he moves closer. The way he moves sending a shiver down Sarah’s spine. He’s so calculated, walking straight into gunfire, and taking the attention away from Sam. Making himself the only target they can see. Sarah watched Sam get up, and run to stand behind Bucky. She heard their voices, barely audible over the gunfire shattering the quiet night, but she can hear the tell tail teasing tones, and she smiles, looking down at her boys. They’re huddled against her legs, holding onto her thighs for dear life, little fingers digging into her skin.

She looks back up to see Bucky grab the gun that’s being fired at him. He breaks it in half and throws the pieces at the man who’d been shooting, they slam into his face and send him flying backwards. Bucky follows him, once again bring his fist down with terrifying precision until the man stops moving. Sarah gasps when another shadow moves and tackles her brother. Bucky turns quickly, his eyes on Sam immediately. He moves so fast Sarah barely sees him, tackling the man off of Sam with a feral growl that sounds like it rips its way out of him.

Sarah watched the two bodies roll away from Sam as he lay on the ground, not moving. They’re both on their feet in seconds, Bucky standing between the man and Sam.

“Touch him again and I’ll kill you.” Bucky’s voice carries on the wind from the bay, it’s deep, and threatening, and full of promise. Sarah’s heart is beating so hard in her chest she moves her hand up to her throat. The man laughs at Bucky, taking a step forward. He dodges quickly to the side, clearly trying to fake him out, Bucky catches him easily. He spins the man around, metal arm wrapping around his neck and pulling. The man goes limp in his arms. Sarah looks away, swearing she heard a sickening pop, but knowing it was probably just in her head. Probably.

The night is quiet again. The gunfire stopped. No more flashes of light. Sarah looks up and sees Bucky on his knees at her brothers’ side, his hands on Sam’s face until he sits upright abruptly. Bucky nearly tumbles backwards, Sam grabs his arm, and she hears them both laughing. Her heart warming as she watches them smile in the dark. Bucky pulls Sam to his feet with a grunt, as sirens and flashing lights fill the air behind her. She turns to see police and what look like black FBI vehicles, the ones you always see on tv. They pull in quickly and round up the men littered on the ground. Sam and Bucky walk over slowly. Sarah hops down out of the truck, helping the boys down after her.

Sam’s lip is split, and his eye brow is bleeding. His knuckles are bleeding and bruised too when he reaches for her hand. She grabs it quickly and squeezes. He pulls her close and kisses her temple, the boys rushing to his side and squeezing them both.

“You alright?” Sam breathes into her hair. Sarah nods.

“You?” she asks, pulling back and looking at him. He smiles, looking tired, and nods. She looks over to Bucky, his eye is swelling, a purple glint to the skin there, and there’s a large gash across his nose, and a few smaller cuts on his forehead.

“How bout you tough guy?” She asks, teasing. He laughs, a quick breath through his nose.

“I’m good.” He nods.

“Better then that window you broke.” Sam mumbles, slapping his hand into Bucky’s arm gently.

“The window I broke? He threw me into it, I didn’t exactly have a choice.” Bucky retorted, glaring at Sam.

“Uh huh sure, a likely story.” Sam shook his head.

“I’ll fix it.” Bucky said, his voice quiet. Sam looked at him for a moment, his face soft.

“I’m just kiddin man. It’s fine. You’re okay though?” he asked, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

“Yeah I’m good. I’m-“

“Bucky…?”

They all looked down at the same time, to see AJ pointing at Bucky’s side with a shaking finger, tears in his eyes. Sarah watched Bucky frown at him. Watched him lift his arm to look at his own side. And gasped when she saw the jagged piece of glass lodged in his side. The glass was thin but the line in Bucky’s side was almost three inches across. Sarah moved her hand to her mouth as Sam turned Bucky toward him, she could see the blood on his skin now. Her eyes moved down and saw a small pool of blood growing around his foot. She watched Bucky blink slowly, as he looked up at Sam, brow furrowed.

“Oh look… I’ve been impaled.” He mumbled, his voice trailing off as he swayed sideways, a small smile on his lips. Sam caught him as his knees buckled, yelling for a medic as he held Bucky to his chest.

“I knew shouldn’t have let you watch that stupid fucking movie.” Sam whispers, his voice sounding tight, his free hand hovering over Bucky’s side, wanting to stop the bleeding but not able to without pushing the glass in further.

Sarah watched them load him into the ambulance. Tears in her eyes as she held onto the boys. Sam looked at her, a question in his eyes.

“You go with him. We’ll meet you there.” She said, nodding to him and watching him climb into the ambulance quickly. The boys were running to the car before she even turned to tell them. She ran back into the house, grabbed her own keys, and followed the ambulance to the hospital.

~

Sam’s leg hadn’t stopped bouncing since Sarah sat down next to him in the waiting room. Sam had watched as the boys had sat and slowly fallen asleep next to their mother, both of them holding hands. He smiled when Sarah reached out, putting her hand on his knee.

“They said he’d be fine. He’s already out of surgery. He’s just gotta wake up a bit and we can go see him.” She reassured him. Sam nodded, taking a deep breath, and trying to relax a little in his chair. They still had no idea who the men that attacked them were. As far as Sam had heard, they’d shown up at Bucky’s apartment, snuck in in the dark and attacked him. Lucky for him, and Sam and his family, Bucky was very light sleeper, if he was sleeping at all. They’d managed to trap him with something. But not for long. Sam had never been so glad that Bucky had all that freakish strength.

“Can I ask you something?” Sarah’s voice swam through the fog in his head, he looked at her, her eyes were on him, studying him.

“Yeah. What?” he asked. She looked at him for a moment, thinking, he waited.

“Is he always so…” she trailed off, clearly not sure what word to use.

“Aggressive?” Sam supplied, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“I was gonna say protective.” Sarah said, giving him that knowing look that he always hated.

“Protective?” Sam asks, tilting his head.

“I mean yeah. He’s protective of the people he cares about. Who isn’t?” Sam said, closing his eyes and leaning back to rest his head against the wall.

“I meant protective… of you.”

Sam could hear the smirk, he groaned and did not look at her.

“He protected all of us Sarah. He cares about all, of us.” Sam sighed.

“No I know that. I know he cares about all of us. I know, he protected all of us. That’s not what I was talking about.” She slapped Sam’s leg, he grunted and looked at her finally.

“What then? What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice verging on annoyed now.

Sarah looked at him. Really looked at him. He almost rolled his eyes at her but then she spoke.

“He said, ‘touch him again, and I’ll kill you’.” She said, still giving him that look. Sam frowned.

“He said them, touch ‘them’ again.” Sam said, his fist clenching against his leg, knuckles throbbing under the bandage one of the nurses had wrapped around his hand. Sarah gave him a look that was close to pity. One he wasn’t used to, not from her.

“No Sam. He said ‘him’. And the look in his eyes. When I told him where you were and he saw you being shot at.” She trailed off, looked over at the boys sleeping crookedly in the hospital chairs, and then slowly looked back.

“I’ve never seen anyone so determined and pissed off all at once. I mean, you’re a stubborn asshole, and you get that look in your eyes sometimes Sam, but this.” She shook her head and took a deep breath, looking down the hall, and then back to Sam again.

“That man. I think he’d burn the world down to protect you. The fire in his eyes when he saw you were in danger.” She moved her thumb against his knee gently.

“I know he’s lost a lot of things in his life. And I know you… we, have given him a little something back. But that look, that was all for you. He’d die, before he let anything happen to you. And it goes beyond just you two being partners so don’t you give me that look Sam Wilson.” She poked him in the chest, and he moved his hand to the spot, pretending to rub away the pain, but really trying to see if she could have felt how hard his heart was beating under his ribs. She smiled at him, softly, she looked so much like their mother, and she had that same knowing look in her eyes.

“He loves you.” She said. Like it was simple. Like it was obvious. Sam swallowed hard around nothing, finding it hard to breathe.

“And?” he asked, knowing she could say it. That she would say it. Because he needed her too. She smiled at him, big and bright, her round cheeks moving up, pressing her eyes closed a bit. She moved her hand to his shoulder.

“And you love him.” She said, sounding giddy, her nose scrunching as she exaggerated her smile further. Sam took a deep breath, his hands shaking.

“I see the way you look at him. He looks at you the same way. I mean hell Sam, you look at each other, that way. You’re both just… I don’t know.” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“Idiots?” Sam supplied. She laughed, dropping her head onto his shoulder before looking back up.

“Yeah. That’s probably accurate. Idiots in love.” She bit her lip and laughed again, singing that last word, teasing. Sam laughed too. His fast-beating heart calming in his chest at her words. She was right. She usually was, though Sam would never admit that out loud. He’d known it. For awhile now. Since Bucky helped them fix the boat, maybe before. He didn’t know exactly when. Things had been so… complicated, for such a long time. And then they’d been gone. And then they were back and the world was in a panic and there was no time… for anything. But he’d known, watching him so relaxed around Sarah and the boys, and all the people at the docks, he’d known. It had been pulsing under his ribs every time Bucky had smiled at him with that toothy grin.

He looked at his sister. She nodded, her smile fading a bit, but still hovering in her eyes.

“I love him.” Sam said, breathing it out like a prayer.

“I know.” Sarah said, giving him a short squeeze and then pulling back as the doctor walked into the waiting room.

“He’s awake. Still groggy. He may be in and out a bit. But you can come see him.” The man smiled at them, nodding at Sam when he nodded his thanks.

He and Sarah woke AJ and Cass and they all followed the doctor to Bucky’s room. He was watching the door when they walked up, and he smiled softly and lifted his hand in a small wave. AJ and Cass looked at their mom, she nodded at them and they rushed into the room, both of them pouncing carefully on Bucky, he groaned exaggeratedly but pulled them close. Smiling when they both jumped off the bed to reenact the way he’d come out of the dark to save them, slamming the villain into Sam’s truck so hard the truck nearly bent in half.

“You can stay as long you like. We’d like to keep a few days. If he’ll let us.” The doctor said, giving Sam a look, Sam laughed and nodded.

“You might get him over night.” Sam said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“That’s about what I expected. Have a good night Mr. Wilson.” He looked toward Sarah.

“Ms. Wilson.” He nodded and strode down the hall, disappearing around the corner. Sam and Sarah both looked into the room, watching the boys chat with Bucky, Cass was running his fingers gently over the scaring on Bucky’s shoulder when Bucky made a growling noise and grabbed at him, Cass shrieked and leapt backward. Bucky and AJ laughing, Cass joining them after his initial fright. Sam saw Bucky grimace, his fingers moving to his side, but he hid it well, forcing a smile as the boys kept laughing. Sarah nudged Sam, her elbow digging into his ribs.

“Ow.” Sam huffed, looking at her.

“He’s good with them.” She said, smiling. Sam smiled too, watching them some more.

“Yeah. Kids love him.” He said, shaking his head.

“They’re not the only ones.” She muttered, looking smug.

“I swear to god.” Sam sighed, looking at her. She smiled at him, wiggled her eyebrows, and then headed into the room herself. Sam hung back, letting her have a moment.

“Hey you.” She said, leaning close to Bucky, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“Hey.” He smiled groggily up her, looking tired.

“How you feelin sunshine?” she asked, brushing her fingers over the cuts on his head.

“Yeah good. I’m good. Tired.” He nodded, his eyes drooping.

“Yeah. We’ll let you sleep. I’m gonna take these boys home, see if I can get them to sleep. But we’ll see you soon.” She pressed her hand firmly into his shoulder, eliciting another tired smile.

“And Bucky?” she pressed on his shoulder again, his eyes fluttered open, he looked up her with wide eyes.

“Thank you. For helping us. For saving us. Saving them.” She looked over at AJ and Cass, both of them standing at the end of his bed, looking tired but happy. Bucky smiled at them and then looked back to Sarah.

“It was my pleasure.” He moved his hand up, giving her wrist a gentle squeeze, his eyes shining. She smiled brighter, gave him a wink, and then herded the boys out the door. They both gave Sam hugs as they passed him, Sarah did as well.

“Good luck.” She whispered as she pulled away, patting his cheek, her hands going to the boys’ shoulders as she turned to walk down the hall. Sam smiled at her, watching her walk away and rolling his eyes when she winked at him. He turned back to Bucky’s room, his eyes were closed, his head resting on his pillow. Sam smiled to himself, a small thing, soft and barely there, and walked into the room, closing the door behind him.

~

He sleeps for a few hours, Sam sits by his side, watching old cartoons on tv, the volume turned down. It doesn’t matter what they’re saying, he’s not paying attention. He watched Bucky sleep off an on, watching his chest rise and fall, the pale skin there littered with small scratches and cuts from the glass he’d been tossed through. His fingers itched to reach out and touch, he fisted his hands, and then ran his palms over his thighs, moving his eyes back to the television.

He hears Bucky stir about an hour later, Sam holds the smile back, watching Bucky nuzzle into the pillow beneath his head before his eyes flutter open. He blinks a few times, eyes settling on Sam eventually. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Sam gives him a little wave.

“I killed your truck. I’m sorry.” Bucky groans, his hand moving over the bandage on his side.

“It’s just a dent Buck, a big dent, but it’s fixable.” Sam said, his hand moving to the inside of his thigh, curling into the meat of his leg, keeping his hand occupied. Bucky moved his head slowly, disagreeing the best he could.

“Nuh uh, I felt it Sam. That trucks broken.” His words were a little slurred from sleep, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh. He was always so goddamn argumentative.

“Well, better the truck, than Sarah and the boys.” Sam said, serious now. The small smile on Bucky’s lips faded as he looked at Sam.

“I tried to call you. I couldn’t get out. They had me chained to the pipes in my bathroom and I-“

“Bucky.” Sam cut him off, Bucky’s eyes were shining again, Sam could see his chin trembling.

“If you hadn’t called. They’d be gone. I’d probably be gone too. You saved us Buck. You did. We’re okay.” Sam reached out then, his hand moving over Bucky’s arm, pulling it away from where he’d wrapped it around himself. Bucky watched Sam’s hand move down his arm. Watched Sam press his fingers between Bucky’s, threading them together, and leaving them there. Sam heard the quick intake of breath before he looked back up. A tear had fall down Bucky’s cheek.

“We’re all okay.” Sam raised their joined hands and pressed his lips to the back of Bucky’s hand.

“We’re okay.” He breathed, pressing his lips to Bucky’s pale skin over and over. He watched Bucky relax into the bed again, his eyes moving to the ceiling as he let out a shaky breath, another tear falling as Sam watched him trying to control his emotions.

“You saved me.” Sam said, reaching out with his free hand and wiping the tears away from Bucky’s face gently. Bucky leaned into the touch, his lip trembling again as his eyes fell back to Sam. Sam brushed his thumb over Bucky’s cheek, moving his hand down, fingers pressing into his neck as his thumb bushed across Bucky’s lip, stilling the tremble.

“I guess that makes us even.” Bucky said, smiling that toothy grin that Sam had become so fond of, pressing his head further into Sam’s touch as another tear fell. Sam brushed it away, knuckles moving over Bucky’s skin slowly. Bucky moved his metal hand, grabbing at Sam’s hand, pressing their fingers together as he moved Sam’s hand down ever so slightly. He turned Sam’s hand slowly, watching Sam for any sign that he should stop, and received none. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Sam’s palm, kissing him sweetly. Sam felt his heart flutter in his chest, Bucky’s lips were soft, and warm, and his. Bucky tangled his metal fingers with Sam’s and lowered their hands to his chest, his head falling back onto his pillow. He smiled softly at Sam, his eyes fluttering from exhaustion again, he snapped them open, his body jerking slightly as he forced himself awake.

“Go to sleep Buck. I’ll be right here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam said, moving his thumb in slow circles over Bucky’s hand. Bucky’s eyes were closed before Sam finished speaking, his breathing slowing as he fell into sleep, the smile on his lips fading as he drifted deeper.

Sam watched him sleep, for hours, keeping watch. The television in the corner completely forgotten.

[willowcrowned]

Grey Apprentice AU (Installment #4)

aka Sith!Obi-Wan AU Flavor II 

(Previous parts: x x x)

Qui-Gon paces the length of his and Obi-Wan's small sitting room, first once, then twice, then a third time. He looks up, expecting the usual dry comment from Obi-Wan on jedi masters’ peaceful bodies and minds, but he’s not there. Of course, that’s the problem in the first place: Obi-Wan is gone, off on a ship with a figure that felt like a maelstrom of darkness in the Force, and he’d left with a wink. The man must know something Qui-Gon doesn’t, but what it is, he can’t guess.

He turns, pausing at the entrance to Obi-Wan's room. He normally doesn’t enter without permission; it’s an invasion of Obi-Wan's privacy— privacy to which he is well entitled— but in this case...

Qui-Gon grimaces, opening the door. He won’t snoop, won’t do anything other than have a superficial look. At the very least it might calm him down to have tangible evidence of Obi-Wan's intention to return. When they’d left, he hadn’t taken the black bag he usually keeps with him, a velvet thing smaller than Qui-Gon's palm. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have left it if he thought he’d be gone for more than a week.

The room is just as Obi-Wan had left it, tidy and empty, with a plant on the desk next to a picture of his friends, a spare cloak hung up on the peg next to the door, and a blanket folded perfectly at the foot of his bed. It’s the room of a knight, not of a padawan, Qui-Gon realizes, and he has to push down the surge of pride and guilt that seems to swell up in his chest more and more often these days.

He frowns, for the first time noticing the odd pressure building in his brain. It’s a strange, blunt, thing— the marked absence of something, rather than its presence. He scans the room once more for the offending object, for the first time noticing an odd red glow from the closet. Qui-Gon pauses. He’d said he wouldn’t touch anything, but— The glow grows brighter, and he can hear the Force calling to him from it, not light, not peaceful, but not unkind. Qui-Gon sighs, and opens the closet door.  

The glow is coming from the floor, within the black bag Obi-Wan had left behind. Qui-Gon looks at it, a furrow forming in his brows. It’s not Obi-Wan's habit to leave things on the floor, and the cleaning crews haven’t been in their apartments since they left. When he picks up the bag, intending to return it to its place on the shelf, a white-hot pain sears through his hand, and he drops it. The bag tumbles to the floor, and out of it falls a holocron.

It’s the last thing Qui-Gon notices before the onslaught of darkness hits him, pressing him beneath a tsunami of emotion. The fury slams into him first, not so hot as the zabrak’s had been but far, far, deeper. Qui-Gon falls to his knees without noticing, forced to sustain the mental battering of his shields. He can feel them weakening even as he clutches them tighter, being torn away bit by bit like an old house in a storm.

How is no one noticing this, Qui-Gon wonders. How come no one has come in to see what this endless wave of darkness is— this storm with no light.

The first tear in his shields happens, and he works it shore it up, plugging it with whatever he can think of: random bits of trivia, a poem, a meal he shared with Obi-Wan. Stay, he tells them, give me time. The pieces do not stay, each layer being ripped away until all that’s left was the look on Obi-Wan's face as he realized the sandwich he’d bitten into was filled with candied ants. Then, abruptly, the maelstrom stops, and Qui-Gon is left grasping for the pieces of his shields, the void around them quiet once more.

“Do forgive my intrusion,” a female voice says, dry and unapologetic as Qui-Gon struggles to get control of his breathing on the floor. “You know how it is: better safe than sorry.”

Qui-Gon falls back, resting against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. “What are you?” He says, injecting his tone with as little worry as he can manage. “What are you doing here?” What are you doing in Obi-Wan's room, he wants to add. What have you done to my padawan?

Zannah’s nose scrunches slightly, halfway between amused and disgusted. “Your shields are down, Jedi.”

“I wonder why that is,” he manages.

She shrugs. “I’m not going to apologize.”

Qui-Gon patches up his shields, weaving the skeleton of the old threads of memory into a new place, beside several strong pockets of compulsion. It won’t be enough to stop the woman if she attacks him again, but it might gain him a few seconds of reprieve. It will have to be enough.

“As for your questions,” the woman says once he’s finished, “A Sith, sleeping, Obi-Wan brought me here, and I’ve done nothing to him.”

“Nothing,” Qui-Gon repeats, disbelieving, the aftershocks of her attack still filtering through his mind.

“Yes,” the woman says. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Darth Zannah. I’d tell you to sit down, but, well...” She gestures to him collapsed on the floor.

Qui-Gon shakes his head, trying to disseminate the information. “Does he know you’re here? Does he know what he brought back?” Surely not, he thinks. Surely Obi-Wan wouldn’t have knowingly brought a Sith into the heart of the Jedi temple.

“I should hope so,” Zannah says, “given that I’ve been training him for twelve years.”

“Twelve—” Qui-Gon freezes.

“Yes,” Zannah agrees, “since Bandomeer.”

“Impossible,” Qui-Gon breathes.

“Is it?” Zannah raises an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Obi-Wan— or, no, all this time Obi-Wan must have been imitating her. Qui-Gon remembers when he picked that little habit up; it had been the months after he’d turned seventeen, just beginning to grow into his too-long limbs, still gawkish and almost awkward. Then, over the course of their mission, his gait had grown smoother, countenance more graceful, and his awkward smiles at Qui-Gon's jokes had turned into an amused raised eyebrow and half-smirk. 

It had felt odd at the time, watching the maladroit child he knew turn into a clever, subtle, adult, but he knows it now as the sign of Obi-Wan growing up, leaving Qui-Gon as a student and returning to him as a friend. He remembers the white stone of the city, remembers the late spring blossoms of the sea-roses, remembers the first time Obi-Wan had turned that quizzical look on him— and feels the taste of the memory, sweet with the blossoms, turn to ash in his mouth.

“How—” Qui-Gon starts, mouth dry. “Why—”

“I offered him knowledge,” Zannah says, not unkindly, “and companionship not to be found in the constraints of Jedi.”

“Why train him?” Qui-Gon asks, clutching at proof that she has not— could not— have trained Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is kind, and clever, and selfless, and none of the things a Sith should be. He cannot have lied so fully for so many years. He cannot. “Why not train someone else? Someone you wouldn’t have to corrupt first?”

Zannah gives him an incredulous look. “You think I’ve corrupted him? Have you forgotten Ghé’aiit so easily? That was not the behavior of one corrupted.”

Qui-Gon feels ire stir deep in his chest, at her prodding, guiding rhetoric, but the memory springs to him unbidden.

It had begun as a trade dispute. Three families, each the head of a government and of a trade sector. The Jedi had initially been brought in to facilitate negotiations; those had lasted all of two nights, ending with Obi-Wan kidnapped and in chains— a hostage for the third family. Qui-Gon hadn’t known that at the time, of course. He’d only known that Obi-Wan was gone and the place where their bond was had turned to a jagged mess of edges before it disappeared into nothingness.

He’d found Obi-Wan again, oblivious to Qui-Gon's presence, escaped and facing the Third Peer, who was holding a blaster to his sister’s head. It would have been easy, laughably easy, for Obi-Wan to let him shoot her, claim he had gotten there too late to save her, and arrested the Third Peer with little risk to himself. Instead, Obi-Wan had lain down his blaster, and braced himself for the shot.  

(Later, when their bond was back and whole, Qui-Gon had blocked it off again, too overwhelmed by fear and relief not to yell at Obi-Wan. How could he yell at Obi-Wan, when he’d done exactly as a Jedi should do? But how could he not be angry, not be furious, that he had lain down his blaster and braced himself for death as if it were second nature? How can I forgive you, Qui-Gon had thought then, for almost leaving me? How will I be able to let you go when it’s time?)

“He scared me too,” Zannah says softly. “When I heard what he had done, I could barely restrain myself. Foolish, loving, Jedi, and their need to do the right thing.”

“I hope you don’t think,” Qui-Gon says, tired, “that I trust you.”

“No,” Zannah says. “You’re not a stupid man, on the whole. I hope you will trust Obi-Wan, though.”

Qui-Gon sits straight up, reminded of what had caused his agitation in the first place. “Obi-Wan. You sent him after that darksider?”

“Darth Maul,” Zannah agrees. “I wouldn’t fear, he’s not a match for Obi-Wan— merely the servant of the Sith Master.”

“You would send Obi-Wan to do another Sith’s dirty work?” Qui-Gon doesn’t hide the curl of his lip from her, meeting her gaze head-on. “I thought the masters were supposed to discard their apprentices themselves.”

“I do not,” she hisses, eyes flashing, “do that creature’s dirty work.”

“Lady Zannah—” Qui-Gon replies coldly.

“Lord, actually,” Zannah corrects, and all of a sudden the fire has left her eyes. “The title is ‘lord’ regardless of gender. A Sith Lady is a different job entirely.”

“Lord Zannah,” Qui-Gon corrects, making sure she can hear the eye-roll inherent in his tone, “Are you implying that not only are you embroiled in a rivalry with another Sith clan, but that you have, in fact, created your own?”

“We call them houses,” Zannah replies. “Mine is that of Athén. And you are correct, Obi-Wan is a part of it. We are a House of two.”

Fantastic, Qui-Gon thinks bitterly, and his patch-job must not be as good as he thinks it is because he swears he hears Zannah chuckle. He sighs. “Out of curiosity, what is the job of a Sith Lady?”

“A combination of cultural advisor, archivist, and magic user. And occasionally a consort.” Zannah smiles a wickedly sharp smile. “I much prefer being a Lord.”

Yes, Qui-Gon thinks, not caring that she can hear it. You would.

-

 Some notes:

-Yes Zannah did name her house after her dead wife, who is in turn named after Athena, because I am a basic, basic, bitch

-Yes, I did borrow the line about Sith jobs from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. Patricia C. Wrede I’m so sorry I’m using your work for my nonsense AUs but also those books shaped me as a human, so. Too Bad. They’re a part of my writing now.

- I included a bug-eating joke because apparently I am constantly under the compulsion to talk about people in sw eating bugs. I have no excuses

[fanficmemes]

The discord server encouraged me to send an ask and share my trauma so here I am. This fic is a bit different from the usual tho and I think it genuinely traumatized me. It had perfect characterisation and psychology, it was wholly from the victim's pov, and it had a catharsis at the end, but hooo do I have flashbacks. So to not out the fandom and ship, A = victim, B = kidnapper. 

Starts with A naked and bound to a ceiling, barely able to stand. B comes in with a riding crop, whips A practically to death. And the thing is - A is super sarcastic and tries to withstand but it goes for so long he starts breaking and crying and outright begging. They also knew each other before. If I remember correctly B is both in sadistic glee and reassuring A somehow? Bottom line, he's obsessed with A. He was supposed to test A for some experiments for his evil superiors but fakes A's death so he can take him and basically lock him in a basement, put some healing stuff on A, which hurt like all hell, and when the skin's barely healed, proceeds to rape A. And A is obviously terrified, but he barely escaped death, barely healed and can't do anything. It. Was. HORRIFYING. 

Then the fic truly starts. And its so fucked up, omg. 

B's obviously obsessed and "in love" with A, he wants A on his side, in love with him. He puts A into a strongly fucked up BDSM type of kidnapper-kidnapee relationship, rapes A but acting as if they're lovers. B's frustrated that A hates him and doesn't love him back. There's one time early on when A notices the doors are not locked so he tries to escape but of course B is waiting for it. And punishes A, and it's… fuck. Dunno if its then or later, but I think here, B puts A bound on his knees and prob blindfolded into a tub, and keeps him there for days. Until A apologizes I think? Takes care of him otherwise, like with food and cleaning him, but leaves him there. So from now on escaping is obv not an option so A tries to hold on until his friends find him, playing into the game, kinda acting into B's want for it to be a relationship. Y'know, they watch movies, B brings him food, sex, obv.

There are two more things I remember vividly and one that just kinda makes me want to cry and comes in flashbacks. Its on the basis of - when in such a traumatic prolonged situation the brain starts to adapt so at some point A starts accepting the gestures and what not, cause he has to survive long enough, and they're like taking a bath one day and obv it turns into sex but A takes charge this time, riding B and feeling both good bcs the sex is nice and horrible with himself that he's enjoying it, perfectly aware that he's still being raped. It's just… so fucked up. And so beautifully, heart-wrenchingly well written. Ngl, cried typing this.

Then comes sort of breaking point when B tells A that his friends won't come for him, that they think he's dead or left town completely, and A snaps. He basically forces B down and rapes him instead. And then feels HORRIBLE about it, genuinely horrified with himself. And then of course it turns out B Allowed it (he's much much stronger) bcs he wants A on his side, go dark, etc. And this is where A loses hope if I remember correctly, turns catatonic, which B is first worried, then frustrated, and then either punishes him for that or for smth else, can't remember. But he puts A into the tub again. He's left there for like three days I think? And B doesn't come back this time.

It's actually where his friends find him and damn, this part. When they're carrying him out A gets a panic attack and tries to go back bcs B will Punish Him if he sees he left the basement and he can't take it and I think that just ripped my heart straight outta my chest. Crying again. 

They take A to the hospital, watch over him, etc, someone gives him a knife, and of course one day when they leave him for 5 minutes B comes back. And its another fucked up scene, A getting upset about being left behind altho he knows he shouldn't. Now he has to go with B bcs B's clearly gone tots crazy and unhinged. B was a sadist and obv crazy, but its like manic now. So A goes, he has the knife in his hoodie, they arrive at the car in the woods, A left a bleeding trail I think. At this point A cant let himself be taken or he wont be found again so he stalls and gets raped again, horribly and painfully (it was painful a lot of the time esp at the beginning) but when B's done and distracted A kills him with the knife. It's again heart-wrenching and so, like, reastically written? Like A's not elated or anything just empty and relieved if I remember correctly. It ends with someone interviewing A about the whole thing and self-defense and all, they clear him and then there's a welcome home party for him some time after. Ends on a hopeful note but A aware of how he wont ever be the same and the catharsis was there but damn. THE PAIN. This fic haunts me. 

And again it was beautifully amazingly well written. I think it wouldn't be even 1% as traumatising if it wasn't so heart-wrenching. It was tagged and all, I clicked on it in the mood of wanting to read smth dark, but tbh I couldn't have predicted exactly what I was getting into. I prob wouldn't have read it otherwise. This ask can't transfer the sheer emotion I got from this fic but I think I needed to share it somewhere somehow. So. Yeah. 

This is more sad than cursed 4/10 :( sorry u got in too deep

[darthkruge]

Poe Dameron x Reader ~ Take Mine

Summary || On your first mission as Commander of Blue Squadron, you take Poe’s X-wing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned. 

Warnings || Some injuries and a bit of blood? I didn’t go super in detail, though

Words || 2.2k

A/N || This is my first time writing for Poe and I’m so scared and I tried to be accurate and if it’s not I apologize but if I spent another minute staring at this draft I will scream. Special thanks to @poestardust and @buckysbeloved because y’all were both super fucking supportive and without that this might not have been posted! I am now officially adding Poe to the people I write for and while my requests for full fics are closed, I am more than willing to do little blurbs/hc’s or hear any and all of y’alls soft/angsty thoughts for that wonderful Flyboy. My status of requests gives more insight into all of this :)

gif credit

You groaned, shaking your head as you racked your brain for a way to get out of this. Your X-wing was supposed to be fixed a week ago, a solid few days before your mission was set to start. But, alas, Red Squadron had a bit of a rough mission coming off Hoth and needed repairs more rapidly than you, so your starfighter was put on the low priority list. 

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. You could be patient. Normally. But you had just been promoted to Commander of Blue Squadron and your first mission left in two standard hours. 

You walked through the door of your room, trying to find a solution but continuing to come up empty. 

“Sweetheart?” Your head perked up at Poe’s voice, the concern clear in his words. 

“What happened, why aren’t you with the rest of the Squadron getting ready?” 

“My starfighter isn’t ready.” You said, trying to make sense of the words as they came out.

Poe blinked. “Still?” 

“Yeah, the other repairs are taking longer than usual and it’s not ready and it won’t be ready and I have to lead my team on a supply drop and try to not get everyone killed and I don’t even have my kriffing X-wing!” Your voice shook, the lack of control making you anxious as you paced back and forth through your quarters. 

Poe’s hands found their way to your shoulders, steadying you. “Look at me, okay? Breathe for a second,” Poe gave you a slight smile as you nodded, closing your eyes as you took a deep breath. “Yeah, just like that. It’s gonna be just fine, we’ll figure it out!” 

Now, the panic creeped back into your expression. “How?!” 

Poe thought for a second, mentally grasping at straws before his eyes widened in realization. “Take mine!”

“What?!”

“Take my X-wing! It’s all ready to go and Black Squadron isn’t set to go on our next mission for another two weeks! You’ll be back well before then, it’ll work out just fine!” 

“But- I can’t just take your X-wing, Poe!”

“Yes you can! Come on, I don’t really see what other options you have! Just take it, please? It’ll bring you good luck.” 

You sighed, realizing he was right. “Okay, okay, fine!”

Poe smiled, leaning in to peck you on the lips. “Now, go! You don’t want to be late, do you, Commander?” 

“Oh, no, definitely not, Commander! That would set a horrible example for my team!” You quipped back before leaning in once more. “I love you.” You whispered. 

“I love you too.” He smiled back. “Seriously!” He said with a laugh, “Go!” 

“Going!” You called over your shoulder as you ran to the hanger. 

A week and two days later, that conversation was the only thing on your mind. You were desperately steering your- no, Poe’s- X-wing away from the fleet of First Order ships flying straight for your Squadron. Somehow, they’d learned of your plans for the supply drop and decided to swing by. How thoughtful of them. 

“Okay, everyone. Just hang tight, shoot if you’ve got a clear shot but no one’s trying to be a hero, alright? First priority is getting home safe.” You said through the open channel.

 You smiled as you heard your team voice their approval, ending their messages with a “Commander” here and there. Right now, all you were doing was hoping you were deserving enough of that title to get everyone back in one piece. 

Looking to make sure everyone was in line, you felt your heart drop as you counted the starfighters. Everyone was there, minus one. Where was Snap? Craning your neck, you swore as you saw him caught on the right side, boxed in by two First Order TIE fighters. 

You quickly opened a private communication channel. “Tallie?”

“Yes, Commander L/N?”

“Make sure everyone stays ahead of the TIE fighters, okay? Keep moving forward.”

“Y/N what are you talking about?”

You sighed, consciously working to keep your voice even and calm. “Snap’s stuck and I’m not leaving him. I’ll be fine, just a little bit behind you. Just… get them home.” 

“But-”

“Please.” 

You felt guilty for being short with her, but you had to do it. If you didn’t, she’d know how kriffing terrified you were. 

After waiting a moment, she sighed. “Okay. Be safe, Commander.”

“Same to you.” You replied, shutting off the channel. You forced the tears back in your eyes and refused to let your thoughts dwell any more on your Squadron or that beautiful, dark haired pilot you knew was waiting for you. 

You turned Poe’s X-wing and sent a prayer to the Maker as you made a bee-line for one of the two TIE fighters and fired, shooting one directly. You laughed, almost giddy at how spot-on the hit was. 

“Commander?” Snap’s voice filtered through the communication system. 

“Hang on, I’ve almost got it.” You bit your lip in concentration as you aimed for the second fighter. But right as you pressed fire, so did they. Your eyes widened as you quickly swerved. Luckily, the blast didn’t hit the front of the starfighter, or else you’d be good as dead right now. Unluckily, you gasped in horror as your ship began plummeting, realizing they had hit your engine. 

You turned your head back, praying that this wasn’t in vain. You let out a breath, realizing Snap was now free and the other TIE was demolished, thanks to your aim. If you’re going to go down, at least you brought two First Order fighters with you. 

As your X-wing came closer and closer to the ground, you screwed your eyes shut. Against your will, you remembered that at least your last conversation with him had been a good one. Your heart broke, realizing he’d probably find a way to blame himself for this, forever. That you’d never get married, never have the chance to settle down after the war ends. That you’d never again feel his lips against yours, never again experience the warmth of his arms or the comfort of his embrace. How could life work like this, how could it simply-

Your thoughts were cut off as your starfighter crashed to the ground, leaving you in darkness. 

-------

“What do you mean, their starfighter went down?!”

Leia sighed, subtly but firmly gesturing for everyone else to clear the briefing room. “Blue Squadron’s supply run didn’t go as planned. There were first order TIE fighters waiting for them. I’m not sure of the specifics, just that Commander L/N’s X-wing’s communication systems went out. Snap said Y/N went down saving him and when he rushed back to their crashed X-wing, they were breathing, but unconscious and bleeding.” 

Her eyes softened as she saw Poe’s heartbroken expression. “I’m sorry, Poe. I know you must be feeling helpless right now. But there is no reason to assume the worst, at least not yet.”

Poe swallowed hard, the tears making his throat heavy. “I’m-” His voice broke, the pain evident. “I’m gonna go wait at the hangar bay. They’ll make it home.” 

Leia just nodded, not having the heart to tell him to try to prepare himself for the worst. 

-------

When you woke up, you were in Snap’s X-wing, leaning against the wall in the small space. You groaned when you moved your hand to your head. Yup, you were definitely bleeding. 

“Where are we?” You croaked out. 

Snap’s head shot over to you. “Oh thank the Maker, you’re awake! We’re almost back at the base. Just sit still, okay?”

You nodded, already feeling a bit groggy.

“Y/N?!” 

You gave an annoyed hum in response.

“Come on, Y/N, don’t fall asleep. Hold on a little longer.” 

You nodded, fighting against every instinct you had to stay conscious. 

“Kriff, okay. Talk to me, okay?”

“About what?” Your mouth felt like sandpaper and your head was heavy. Even as you leaned it against the wall, you felt dizzy, like you’d tip over at any second. 

“Dameron. Tell me about Dameron, okay?”

Your lips unconsciously curled into a soft smile. And then your eyes shot open as you tried to physically shake the dizziness from your body. “The X-wing!”

“What?!”

“My, no, his X-wing! Poe’s, his- he’s gonna be so upset, kriff!” 

“What are you going on about?”

“Poe, he let me use his X-wing and it kriffing crashed and-” You trailed off, running a hand through your hair and wincing as the movement aggravated your injured head. 

“Y/N, calm down, okay? He’ll be fine, he’s not gonna care.”

You nodded, eyes filling with guilty tears as Snap finally pulled up to the Resistance Base. Home. As the X-wing opened, Snap helped haul you up as Poe sprinted over to you. 

“Y/N!” He called, hands coming to hold either side of your face. He quickly put one of your arms around his shoulders as his wound around your waist, holding your weight against him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so-” You hiccupped, tears leaking from your eyes. 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright. Let’s just get you back to our room, yeah?” 

You shook your head, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. He looked into your eyes and his concern compounded, no idea why you were so distraught. 

“I crashed your X-wing.” You said, head hung in shame. 

Poe was now just as confused as he was concerned. “I… I know, sweetheart. But you’re safe now, I’ve got you. Just a little more walking and then I can clean you up.” 

“No! I, you don’t understand! Poe, it’s not just scratched up, it’s ruined. We had to leave it, it’s gone and it’s my fault and I’m so, so sorry.”

He just shook his head, still shocked that you thought he was upset about that. “Y/N, I know. But I’m not worried about that, I’m worried about you. Now would you please let me get you back to our room?” 

You nodded but he didn’t miss how the guilt refused to leave your gaze. When you finally got inside, he led you over to the bed and got you to sit down. 

“I’m fine, seriously.” 

Poe quirked his eyebrow. “You’re bleeding from the head.” 

He walked quickly into the refresher, coming back with the medkit you’ve used on him millions of times before. As he worked on disinfecting the cut on your head, you bunched your fingers in the bedsheets, distracting yourself from the pain of the gash. Noticing, he muttered a quick apology, taking a break to stroke his thumb across your cheekbone. Finally, he finished stitching the cut and gently placed a bandage over the area, smoothing out the edges. 

When he looked up, he saw you lost in your own mind. “Come on, baby, talk to me.” 

“You just… you loved that ship and you trusted me with it and you’d had it for so long and I can’t believe I wrecked it.” 

Poe sighed, wishing there was something he could do to convince you that everything was alright. 

“Sweetheart, it’s a kriffing X-wing. Why are you so worked up about it?” His voice was soft and free of judgment. 

“I just feel like I let you down.” 

“Hey,” He said, taking your hands in his. “You did nothing of the sort. I promise, I’m not upset, okay? I’m just glad you made it home to me.” 

You looked up at him. “I’ll always come home to you.” 

You scooted over and gestured to the bed, a silent invitation. Poe smiled at you and took a second to take off his boots and jacket before climbing in beside you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, careful not to hit your head while doing so. You leaned into him, your face resting comfortably in the crook of his neck as you breathed in his scent. He pulled back for a second, just to grab the covers and move them so they were all around you and up to your chin, just as you liked. 

Under the blankets, you moved your hand so it was resting on his heart. You liked doing so, feeling the steady beating of it after a long mission. Poe was used to it by now and simply placed one of his hands atop yours, his thumb rubbing up and down. 

“And you know it’s not your fault, right?” He said, breaking the silence 

“Poe, I was literally the one that crashed it.” You reasoned, lifting your head up to look at him. 

“They shot you down as you took out two TIE fighters! No one could have gotten out of that.” 

“But you had so many memories attached to that X-wing-”

“-And we’ll make new ones.” He finished. 

You sighed and nodded, a slow smile creeping onto your face that let Poe know that you at least somewhat believed his words. Inwardly, he cheered, quite proud of himself for getting through to you. Outwardly, he just tucked you further into his embrace and relished in the feeling of you safe, home, and in his arms.

----

tagging people on my permanent taglist + peoples who wanted a tag/might be interested? if i wrongly guessed you’d be interested please feel free to ignore sfklsj!!

@saltybreaddream @buckysbeloved @lolquarth @sodaoverstars @artiza-n @poestardust @beskar-tano @starwarsflowers @sunsetkenobi @90steaology @marvelinsanity @dracowars @collywobbl @dameronology​ @marvel-ousnesss​

also: i added poe to my taglist and if you would like to be added to those tags, the link to join my taglist is in my pinned! if you’ve already joined my taglist, you can just fill it out again in full or just check poe’s name and either way i’ll know because the last question on the form lets me know if you’re new to the taglist or simply editing your previous answer :)

also i sent this fic to the queue because i have never been more scared to post something