#To avoid splitting up moments‚ gifs ended up being either too long or to short‚ so I decided to just standardize them all to about 5 second

[kira-light0-but-i-reblog-stuff]

The Colgate Comedy Hour- September 17, 1950

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 6: Patience

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (y'all like actually so much angst), hurt/comfort, mention of canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, banter, references to slavery & war, lil' bit of fluff, self-doubt, grief, sad Ani.

Summary: After spending hours in the Jedi Archives trying to catch up on the last ten years of galactic events, Anakin drags you away for an impromptu sparring session. However, in the throws of saber-to-saber combat, with Obi-Wan as witness, the troubled Jedi lets slip a concerning habit. One that you hope to guide him through.

Song Inspo: Valley of Pain — Bonnie Raitt

Words: 9.5k (I'm sorryyyy)

A/n: Okay, soooo I was thinking about splitting this into two parts, but then I was like ehhhh there's a lot of missing context if I do that. So here we are (I promise I will, like, write the shortest of short chapters for the next one XD). This one is super angst/emotion-heavy to help set up where we are so get ready. Also, please please please comment your thoughts because I got a little experimental with this chapter and would love to know what y'all liked/disliked :))

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Series Masterlist

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet — Aristotle

Anakin leaned comfortably against one of many murky inner pillars, each carefully constructed to steady towering rows of azure-luminescent holobooks in the Jedi Archives. As he crossed his arms with a restive huff, the young Jedi was careful to navigate his right elbow so to avoid the large, rounded, and precariously placed head of Neti Jedi Master Ood Bnar. It was one of the many copper busts depicting legendary figures from The Order’s history that surrounded him. All of them thoughtfully gandered from short, gray pillars stationed at the end of every shelving chain up and down the Archives.

Regardless of his vigilant delicacy around such artifacts, Anakin’s primary attention centered on a point in the distance, just five stacks away.

The chestnut-haired man’s sights leveled on you and Ahsoka, comfortably sat on either side of a long hourglass table, part of the several two-seated structures that occupied each Archival study hall.

While he watched on, eyes poised to notice any hint of an end to the scholarly activities before him, he couldn’t help how the Archive’s careful silence infected him. The pin-drop quietude was accented by the intermittent flowing footsteps of a lingering Jedi or the occasional shuffle of a holobook being plucked from its resting place. It stretched the passing seconds like an endless hyperlane. And with each minute flick of sound, the deathly tranquility acted as a reminder.

That Anakin was waiting entirely too long for one of you to call it quits.

The passing hushes of quiet conversation and intermittent, echoing taps of fingers upon holobook screens had all grown tiresome for the impatient Jedi. Even the soft lumbers of elder Masters speaking in low intervals provided little entertainment while he continued to observe you both, hunched over an array of holobooks that marginally added to the yellow luminescence of the dimly lit stone-gray chairs, which engulfed your figures before the marble work surface.

Admittedly, though, Anakin had only entered a few moments ago.

He remembered last night, sharing a few plates of thrantcill pâté with Ahsoka at the far Temple refractory when, in their conversation, she revealed that you’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s afternoon in the Archives, scouring through endless texts regarding the last 10 years of galactic events and figures with her notes as a guide. From what he understood, the two of you had a nice little arrangement going. Ahsoka would study while you borrowed her notes and, in exchange, you would pause your research to quiz her on whatever she was learning these days.

But as a consequence, you had effectively been locked away in an academic prison, at least from Anakin’s perspective.

And he knew, that just wouldn’t do.

So he stopped by the Archives this morning, assuming he’d find you once again, pouring over a mountain of information with angled elbows and firm palms holding you up and awake by the cheekbones.

Despite spending the last decade of your life either studying within the confines of an old, abandoned ship or foraging for supplies in a desolate icescape, it seemed to Anakin that even with your newfound environment of possibility and connection, your engrossment in similar activities would continue in perpetuity.

That was, until he found it necessary to step in.

He pushed off the pillar with a gentle tick from the Force, choosing to saunter over when he began to notice your eyes in particular. Veined and faded red from staring at screens for hours on end.

Yup, time for a break, he decided inwardly.

His heels tapped with each resonant step, bouncing off the sonorously curved high ceilings before eventually leading him to be within reach of causing a mild disruption. As a playful muscle pulled at his lips, Anakin brightly slapped the table with both hands flat while swiftly leaning into your viewpoint.

The unexpected noise startled both you and Ahsoka from your holobooks, simultaneously drawing the eye of a few elder Masters. But that didn’t impede Anakin’s drive. In fact, your heedlessness regarding his presence only fueled his beliefs— that these many hours in the Archives had drained your senses enough, and that he alone would be the one to drag you away from it.

“Okay,” he announced rather loudly. “Enough is enough. You’re gonna turn into a holobook if you stay here for any longer.”

Anakin sucked in your miffed glare while Ahsoka tried to stifle a faint giggle out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I’m doing this, quite literally, to protect you,” you challenged quietly with a raised brow. “Can’t do much guarding without knowing what I’m guarding against.”

“You’re right,” he feigned admittance as he lowered his voice to your level, hopefully to discourage the subtly annoyed yet watchful eyes of a few librarians to his left by kneeling down and pitching in further.

“If this.” He glanced down at the closest holobook, grabbing it to lift into his vision as he read the title. “Holobook on intergalactic political alliances turns into a giant, being-eating Rancor, I know that I’ll be perfectly safe in your very capable, studious hands.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes before a barely perceptible twitch tugged at the corner of your mouth. You swiped the device from him, returning it to its rightful place on the table.

“Knock it off, Smarty,” you quipped as you tried to return to the holobook in hand.

But your subtle amusement was fuel to his teasing fire.

Anakin grinned. “Or you could quote the guidelines of the Coruscant Accords to a sharp-toothed Acklay looking to take a bite. I’m sure that would go over well.”

Anakin’s ears perked as you dropped the holobook you’d been analyzing to the table. Rather abruptly, you placed a hand on the workspace to twist toward the eager Jedi, slight frustration lining your features.

“And what would you suggest?” You asked expectantly.

The responsive Jedi opened his mouth to answer, but paused mid-vocalization as he tried to come up with a reasonable proposal.

Thankfully, the galaxy granted him a moment to think.

“Whatever it is, can you come up with it somewhere else?” Ahsoka piped up in a whisper. “I’m trying to study for my test.”

Anakin observed as your eyes softened toward his frustrated Padawan.

“Sorry, Ahsoka,” you offered earnestly before scooting out of the grunting, asperous seat below. You raised gracefully, leaning over the ornamented table to collect your many holobooks. “We’ll get out of your way.”

Anakin straightened while you grabbed the last text, watching you turn on your heel toward the Archives’ center circle as he followed at your side.

“Need a hand?” He offered while scanning the hazardously stacked pile of holobooks that leveled just below your inquisitive nose.

“No, not at all,” you spoke, dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t distract you from coming up with your grand idea on how I can be your perfect defender.”

An unimpressed frown flickered across his features briefly. That was, until a sudden lightbulb within him buzzed to life.

It was something to cure his boredom and it would meet your objectives, he excused inwardly.

“Well, if you can beat me in a duel, that would certainly prove your abilities,” he suggested casually.

He was hoping not to reveal the sudden wave of excitement that overcame him following these days of stark boredom. Anakin didn’t realize it until that moment, but what he really needed was a good, old-fashioned sparring session. Not with a drone, but with another Jedi. Something low stakes and disconnected from the war.

But the many developments since his arrival had not made that easy.

After Ahsoka had finished her essay that night when they first docked on Coruscant, Master Plo Koon decided to schedule a test covering the last few months of physical science studies from their tutoring sessions. So, with her hidden away in the Archives, Anakin wasn’t able to do much training or guidance as her new Master.

Not that he really had any idea how he was going to go about that anyway. It was all still so new.

He’d just wing it, he thought.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was stuck in back-to-back Council meetings about Maker knows what. Anakin imagined hours-long discussions on possible solutions to the communications system infiltration with Temple technicians by their side, offering tidbits of advice on deconstructing board matrices and tracking transmitter codes as the considerations continued. Tedious, but necessary, he considered.

Even R2-D2 was indisposed, having been temporarily assigned to one of the Temple’s system specialists before Anakin had even arrived at the Temple hangar, left to run diagnostics on the potentially compromised system for hours on end as they moved from sector to sector. Though, while he lost that unofficial race, he knew that the only reason Artoo reached Coruscant first with his handful of clones from the 501st was because of their short ‘diversion’ to Hoth.

So, with everyone busy, that left Anakin with meditation and training alone, neither of which he found particularly enjoyable at the moment. Or, at least, since his time a few months ago on Tatooine.

In the days following Anakin’s return from that arid, porous world, particularly in recent weeks, he found it difficult to be left alone with his mind. Images of his mother, weak and crumbling through his arms, the guttural cries of Tusken Raiders, and the scalding whip of Dooku’s crimson sword would invade his senses in mere moments of solitude. Even in the briefest of silent pauses or calming realities, he’d hear them all. Clawing at his senses. Yanking at his heavy chest.

The worry of that reality pervading indefinitely tapped at the young Jedi’s thoughts like a dark harbinger. Especially in the stillness of the Archives while he waited for you to finish. Before he couldn’t delay any longer.

He was desperate for a distraction to snap his thoughts away.

So, when he suddenly remembered that the time you were spending in the Archives was entirely voluntary, Anakin couldn’t help how his spirit felt a little more enlivened as he hopped up from his meditation, a tottering crisscrossed position between two orange flowering Saavas, to toe race his way to the Archives.

Yes, he did actually want to check in on you after days of study, but Anakin too seemed to have his own personal motivations.

Company is what the young Jedi sought, and he was entirely satisfied to keep it with you.

He considered this draw more deeply, pulling at the roots of his kindling connection with you.

Something shifted in Anakin that night in the Uscru District, legs dangling off the end of one of Coruscant’s largest garbage pits as decaying fumes encircled his ankles.

He hadn’t met a Gray Jedi before, but he wondered if they were all like you. Your kindness and softness when speaking the truth. The warmth of your voice.

It anchored him, to those moments of comfort and safety he felt many years ago, when encircled by his mother’s protective arms. It was especially true on those cold nights, after dark and dreary days, when she would tell him of the tale of the sun-dragon.

How his heart would be his strength, much like how she was his heart.

And he missed that feeling, so greatly that when faced with the sensation again, he fell back into old habits. He couldn’t help it. He’d always told his mother everything, and for a brief glimpse, your nature made him feel at home again.

And so he told you.

Something that he couldn’t even at first admit to Obi-Wan.

He told you his mother died.

But it was when he felt your cold hands in his clammy palms, that he could finally sense the signals swirling within your being that you betrayed on your face to him that night.

Indications you kept very well hidden away.

But the touch of two Jedi freed you to share what you felt for the doe-eyed man, intentionally or not.

And he shouldn’t have been so affected by what he sensed, Anakin argued. The blue-eyed Jedi knew you had trained to dedicate your life to him. Or, at least, to the Chosen One prophecy. But still, for a being he met only a week prior, he couldn’t help but be taken aback.

You exuded tenderness, care, and unwavering loyalty.

For the first time in years, Anakin felt truly perceived in that moment. And while he still grappled with the words spoken that night, overshadowed by unfading ghosts of the past, it finally solidified within his sun dragon heart one cogent decision.

Anakin knew that he could trust you.

“I suppose,” you admitted as you reached the central reference desk, pulling Anakin back into his current reality.

Eyeing the large rotunda in the Archive’s center, you dropped the stack of holobooks at the expansive counter for return with a slight clang. As you pivoted down the main hallway leading to the Archive’s exit, you continued. “But I’m supposed to meet with Master Yoda this afternoon, and I don’t know if he wants to duel with me. So we’ll need to keep it short.”

Anakin grinned victoriously as he nodded. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The jaunt to Training Room C was quick.

At least by Anakin’s standards.

Once again, as his mind drifted, the thoughtful Jedi gazed at the room’s beige-white flooring and textured walls, outlined into zoning squares by dark wooden panels and pillars that crossed with geometric balance. His observations since returning to the Temple were the primary factor influencing his temporary tachysensia. Predominantly, that if yesterday’s experience was any indication, he had every right to believe training room availability would be similarly limited today.

As you stretched your legs against the far wall beside one of the two sets of three-tiered mahogany viewing benches on either side of the dojo, Anakin stood by the room’s entrance, twirling the blue glow of his saber in leisurely circles while dipping further into his memories.

First, he recalled the horde of Jedi present at yesterday morning’s emergency meeting. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that many Jedi in one room. Let alone the sum total, many thousands at least, present in the Temple since his arrival a few days ago.

The one outlier was, of course, the Battle of Geonosis, and the events that immediately followed. It was the first time Anakin realized the sheer power of The Order, fighting in tandem to protect peace in the galaxy against dividing forces.

The young Jedi was pleased by the Republic’s material victory that day. That was never in question. But any feeling of triumph was often overshadowed by the depth of another emotion that stretched and coiled along his bones like a growing mold.

Guilt.

It was clear, he thought. In that moment and in the weeks and months which followed.

He wasn’t strong enough to face Dooku that day.

And he nearly paid the ultimate price.

One glance down at his alloyed, dark steely arm with its thin crevices leading to an interior of gears and overlapping wiring was proof enough. Evidence that maybe if he’d trained a little harder as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, or followed his gut and joined Kenobi on his trek to Kamino, that things would have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, so many lives wouldn’t have been lost to such a stupid war.

A war he nearly prevented from happening in the first place during that battle, stained with Jedi blood.

Maybe, he would’ve been faster in countering Dooku’s rapidly twisting and thunderous blows.

And if he was swifter, maybe his mother would still be alive.

But no, Anakin’s power was no match for Dooku’s wielding.

At least, not yet, he thought.

His mind floated again, to the days and weeks following that deadly day. Scores of Padawans were knighted to feed the growing war effort, including himself. Generals were needed, and more knights were expected to take on Padawans to educate them on how to adapt their abilities to times of conflict.

It was necessary. He knew that. But still, the malformation of a pinnacle Jedi celebration, usually a grand and gradual affair, into rushed trial processes and fleeting bestowment ceremonies made him feel more like a piece of unrefined Duralium stumbling its way through a processing plant than a Jedi.

Though despite his new title, and greater set of responsibilities, Anakin considered himself just as equally removed from the planning affairs as he was when a Padawan.

Once all the Jedi were similarly recalled to the Temple after Geonosis, a flood of Council meetings followed in succession to determine The Order’s place in this war. They petitioned the attendance of many Masters, even giving Master Kenobi his own seat, as they negotiated the Jedi role of peacekeeper while trying to defend against the threat to one thousand years of peace.

And it never relented.

Emergency gatherings spiraled in succession, especially after the bombing of Cato Neimoidia.

He remembered it all well. The smoky remnants of a charred away district lost to the planet’s depths. The medical tents that gently swayed in eery silence, save for the intermittent groans of the few survivors. All of these images displayed in everlasting reels on the HoloNet News, shocking the galaxy into reality. The chaos that followed compelled many to realize that even overt neutrality would not keep worlds safe from this war.

But in these high-level meetings that addressed important events just like this, that strategized how to help these people, Knights or Padawans were never included.

They never included him.

So, instead, much like the past few days, Anakin would wander the Temple halls. Perhaps visit the gardens if he was feeling particularly meditative.

But that was just once. And only because Obi-Wan suggested it after catching him waiting opposite from Training Room R, sitting on the floor and leaning against a pillar with arms resting on each knee and a particularly glum look lining his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan inquired as he stopped momentarily, no doubt in a hurried dash to another urgent Council meeting, Anakin concluded.

It was a few days before his knighting ceremony, and only a week after his mechanical limb was installed. But he wasn’t feeling as cheerful as he once thought he would be when he was a youngling. He was supposed to feel excited to become a Jedi Knight.

Not lost.

“Waiting,” he huffed in a monotone.

The impatient Jedi watched Obi-Wan angle back to scan the training rooms that lined the rear wall. Anakin’s expression was unchanged as his Master returned toward him in a curious manner.

“Have you been waiting here all day?” He asked inquisitively.

That same flat tone escaped Anakin’s mouth in affirmation.

Obi-Wan hummed with a hint of satisfaction. “If you showed this much patience in your training sessions, you may have learned a lot more,” he mused.

The nearly former Padawan gazed up at him unimpressed when he noticed a lightbulb go off behind Master Kenobi’s brightened eyes.

“You know, this might be a wonderful time for you to meditate. And I know the perfect place!”

Anakin groaned.

It felt like it all happened years ago, Anakin considered. But in reality, it had only been a few months. War had warped his sense of reality, and maybe that was why he felt a strange sense of déjà vu when he returned to the same hall of training dojos the day before, only for each expanse to be occupied with beings like him, loitering by the entrances and against pillars for their turn by the hour.

But today was different for some reason. Many of the training rooms lay vacant and the halls were generally unoccupied, save a few Jedi using the surrounding walkways for travel.

Part of him wanted to investigate. To see if some Jedi were called off to a mission he didn’t know about. No comms meant that he was even less informed about the Temple’s goings-on. But that never stifled his curiosity.

Instead, it all only seemed to further stoke his kindling restlessness.

Then, he remembered. Master Kenobi had offered to spar with him later today. Maybe he’d get some answers then.

But then again, if history with The Council proved repeatable, probably not.

“Are you gonna twirl that thing all day or are we gonna spar?”

Your sonorous voice shocked the distracted Jedi out of his stupor. He spun toward you, recognizing your casual stance, saber unsheathed and dangling at your side in its luminescent gray as you gazed at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled while approaching your figure.

“Watcha thinking about?” You asked once Anakin’s gate mollified.

“Oh,” he inflated with a cartoonish shrug. “Just about how this thing is gonna end before I’ve had the chance to build up a sweat,” he grinned while crouching into an attack stance.

You mirrored his pose, matching his outward repartee with striking, fiery orbs.

“You should have more confidence” you scolded in jest. “I’m sure you’ll get some blocks in.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the wide beam that engulfed your face. He leaned into his knees, centering his connection with the tingling flow around him.

“What is it you said?” The young man challenged confidently. “May the best Jedi win?”

“That statement still stands,” you affirmed, not skipping a beat.

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Show me what you got…

…Chosen One”

Anakin took this as his cue, kicking off with a running start before pouncing at you from a few meters away with a hard strike toward your rib. He slowed his surroundings with the Force, observing you launch your blade upwards to block the powerful blow with both hands squeezed on the hilt, releasing a hiss from the impact.

You thrust his blade down with your own as he decided to swiftly use that momentum to his advantage. Quickly, he swung his saber back around to strike you down the center. Flinging your weapon up, you deterred the attack with the horizontal posture of the blade. Again, Anakin watched as you slid that blue glow with the hammering snap of your saber toward the floor.

But the blue-eyed man only viewed this as another opportunity.

He twirled on his heel to boldly strike at your other flank. Yet, despite his keenness, you managed to successfully snag this attack too, a straightforward inversion of your blade standing before his path.

The simplicity sparked a flicker of annoyance within the young Jedi. His greatest strength was using his opponent’s attacks against them. And you were making the employment of that particular strategy very difficult.

He continued his strikes with more fervor this time, hoping to break your reinforced wall of defense and coax you into launching your own, fissuring swings. But no matter how much he Force-energized each crack, no matter how rapidly he recovered from your nimble deflections, he couldn’t seem to break your stoic face or weaponized fortification.

“Are you gonna try to fight me at some point?” Anakin drew out as he bounced back from your diverting blade’s assertive whip against his saber, forcing him nearly fifteen meters away.

Like a dance, the two of you melted into a circling prowl, using the space to breathe. Each step enlivened Anakin’s impulse to continue the duel as he surveyed your mimicking movements to keep the eager Jedi a sufficient length away.

“I thought you wanted to work up a sweat?” You exhaled innocently while continuing your slinking annular shuffle.

Anakin felt an intense heat billow behind his eyes as his confident yet teasing nature began to splinter into a more soured tone. Usually, he was not so affected by such innocent pokes. In fact, he found these moments regularly enjoyable, adding a taste of lightheartedness to the typically tense beats of combat.

But his mind was swirling all day with images of the past.

Images of failure.

Of failing others. Of failing the world.

His mother.

And in this transient instance, for some unknown reason, it felt like more than he could presently handle.

But before he could respond to your directed quip, another voice echoed into the training room from the dojo’s double gray doors with L-shaped mustard accents, having whooshed open without him realizing in the last few minutes.

“Anakin doesn’t like it when opponents go easy on him,” Obi-Wan commented as he entered his peripheral.

The peeved Jedi noticed your eyebrows raise in contest across from him at the Master’s words.

“I’m not going easy on him,” you clarified while leaning into another step along the arbitrary sphere of distance you and Anakin delicately maintained.

“Then I take it this is going well?” Master Kenobi announced to no one in particular.

The curious, bearded Jedi strolled to the side for a better view of the duel in discoidal stasis, lowering his form to the edge of the nearest Mahogany viewing bench before crossing his legs in humming anticipation.

“Yes, it is,” Anakin gritted. “In fact, I was just about to find an opening.”

“No you weren’t,” you deadpanned.

Anakin huffed at the truth of your statement as his heart rate quickened. He was beginning to grow tired of your overconfident comments and steadfast defense. He had too much on his mind and didn’t need someone else pointing out his ineptitude.

“Sparring isn’t always about the offensive,” Obi-Wan remarked casually to the atmosphere. “Sometimes it means allowing others to take the initiative for the duel to progress.”

“Tell him that!” You exclaimed with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a training droid for the last half an hour.”

Suddenly, something in Anakin snapped. His meticulously bubbling frustration and annoyance had whipped into a flash of pure, blistering anger.

He reacted quickly, propelling himself out of his steady march with a shout as he determinedly bolted toward your figure, most of his connection to his surroundings stripping away to pyre his vehemence.

The Chosen One’s eyes narrowed on one objective and one objective alone— securing an opening.

He neared your form within a second, blade aimed at your shoulder and vision pinpointed like a laser on the curved dark gray spot of your smoothed-over cloak. He could almost smell those memorable industrial fumes of the shop from which you both purchased it, hovering staunchly above the seams as he neared your form.

But as his saber split down with a low whine to claim final victory, your own weapon sprung to life, knocking the blade out of its path and down toward his feet in a buzzing blare.

Anakin heaved his plasma sword up, revving for another turbulent swing as he let out an indignant grunt. His eyes were still locked on the same shoulder when it suddenly spun from sight in a blink. Out of nowhere, an abrupt blazing heat graced his opposite cheek like a near brush with a welder.

Registering the sensation, Anakin whipped around, searching for your figure only to find you stood behind him, sheathing your saber before clipping it to your belt with a clink. You trekked toward the somewhat stunned Jedi, a conflicted stitch tweaking your brows as you finished your approach.

Once you reached him, Anakin felt you tenderly grab his open hand, pulling it free and flipping it over to unlatch his palm. The young Jedi observed you raise your other hand, wrapped in a loose fist, but not for long. It hovered about his hand for only a moment before releasing into his grasp a couple strands of chestnut hair, lightly soaked in your sweat that perspired from head to toe, and perceptibly singed black on one smoky vestige.

Anakin stared at the strands, embarrassment prickling each finger pad as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

That was, until your hands met his.

You closed his fingers into a gentle fist, encouraging him to clutch the locks as softly as their texture.

He gazed up at you, taking in your soothing silver eyes and worried smile as an aura of concern leaked from your being like a latched wire. Swimming like loose electricity from your palm, into his.

“We need to talk.”

—

As you gently led Anakin to one of the training room’s far corners with a soft hand on the back of his elbow, your being was steadily flooding with unsettling disquiet, permeating throughout your circulatory system.

You had noticed fairly quickly, how Anakin’s chagrined eyes subtly shifted at your troubled words toward his former Master, who discernibly observed the scene unfold before him with a knowing shake of his head. Skywalker still internalized Kenobi’s judgments, including the ones that accompanied a perennial frown, you realized. And from his unsurprised expression, it seemed that Obi-Wan had observed these same alarming habits at some point in his life as well.

It was evident that the Master’s cavalier comportment further confirmed your suspicions— that they had not been fully addressed.

At least, not in a way that Anakin may have fully understood.

You noticed it again today, just before the spar began. Anakin, trapped in his own little world within the confines of his expansive mind. Whirling his saber vacantly with muscle memory akin to twisting one’s hair to pass the time. Within those few moments, while internalizing the satisfying stretch of your hamstrings as you prepared for the duel, you couldn’t help but sense the waves of emotion that rolled off the open-hearted Jedi.

Amusement, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness.

And most notably, rage.

You could only guess what thoughts were running through his head. You’d probably only scratched the surface of his internal struggles when he revealed some of them to you a few nights ago. But with time to reflect, you now wondered if that grief clouded his mind too strongly. Shielding him from understanding your words, or even the guidance others may have bestowed upon him in the past regarding this very issue.

You welcomed theories to invade your mind, consume your thoughts, and give you a moment of escape.

Focusing on this small blip in his signature proved far more attractive, more manageable than the vacuum your mind produced in other activities, including your studies in the Temple Archives. Even that distraction manifested as inadequate as you tried to break from your inner affliction rooted in Qui-Gon’s death. You’d spent countless hours flipping through Ahsoka’s notes, shuffling through holobooks filled with complicated galactic developments, trade agreements, alliances, controversial political figures, but nothing seemed to center you.

Nothing seemed to stop his face from appearing when your eyes closed. Even momentarily.

Even when you blinked.

Nothing, well, except for this.

Except for doing what you were made for.

Focusing mind, body, and soul on The Chosen One.

So you dove into the murky waters of this puzzle, only hinted at in your short time together.

The connection drew your memory back to that frenzied escape from Hoth. When you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood unified in an Aegean sphere of incandescence against the monstrous Wampan threat. You remembered, the three of you exchanging teasing jabs as you slashed down each beast with agile grace.

But as you dug deeper into that moment, the inner turmoil you sensed from the Chosen One only moments ago now suddenly felt very familiar.

And very alive.

It was Obi-Wan’a quip at Anakin’s apparent lack of humility that struck a similar, irate chord within the young Jedi. And in his frustration to verbally defend himself, he took an easily preventable blow to the face.

Withdrawing from your mind, you glanced up at the healing reddish-brown cut that stretched across his upper cheekbone. You drank it in as you continued to lead him toward the training room’s far wall. While you lacked the time or center of mind to acknowledge it then, you felt it necessary to address now.

You felt for Anakin’s past struggles. You really did. And deep within your being, you fervently believed that the swirling emotions surrounding his mother’s passing and childhood enslavement were justified. Those were deep, crimson scars that would take many years to stitch together. To heal. You yourself had only just begun that journey of loss with your own Master. You were still unable to fully pull away from the initial shock and amplified emptiness felt from learning of his passing.

And by virtue of his history, Anakin’s heedless frustrations toward meaningless words and enduring circumstances made you wonder. Did this powerful Jedi even have the tools to digest your guidance from a few nights ago concerning these very situations? Did he hear you about the importance of acknowledging those moments in life, before letting them go?

It was much like the errant thoughts of forceless beings, which you were compelled to guide past all senses for your own mental survival a couple nights prior.

You continued to draw on the similarities of your circumstances, excavating each moment, before realizing one important factor. That you were only able to feel that relief, that suffocating weight lifted, because of the guidance of others.

Because Obi-Wan gave you a little push.

So, you decided to do the same.

At first, as the duel began, most of your vitality was captivated by efforts to sense any blips in the blue-eyed Jedi’s signature.

But that constrained you to a perpetual defense, focused only on thwarting each intrepid blow. It was necessary, to stray from the energy-siphoning movements required to launch an offense that could counter Anakin’s aggressive form, if you were to successfully carry out your own furtive objectives. His style was elegant, technique steadfast, and it took a considerable toll on you to keep your focus on both the fight and any indications that would barely leak into the Force.

But these actions had unintended consequences, revealing that sucking the bustle out of the duel would be as equally infecting as one of Obi-Wan’s elicit remarks.

So, you leaned into it.

Keeping a relentless guard meant less opportunity for Anakin to use one of your strikes against you. A telltale tactic of Djem So. And it generated a number of occasions for you to toss in a few comments to test the waters. So much so, that when you pointedly told a certain, teasing Jedi Master that you were, in fact, not going easy on him, you were telling the truth. Your defense remained physical, but your offense flourished verbally with quip after quip.

But in those moments, as you sensed his vexation reach its peak, your own heart felt darkened. Weighted down like the planet’s gravitational pull as you carried out this assessment of mental fortitude. It was another chip at your empathetic being, flying away like loose debris traveling through the vacuum of space. Another task in protecting The Chosen One further plunged your identity into utter uncertainty.

You were also not going very easy on yourself.

But it didn’t last long, as it appeared that comparing him to an inanimate Jedi training device seemed to do the trick.

In a way, his sudden dart toward your smaller frame hurt most of all. Not only because you had a hand in driving him to this level of rage, but because you had never seen him so easily reduced to this level of vulnerability. Having known him only a week, you already understood through those many late-night conversations on a thousand-year-old space bucket, in the Coruscant garbage pits, and during your exploration of the entertainment district— where he had the gall to suggest orange was not your color— that his absorbent heart and related impatience was, as of now, his greatest weakness.

One you were sure the Sith would use against him, as they had with other Jedi thousands of years prior.

In some manner, it scared you. The ease with which you pinpointed this fragility in the brief time of knowing him. It was true, you had an uncanny ability to connect with others. But not this easily.

Maybe it was because you saw too much of yourself within him.

Or maybe the two of you were connected far beyond the confines of a prophecy.

Maybe, even through the Force itself.

Yet he tossed his connection to the Force aside in his mad dash to win. The ferocious Jedi was so focused on a strike, a successful nearness of his blade to some part of you to claim victory, that he momentarily tossed away any and all perception of protecting himself.

And it pained you, cavernously, the ease with which you blocked and dodged his subsequent blows. They were unstable, sloppy, and fueled by frustration rather than grounded in his connection to the Galaxy.

It left his entire form accessible to a fatal blow.

So, you decided to make your point in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Swiping your saber rapidly across a loose lock of chestnut hair hanging centimeters from his cheek, you allowed it to fall upon your palm to present the suddenly bewildered Jedi, who was swiftly silenced after realizing the damage you could have done.

You allowed your mind to extrapolate any words from thoughts that continued to rush over you as you both slowed to a halt on the opposite side of the training room from Obi-Wan. Your attentive eyes trained on his uncomfortable expression with a gaze wandering indefinitely, much like a youngling who had been caught taking too many sweets from one of the refractories.

“Your anger is concerning,” you began in a hushed tone.

Maybe those weren’t the right words, and maybe this wasn’t the best setting, but you were hoping to get some real answers that weren’t colored by responses saved for his Master's presence. You had your own difficulty sharing internal struggles with your Master, and he was the only other person around. You wanted this to be different.

Anakin’s eyes suddenly shot at you, narrowing in confusion.

“You were the one who told me my anger was justified.”

“I told you, that it’s ok to be angry sometimes, especially when losing someone you care deeply about,” you began in a softer lull. “That is completely different from allowing a staunch rage to get the best of you from impatience and words.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he began to absorb your observations while his head slightly dipped in discomfort.

“Hey,” you whispered, touching his wrist, hot from exertion, lifting his uncertain eyes back toward you. “I’m here to look out for you. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that you need to be more patient and not take what others say to heart. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Your exposition seemed to click within the troubled Jedi in a way far different from your midnight murmurings on the Uscru District garbage pit overhang. You watched as he glimpsed downward, following his line of vision to the metal arm whose fingers he flexed in creaking evaluation.

You wondered…

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

And that was all the answers you needed, the rest you felt through the Force.

Regret, frustration, and something new—

Realization.

But despite this potential step forward, you found it strange that even losing an arm to impatience and anger didn’t lead him to these reflections earlier.

“It’s not that easy.”

Or maybe it did.

You raised your gaze back up toward Anakin, his dejected stare stuck to the steel limb as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

As if his vision was thrown into darkness.

“You’re right, it’s not,” you admitted as, once more, you were met with a flood of questions through his countenance alone.

“It’s a task. Of constantly reminding yourself that what I, or Obi-Wan, or the world says to you or about you doesn’t matter. I mean, who cares what everyone says? It doesn’t change who you are until you let it.”

You stilled, observing Anakin’s brows relax ever so slightly. Yet skepticism still colored his absentmindedly agape lips. Even without connecting physically, you could tell that despite your statement, he was riddled with doubts. You knew he’d heard your words, but he didn’t believe them.

So, you decided to tell him what you really believed.

“I’ll tell you right now. You, right now, are good. And you, at this very moment in time, are enough.”

Anakin’s mouth closed as he gazed up at you in anticipation, a galaxy of sentiments flaring behind his eyes.

You breathed. “No one is gonna change that. And I’m not just saying that to save face. I mean it.”

For the first time in what felt like a long, clouded while, a smile peeked out from his subtly solemn expression. An air of solace had begun to enter the Force.

It seemed like being heard was what Anakin needed. Someone to recognize what he was feeling. What he struggled with. What he continued to battle, inside and out.

And you were happy to be that person.

“And it won’t be remedied overnight. Remind yourself of that.”

You knew what it was like to struggle with these emotions, realizing that what fed them most was your utter isolation. In a sense, despite being in closer proximity to others than you ever had, Anakin still seemed just as alone as you in these conflicts.

And that dealt another sharp blow at your opened heart.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I pushed you too far.” His shoulders relaxed at the softness of your voice. “I just needed you to see what this frustration does to you. It leaves you exposed. And, honestly, if I was less skilled, your blindness may have done some real damage.

His eyes widened, “I would never…”

“I know,” you rested a comforting hand on his flushed arm as he relaxed. “You would never, intentionally,” you assured, though your phrasing still had unnerved the young man. “But you made a mistake, and I’m just hoping to show you why it’s important to learn from it.”

You watched as he nodded, drinking in your sympathetic and forgiving nature into his own being. The two of you breathed through the stillness, allowing both of your feelings to stabilize through the fine sting of sensitivities that traveled back and forth across your hand, tenderly fastened to his lower arm with the Force swimming in between.

“You know,” he began, as you felt the air around him lift delicately. “I know someone who’d really like you.”

You took this compliment as permission for a more upbeat response. So your eyes squinted teasingly.

“Sounds like they have great taste.”

“Silvey!”

You paused momentarily before turning to the exclamation, still getting used to the nickname as Obi-Wan entered your vision from his place on the lower left of the far viewing bench. “Don’t you need to meet with Master Yoda soon?”

Windu must have told him in one of their Council meetings you’d heard so much about from Ahsoka this morning. You glanced up to your left at the wall-mounted chronometer displaying the time in bright blue symbols before approaching the bearded Jedi, a gradually settling Anakin following close behind as you called back.

“I’ve got some time!”

Quieting your voice, you turned to Anakin with a lighthearted taunt as you both continued your leisurely pace.

“You know, I bet you could’ve beat me if you waited a little longer.”

Anakin grinned at your brighter tone as the last of his worries washed away into the Force. It was, again, much like the thoughts of those clubgoers a few nights ago as, he too, seemingly took your words to heart.

“Give me another chance and we’ll see,” he commented, underhandedly complimenting your skills.

You smiled, a weightlessness overcoming you.

“You’re on.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen this before.

Too many times to count.

Anakin had a habit of becoming lost within himself, allowing emotions to take over in place of duty, and logic. But despite the occasional slip-ups, the Master believed that his former Padawan had matured greatly in the past decade. His connection to the Force had deepened while his ties to outward attachments withered with time. From the beginning, that was something he knew the Council was especially concerned about when he joined The Order at such an old age.

Yes, he still made a habit of acting before thinking, much to the bearded Jedi’s chagrin. But he always proved to get the job done.

Anakin never let him down.

However, in the last month, Obi-Wan had noticed a familiar turmoil affecting the young Jedi, beginning soon after the attempted assassination of Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala.

In the days that followed, when Anakin was tasked with protecting the Senator, before traveling to Tatooine and, then, becoming involved in the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan sensed that inky substance Master Yoda felt years ago begin to foam up from the depths of his being once more.

“I sense much fear in you.”

And Master Kenobi was finally witness to how greatly his fear had grown that day on Geonosis. When Padmé was knocked out of the LAAT tasked with chasing after Count Dooku, it was the first time Obi-Wan saw Anakin consider negating his duty for a connection. He nearly leapt out of that transport without a second thought, about to blindly storm after his feelings instead of pursuing Dooku to possibly put an end to this war before it even started.

It was a connection that worried him. That concerned Master Yoda as well. So much so that in those days following Anakin’s recovery after losing his arm, Obi-Wan pleaded with Padmé herself to end whatever bonds were forming between the two.

She reluctantly agreed, and though he trusted the word of the former Queen, Kenobi was still bothered by those moments of them together. Like the glances stolen during the holocomm data transfer following their escape from the Trade Federation home world, or the subtle moments shared out of earshot of both him and the clones during their brief medical supply pickup on Naboo last week.

It was instances like these when the Master Jedi wondered if maybe time would be the greatest teacher. Maybe confronting Padmé changed the nature of their bond. Strengthened it, even. Then, it was quite possible that further interference would have just made the situation worse.

He did finally convince Anakin to stay with him on that LAAT before they reached Count Dooku, who was attempting an escape through a dark, underground hangar. But despite Master Kenobi’s best efforts, those bubbling feelings of anger and hate pushed the young Jedi’s agitation over the edge.

Obi-Wan told him to wait. That they would only defeat Dooku if they faced him together. As a team.

As brothers.

But he didn’t listen.

They were unmatched fighting alone, handing Dooku off like some rabid animal bouncing between prey as Anakin tried to recover from his premature mistake.

And it nearly killed Obi-Wan.

But Anakin’s heart was too ferocious to let that happen.

Rage guided his hand, and his hand he lost.

In the weeks that followed, when Anakin was knighted and while the bombing of Cato Neimoidia temporarily threw them apart, Master Kenobi truly believed that this near-death experience at the hands of a Sith Lord had finally proved sobering to his stubborn friend.

But this moment… In his duel with his defender…

Maybe the Master Jedi was wrong.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin blamed himself every day for not ending the war before it started that day on Geonosis. Yet he worried that no matter the damage that came to Anakin from his own choices, he would never learn.

Deep down, Obi-Wan believed that Anakin never grasped the gravity of his actions because he thought he deserved the grave consequences he faced for each and every one of them. By some strange logic, losing an arm was his punishment for not stopping a war, and it excused him from doing differently.

And much like a flagellant, he dealt his own punishment by continuing to march down this path of self-destruction.

But he thought he had it under control. That he had finally taken his Master's teachings to heart and found solace in connecting with the Force, using the flow to wash away his troubles. At least he did when Anakin was given his own battalion. When he was assigned his own Padawan.

When he was distracted by the unstoppable toil of war.

Obi-Wan thought that his young friend had finally pulled himself together to lead like the great Jedi he knew he could be.

But now, with an indefinite pause as the communications system is evaluated, Obi-Wan sensed Anakin slip back into bad habits.

However, Master Kenobi, always the optimist, thought it would pass. That these cursory moments were just flukes, temporary setbacks that could happen to anyone in moments of peace.

But as his own eyes lay open to that rage take hold all over again in his battle with you, it felt like he was staring through a mirror of time, back when Anakin was first dealing with his feelings of the past as that youngling on Tatooine.

This instant seemed like more than a fluke, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe the new memories made old ones stronger.

So, while he watched you and Anakin re-approach the training room’s center sparring square, despite the new calm he sensed radiating off the duo, Kenobi kept his reservations about the consequences of incensing Anakin too vigorously in one session.

Thus, he did what any good arbitrator would do.

He deflected

“You may want to take a break,” he remarked toward your figure as it stalled, allowing Anakin to settle across from you. “You won’t have the energy you need to spar with Master Yoda should he request it.”

But, instead of acknowledging the inherent truth of his statement, you took the more ‘Anakin’ approach.

“Just wait,” you smirked smugly, turning to face the dark-robbed Jedi in a readied stance as you withdrew your saber from your carefully hidden belt with a click. “I plan to end this fight quickly.”

His head whipped to Anakin as unease tugged at creasing lips. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was like if someone pushed him too far. And he was worried, for both of you, that you had done just that.

As he heard the faint activation of your gray luminance with a whirl and a fading hiss, his eyes settled on his former Padawan, expecting at best a rumble in his life force, a pointed stare, an annoyed huff.

But what he was met with, was most unexpected.

Anakin’s eyes creased mirthfully as he chuckled. The suddenly grinning Jedi popped you a grateful glance that spoke unknown tales as he unsheathed his own weapon with a bright flash, allowing its blue glow to complete the mirror.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion. Perplexity surrounding this sudden change turned into intrigue as he stationed an elbow on each of his unfolded knees, leaning into the scene to further analyze this development. As the two of you bent at the ready five meters apart, a gentle smile shared on each face with mysterious calm and collection, peace seemed to be the space’s only purveyor.

Seconds passed, minutes wallowed, and still, that stark rush of power Kenobi always recognized in a duel with Anakin never came. The two of you stood in utter stillness, the gently muffled footfalls of passing Jedi in the outer hall accenting the echo of the wider Temple’s exterior.

That was, until you broke the hush.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me?” You asked in a challenging voice.

Anakin raised a brow intuitively. “You’re kidding, right?”

And just as rapidly sweeping as the pause that followed, Obi-Wan noticed a proud grin flash across your face before your legs propelled forward like lightning, meeting Anakin’s swiftly diverting blade with a slate clash. Master Kenobi observed as you spun with your saber stark behind you to block his first blow after flinging your sword into a whirl.

It wasn’t long after you vaulted over the young Jedi to reach his rear side when the Master noticed you return to old habits, sticking to a well-built guard as you blocked and parried blow after blow from your eerily calm opponent. The persistent offensive and defensive divide split you both into equal parts, like either side of a credit. It was a perfect balance that Obi-Wan knew drove Anakin to madness like nothing else in their own training sessions. Yet, the young Jedi seemed unaffected by this stasis.

In fact, he appeared pleased.

But even this did not fully convince the Master Jedi of any statistically significant change. He was an evidence man at heart, after all. And a few smiles and certainly odd behavior was not going to be enough to encourage him to consider this strange development fully. Obi-Wan would let these thoughts wash away without the proof to fully consider them.

That was, of course, before what happened next.

It was in those moments that followed, that Master Kenobi finally asked himself— how?

What he’d spent years trying to teach Anakin about patience, through connecting with the Force, breaking past bonds, and accepting the ways of the Jedi Order— if not to at least teach him the merits of flow and faith— you seemed to do in just the matter of a morning.

Sensibly, as he recovered from the initial surprise of the next instances, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not a changed man. But it did certainly feel like it when he observed this unexpected breakthrough take place before his eyes. It usually took weeks, or even months for Anakin to understand Obi-Wan’s teachings when he was his Padawan.

And he couldn’t deny that it was still like that now.

Yet here he was, demonstrating the equivalent of months of meditative progress after a short, albeit evidently salient, conversation with you.

And oh how Obi-Wan desired to know what you said to him. The words you used, the phrasing, the voice.

What was it about you that finally got one of his teachings through to Anakin?

More than ever before, as Obi-Wan’s eyes locked intently with your figure, he wanted to understand you, deeply. Not just due to your connection to Qui-Gon, but because of your mystery. Your past was an enigma, known only by his late Master, a barren ice planet, and the Force itself. Your notable intelligence, pervasive empathy, and skilled abilities had to come from somewhere. From some experience. Some reality.

The General surmised that, in that short moment, Anakin’s eyes must have been unveiled due to a conversation entrenched in those very qualities that he too began to have a swelling affinity for.

He needed, no, was compelled to know about your past, who you truly were, and how you became the skilled Jedi presented before him.

All of these thoughts and intrigues flowered throughout Obi-Wan’s mind as he observed nearly a half an hour into the fight the subtle mistake in your lunged footing. Anakin redirected your block to the ground before tripping your errant leg out from under you with a quick flick of his own, plunging you back first to the milky wooden-lined tile below.

As the blue incandescents of his blade swiveled inches from your throat, Obi-Wan’s slightly widened eyes were further coaxed by the sudden breathy chuckle that escaped from your lips.

A gentle smile inched across Anakin’s countenance as he held his blade firm. To anyone else, his expression would have easily been excused for simple sportsmanship. A manner that aired accolades of ‘you fought well’ to the opponent.

But Obi-Wan knew him better than that. He knew that tempered grin. He’d seen it before, albeit rarely. The first time being at the Temple ten years ago, during one of their first training sessions. Anakin told him he had said the same to Qui-Gon, but his confidence and fortitude drove him to tell his new Master as well.

“I had a dream I was a Jedi. I went to Tatooine and freed all the slaves.”

And despite the following discussions on attachments, and the importance of letting them go, that smile remained. Primitively, Obi-Wan thought it was just Anakin’s version of a dreamy expression, or childlike wonder. But he learned after years of becoming his friend, that it meant nothing of the sort.

It was hope, he concluded. Hope in himself. Hope in doing the right thing.

And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that look in years.

But before he could dive further into what all this meant, you finally spoke up.

Following a few stabilizing coughs with elbows planted for support, you gazed at The Chosen One earnestly as your voice softly flowed from you.

“Now that’s a Jedi I’m proud to defend.”

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[hobiiwan]

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.

[djarinsbeskar]

PREQUEL ARC: PART 1 - THE DAGGER

A/N: I come bearing a brainchild. One I love deeply but am unsure of how it will be received! Straight off the bat I had planned for this to be something that satisfied those Din cravings we’ve all been having through a healthy dose of smut on the regular. BUT I wanted some background? Some context?? In my head we’ll have a few interactions i.e. chapters before the events of The Mandalorian and then kick off all guns blazing. Therefore, this pilot chapter is short, slow, and not a lot happens. (I should be in sales obv) but let’s get the ball rolling and see where it takes us!

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Language, slight detail on wounds and their treatment.

Summary:  You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

6ABY, Derelkann, Klatooine.

The first time you met him, he’d been caught with a dagger laced with raquor’daan venom.

You had been locking up the side entrance to the voluntary medical center you spent your time at while on Klatooine when there was a resounding clatter. One of the many piles of discarded junk was toppled by an armored leg; equally armored arms braced by the side of the center while the imposing cut of the figure steadied himself. You could just about hear the labored pants, distorted by the modulator of his helmet; a sound familiar enough to you to know it wasn’t from exertion, but pain. Once you’d determined he wasn’t an immediate threat, weighing the possibilities as quickly as you could, you walked deeper down the alley towards the male. It was dark, the only light coming from the streetlight at the front of the clinic and that which was reflected from the man’s helmet but still you went. 

“Are you hurt?” The helmet snapped around to stare at you and you immediately held up your hands, instinct screaming at you that to startle this man would be like cornering a cantankerous reek during mating season: a bad idea. 

An even worse idea when you realized that your cornered reek was Mandalorian.

Even though you couldn’t see his eyes through the tinted t-visor, you could feel them on you; watching, calculating, assessing what danger you might pose all in a split second before he pushed himself from the wall with a grunt.

“This is a clinic?” He rasped, your eyes instantly following his left hand as it moved to grip above the dull grey tasset that protected his right hip. Trying to smother the pain with pressure, or stem blood loss. You couldn’t tell with his glove and the dark duraweave in the way.

“Well?” He bit out impatiently, jarring you back from trying to assess him from a safe distance.

“Oh, oh yes, yes this is one of the New Republic’s medical outreach centers in the Outer Rim. Please,” you indicated to the door for him to follow you but instead his visor tipped to the left and right marginally. You frowned; he was trying to avoid being seen. Was he wanted? After six months on Klatooine, you had learned to stop asking questions of your patients, so you said nothing. Neither did he as he walked towards the door you had been in the process of locking.

You kicked back into gear. Even though you had mentally unwound for the evening after a twelve-hour shift, you were quickly able to refocus your mind and sped up to keep pace with the Mandalorian. A task, he would probably hate to know, that wasn’t as difficult as it might have been if he was unharmed. His movements were stiff, and it was obvious that he was trying to force his body to walk fluidly despite the obvious pain it was putting him in.

The side door opened onto the main corridor that encircled a number of examination rooms, operating theatres and wards, all pointing inward so that the same power generator could be used for the entire clinic from where it sat in the center. A common feature of New Republic operations; efficient and cost effective if not always the best option. It explained why it was so dim, despite being an all-hours clinic. If they put the majority of the technological functions of the center to rest at night when it wasn’t busy, there were less fear of it being temperamental during the day. Or Maker forbid, a full power outage.

Opening the door to the closest examination room, you quickly pulled off your jacket and tossed it onto the nearest unused flat surface, pointing to the exam table in the corner, “Sit down before you fall down. A diagnostics droid will be here in---”

“No droids.” He hissed; his helmet once more twisting to glare at you even as he lowered himself heavily to sit on the table.

“No droids? Look, the quickest way---”

“You do it. I don’t want any of those things near me, got it?” His words were slurring slightly, and any argument died on your tongue when you realized trying to argue your case was just going to waste time. He was losing consciousness.

You knew you could treat him without the assistance of droids, it was more for convenience and time. But even still, you had spent four years as a combat medic for the Rebel Alliance on the frontline, you knew a thing or two about getting things done quickly.

“Belt. Tasset. Off. Now.” Was all you said as you got down to business and pulled one of the drawers to the side open. You pulled a pair of gloves on before you flicked the examination light on, the sudden glare hurting your eyes momentarily as you approached the large warrior on your table.

“Don’t make me tell you again.” You warned as you adjusted the settings on the light to focus itself to the optimum location for you to get a better look. The duraweave above his armor was dark, blood no doubt but it looked dry. You could feel your skin humming with the anxiety of not knowing what sort of injury was waiting for you underneath that gloved hand but knew better than to try to remove the armor yourself. You might not be a Siniteen, but you weren’t stupid either, to try remove a Mandalorian’s armor without permission.

You could hear the heavy exhales from him through his nose as he pointedly stared away from you, as if his sheer willpower alone would be enough to deter you from your demands.

“Fine.” You bit out and immediately slapped the hand covering his side, the added pressure making the man grunt and his hand instantly retract from the contact on instinct before growling at you in an unknown tongue.

You tuned him out as you lifted a side of the single tear in the duraweave to reveal an angry and inflamed cauterized laceration, the swelling alone telling you how botched the job was. But it was the faint black veins that were slowly growing from the point of contact that worried you. You’d seen this kind of wound before, on Sriluur. It was commonly used in gang warfare that had engulfed the planet since the fall of the Empire.

“Fucking hell, what idiot cauterizes a poisoned wound?” You muttered to yourself, feeling around the edges of the gash lightly and earning a shaky exhale from your patient.

“Are you calling me an idiot?” The Mandalorian bit out as he turned his helmet to look down at you again, his hands fisted at the side of the table. The jolt of pain had revived him slightly.

“If you’re the one who cauterized it, then yeah. I’m surprised you haven’t already killed yourself accidentally with this level of carelessness.”

You stood before the warrior could respond but you heard his snarl through the modulator as you quickly began grabbing the supplies you’d need.

“I’m not going to tell you this won’t hurt because honestly, it’s going to massively suck. It would have been bad enough if you’d shown up with an open wound infected with raquor’daan poison, but we’re going to have to reopen yours if we want to be able to extract the poison.” You threw a sterilized scalpel into the metal pan that hovered beside you, along with gauze, several saline syringes and bactaspray before you walked back over to him.

The armored warrior said nothing and stared at you, a flash of awareness running through you suddenly; that he could so easily kill you, wounded or not.

The silence stretched for several long seconds before the Mandalorian reached down to unbuckle the utility belt around his waist unhurriedly and dropped it beside him so that it wasn’t in either of your way. It was a blatant challenge when he leaned back on his hands, his visor staying trained on you as you narrowed your gaze; the belt could come off, but the tasset stayed on.

In another situation, the act might have been almost erotic, with his fingers unbuckling the belt deliberately slow as if daring you to speak to the contrary. Silent, yet commanding your undivided attention as he made himself comfortable on the table. But alas, the man in front of you was poisoned and that tended to skew the situation away from sexy.

You arched a single brow, picking up the scalpel as you accepted the proverbial gauntlet thrown to you.

“Buckle up, pal.”

***

You were a demon. Hell spawn sent to torment him in his dying moments, doomed to have no peace before the end.

At least, that’s what Din told himself as you set the wicked sharp blade of the scalpel against his skin. The skill with which you sliced open the recently closed wound before he could even blink was both inspiring and chilling. He didn’t know what he expected a medic on Klatooine to look like, but it certainly wasn’t you. You looked much too soft, too young but the unwavering focus in your gaze as you gently pulled the seams of the wound apart told him of an inner steel.

His inner lamentations over demonic medics and soft eyes distracted him fabulously from the pain of the wound he’d received on Sriluur while picking up a quarry up until the hellion squeezed one side of the wound, making him shout at the blend of white hot agony and surprise at which the pain came.

“Fucking hell!” he growled, shifting under your ruthless touch.

“Stop moving, Mando. The poison needs to be pulled out and since you don’t want droids we’re doing it the old fashioned way.” You didn’t raise your eyes to him, even as he glared daggers at the top of your head, a hiss of pain leaving him again as you pressed along the exposed flesh towards the edge of the wound again, his head spinning at the expelled blood, the crimson laced with inky black.

A moment of relief followed as the medic cleaned the wound with the saline solution before she wiped it down and repeated the process of squeezing the poison out followed by a clean.

“Almost there… hang in there. You’re doing great.” Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet; the generic medical praise made his stomach churn. It was obvious you had slipped into autopilot, rehashing the same comments that made most patients relax while you shifted to try get the opposite edge. This one being significantly more difficult to clean as the piece of armour that he had flatly refused to take off, was making it awkward to move around.

“Son of a druk throwing skrog!” If he wasn’t in pain, he’d have chuckled at the absolute filth coming from your mouth, putting a pirate to shame while you blew a few stray hairs that had fallen from your tie and into your face during your attempts to shift yourself to better clean the wound. As it was, he just leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, reciting the Creed in his head to distract himself.

He couldn’t decide if you belonged fighting in a shady cantina or leading a triage camp on a battlefield. All he could determine, was that you had a mind that didn’t falter at the lack of technology or use of droids (a rarity these days), you had a mouth that’d make even Paz Vizsla blush and the spine to tell a Mandalorian to remove his armor without the least bit of hesitation. In a word; you were dangerous, and Din never saw the need to experience more danger than he already did, thank you very much.

He tilted his head when he heard you release a breath and sit back on your haunches, running the back of your hand across your forehead, eyes bright as they looked at your work. In what Din could only explain as being delusions brought on by overexposure to raquor’daan venom, a moment of attraction flashed in his mind, kindled when you looked back up at him before he wrangled the feeling away.

Dangerous. Definitely dangerous, he warned himself heatedly.

***

You let out a sigh of relief when the blood from the Mandalorians wound ran clean. It wasn’t a definitive answer to whether you had gotten all the raquor’daan venom out, but it was the majority. At least now you could sleep easy knowing some bactaspray would be able to handle the rest.

You rinsed the wound once more with saline and dried it gently with a clean pad before spraying it generously with the bacta.

“Now then, at least I can say a Mandalorian didn’t die on my watch.” You commented cheerfully, your more easy-going side surfacing now that the immediate danger had been dealt with.

The warrior was silent above you as he watched you peel open a bactapad to cover the wound for extra protection.

“Don’t cauterize it again until you’ve given the bacta at least eight hours with direct contact. That should kill off any of the poison I may have missed and will keep it sterile.” Pushed yourself to your feet, pulling off the stained gloves and throwing them into the pan to be disposed along with all the soiled gauze and pads you had used.

“You’re looking for light pink at the edges.” You told him as you continued to clear up your supplies, “If it’s still angry and swollen at the edges after twenty-four hours you’ll need to return to a medical facility. But I’ll throw in some antibiotics, so you hopefully don’t have to, raquor’daan venom is potent after all. I wouldn’t take any chances if you’re going to say you think it’s overkill.”

You smiled as he lowered his hand, having lifted it to interrupt you, no doubt. You could hear him grumble a bit while he pulled his belt back around his waist, grunting softly as the weight settled on his hip.

“How does it feel?” You probed from the sink, turning your head to look at him as you washed your hands.

“Better.” Was all you got from him but from what you could tell, he was a man of few words anyway.

You nodded and turned back to turn off the tap and started measuring out three days of antibiotics, keeping him in your peripheral as you saw him get to his feet, rolling his shoulders back and turning to look at you.

“Thank you. I appreciate the help.” He rasped awkwardly, obviously not accustomed to actually being helped in these kinds of situations. He fished out a pouch of credits when you approached him to hand him the antibiotics, causing you to frown.

“These medical centers were set up to offer free medical care to those that need it.” You mentioned as you moved out of his way to lean against the table he had been sitting on not five minutes prior.

“I… can only offer you my gratitude then.” He said, nodding to you once more before heading towards the door.

“One more thing Mando.” You called as he opened the door, the beskar helmet turning slightly to indicate he was listening,

“Try not to get yourself killed by accidentally sealing venom into your body again, yeah?”

You laughed at the indignant snort that left the man as he left without a word, his voice trailing back as he walked away,

“If I do, I know where to go.”

And with that, he disappeared back the way he came, no indication that one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy had even been in your examination room.

He was like a tornado, arriving and disappearing in a flash, the wreckage left behind not immediately obvious but when you would look back in the years to come, you’d laugh at how naïve you had been to think you could assist a Mandalorian and still remain an insignificant player on the grand stage of the galaxy.

[17wishbones]

Whew! It is now time to post the sequel for this little short series I made. Again, it’ll be no more than 7 chapters with the parts split if it’s a continuation. I’m super ecstatic to post this. I’ve been thinking, editing, and brainstorming ideas for this so I hope it reads well for you all. So please, come and enjoy KIMETSU DAIGAKU: SUNFLOWER’S BLESSING. The name may change in the future. Other than that, enjoy chapter 1! :> SN: All are welcome to read, but this is a POC reader insert, FYI. That is all! SN2: I studied Japanese for a time and studied abroad but that was years ago so excuse me if some of the written dialogue is rough. Wanted to show (reader) learning the language even if it’s real easy, conversational sentences. SN3: Rengoku in a button-up white shirt, khakis and a tie? *slams down credit card* - - - - - - - -                        Chapter I: RENGOKU-SENSEI, RENGOKU-SENSEI

Everyday, so far, was a surprise when it came to Rengoku.

You honestly didn’t know what to do with yourself. You had thought studying with Rengoku would be an after school sort of thing as you mingled in classes with other students but somehow, he was able to catch you from different periods for almost a whole week!

Mayamoto-sensei encouraged engagement with local students at the university so she allowed you to go with your new teacher everyday. Jealousy riled the others on how you were getting special treatment other than being the only brown-skinned girl on this trip. 

It bothered you sometimes, because it wasn’t anything like that! But every greeting from Rengoku was positive and enthusiastic. He greeted you kindly in both English and Japanese. He taught you well, proving that he can be strict, attentive, and instructive. Then, at the end, he’d engage you in short conversations to see how well he was doing teaching you the language and how well you were catching on.

“You did great today, _____! You’ve already made great strides on your flow!”

“That’s because you’re a great teacher, Rengoku-sensei. You did have me sweating bullets the first few days, though. I didn’t think I would catch up.” You closed and put your notebook in your bag. “I feel bad because the others don’t like that I get one-on-one time with you like this.”

“Ah, they’re jealous, I see!” He crossed his arms over his chest, his smile forever wide. It was this pose that had you thinking this was déjà vu, but you don’t know why. “Then it can’t be helped! Don’t worry yourself about what they think!”

“I shouldn’t?”

“Nn!” He locked eyes with you again and spoke proudly with his chest out. “Set your heart ablaze and move onward!” An explosive aura filled the room and warmed your body. “No matter what anyone else says, you do what you think in your heart is right!”

Your heart beat fast and your stomach fluttered with butterflies. ‘Why does he look at me like that? Why does he make me feel this way?’ His burning gaze made you feel like he only saw you in his world, but you shook the thought away.

“Is there something on your mind, _____?” 

Your eyes shifted, looking for anything else to say other than what was on your mind. It’d be weird to just be like, ‘hey, I like you and would jump your bones anytime!’ Instead, you found the clock and remembered. “I wanted to visit the flower shop, and see the flower arrangements. I saw one on my way to the girls’ dorm.”

“Let me accompany you!” Rengoku’s open offer made you blush. “I freed myself for the evening just in case!”

This shocked you. “W-what about your schoolwork?”

“I finished it all this morning before meeting with you!”

“And your… colorful friends??” You saw him speak with a few interesting people but he quickly came to you the moment you walked into the fray.

“I have already informed them of my plans this morning!” Your face cracked. He had an answer for everything! “I want to be a good teacher for you and help you as much as I can!”

“Why, Rengoku-sensei?” You asked, curious at what his reason could be.

“Because I like you, _____-chan!”

Your eyes almost popped out. ‘Like me? Like… ‘like me’ like me? Or just like being around me? Whew, boy, you need to stop playing with me because I don’t think my heart can take all of this!’

“Are you ready to go to the flower shop?”

“Y-Yes! Let me get my things, Rengoku-sensei.”

“Kyōjurō.” He corrected you.

“Oh! Kyōjurō…” you circled through the honorifics that he taught you, trying to remember which one was appropriate. “...-kun?”

“Hmm?” He sounded, wanting you to repeat yourself once more.

“Kyōjurō-kun, right?”

A small blush warmed his fair cheeks as he nodded in agreement. “Nn!” He hadn’t expected you to call him that fondly and it ignited his determination to get close to you. A month was not enough time, but he was going to make it work.

You both headed down the slope of the school, crossing a lone shop with beautiful arrangements set everywhere. You ‘ooh’ed and ‘awe’d at each flower that Rengoku named outloud. You repeated, of course. You felt like you were in your own heaven as you gazed at, touched, and smelled the flowers.

You were so happy.

What caught your eyes next were the large, golden blooms held high on long stalks. “Kyōjurō-kun,” he looked over and an overwhelming feeling washed over him when you stood next to the sunflowers, grinning from ear to ear as you asked him, “What’s a sunflower called?”

‘_____, if I could name them after you.’ He walked up next to you, bathing himself in your presence. “Himawari.”

“Himawari. Such a beautiful name for a beautiful flower.”

“I think so, too.” Rengoku wasn’t talking about the sunflower, however.

“Ah, konnichiwa,” you greeted the florist, “Kore wa ikura desu ka?” (How much is this?)

“Go-hyaku-jyuu yen desu.” (500 yen.)

“That’s like… 500 yen, yeah? I think I got it.” As you looked in your bag for the coins instead of breaking the 1000 yen bill.

“Arigatou gozaimasu!” (Thank you so much!) Rengoku bowed and received your wrapped sunflower before handing it to you. “Douzo, _____-chan!” (Here, _____!)

“Ah, Kyōjurō-kun, you didn’t have to buy it for me, but thank you so much!”

“Why wouldn’t I want to buy something for you?” He questioned as you both left the shop. “As I said, I like you, _____-chan! And I want to spend time with you outside of school.”

“Like… together?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, well, honestly, I’d be down for that! Since boys aren’t allowed in the girls dorm, where do you want to go? What do you want to do?”

“I want to kiss you,” he answered shamelessly, “Hold you, and never let you go!” You both made eye contact on the walk back. “Though, I have been holding myself back in case you didn’t like me.”

His words electrified you and he hadn’t even touched you yet in any way whatsoever. “It’s not like you’re handsome or anything…”

“You think I’m handsome?” He beamed suddenly.

You tried playing coy but this kind of mannerism didn’t work for you and, honestly, you liked Rengoku’s straightforwardness. “Yes, I do. When we first met, I liked you instantly. You made me feel so nervous and so excited at the same time.”

“Oh?” He thought for a moment. “Can I hold your hand?” He asked sweetly. “I don’t want you to feel nervous around me, only excited! Happy! Loved!”

“Are you sure that’s okay? Won’t people stare more than they already do at us?”

“I don’t care if they do or don’t! Let them stare! As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.” He gently linked his rough hands with your soft ones, locking them. “I feel I am the luckiest man alive right now because you’re here with me!”

“How many girls have you told that to?”

“Only you, my Sunflower!” 

You choked on your own spit. “Your Sunflower? You’re so sure I’m not taken?”

“Yes and yes! I hope to have you for myself as well.”

“For my short time here?”

Rengoku shook his head. “Forever.”

‘Oh my god. Did he just charm his way into my heart?’ You felt the sincerity in his words and saw the genuity in his owlish eyes. “This all really feels like déjà vu.”

“Déjà vu?”

“Like this happened before. It’s… familiar.”

“Nn! It’s fate that we met as we did!”

‘Fate, huh?’ You didn’t notice that you arrived at the girls’ dorm. “Oh, we’re here!” You thought to loosen your hand from his but your arm suddenly didn’t work with you. He wasn’t letting go either. “Our plans tonight are…?”

“Nani o shitai desu ka?” (What do you want to do?)

“Uh!” Always catching you off guard like that kept you on your toes. Besides, practice made perfect. “Karaoke… ni ikitai desu yo!” (I want to go to Karaoke!)

“Nanji ni ikitai desu ka?” (What time do you want to go?)

Your thinking of literally translating what you wanted to say from English to Japanese made each response a little slow. It took time to gain fluency. “Hachiji ii desu ka?” (8 o’clock okay?)

“Close! “Hachiji de ii desu ka” but you did a great job nonetheless! And yes, 8 is fine with me.”

“So…” you felt reluctant to leave him now even if for a few hours, “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll wait for you to change and pack up some clothes!” You looked at him incredulously. “As I said, I want to kiss you, hold you, and never let you go! At least for a night!” Though he spoke his desire, ‘Am I asking too much from her all of a sudden? I can’t read the cute and twisted expressions on her face yet. It is her choice to—’

“Let’s do it!” Rengoku’s mouth dropped in surprise. “The dorm gates close at 9pm anyway, for whatever reason, while the boys are allowed to go out and do as they please with the gate open.” You huffed, annoyed. “Oh. Where do you live?” 

“I live in an apartment 20 minutes down the road.”

“All by yourself?”

“Mhm! I can’t wait to show you! So be quick, Sunflower!” He happily guided you across the gate by the small of your back.

You held in your panic as you got a set of clothes for tomorrow, gathering what you could quickly so you didn’t cross the other students and was out and about with Rengoku as soon as possible.

Honestly, you barely avoided them as you came outside, took him by the hand, and rushed off. They were sure to talk about you, or maybe not at all. You had an over friendly and trusting disposition to a fault, but you were adventurous and open minded. - - - - - - - - - - -  Chapters: 1 (Part 1)/ (Part 2)/ (Part 3) | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Ten

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+, angst, mentions of war, military technicalities, character held fugitive

A/N: Heya everyone! The update to this series took too long. I had kind of lost my muse, but I'm back at it again. Third-last part to the series really. Lots of things happening in this chapter, you might even hate me a little. 👀

And as always, big thanks to @thelastsock for beta reading this series. I love you so so much babe 💖

**divider by @firefly-graphics

<Chapter Nine

Title: Chapter Ten

Liv looked from one captain to another, her hands behind her back as she was commanded to stand at ease. The tension in the room was palpable. Standing to her one side was Pepps, watching the cold exchange between his superiors with his hands resting on his vest. While on the other side, Liv’s and Alex’s second-in-command stood with a straight face.

“He cannot be trusted.” Alex banged the table with his hand, the cup of coffee placed on the metal surface shook with the impact.

Sy looked pissed. He was glaring at the maps and pictures strewn on the table, his face descending into a frown. His lips pressed together and his nostrils flaring the longer he stared. Liv knew something was wrong. She had seen Sy get angry before, but today he seemed like he was hanging by the last nerve.

“I say we grill him until he squeaks.” Alex stood up straight, looking at Liv for a split second before he averted his gaze. “You should have been more careful when you approved of the insider info.”

Alex’s words were laced with absolute venom, the caustic cut of his statement caused Liv to stare at her feet. His tight grip on her arms last night had left bruises on her skin which throbbed on hearing his words. She took a deep breath and looked up again, trying to avoid looking at Alex and concentrating on Sy’s face. Mahmoud was their friend, she was left perturbed by the intel blowing up, but she never second guessed Mahmoud's intentions about helping them.

She thought Sy would disagree with Alex. Sy knew how much effort she had poured into helping the Special Forces to combat the militia. There had been days when she had voiced her feelings to him about staying back at the camp. The sole purpose of her coming to Warhorse had already ended. They had been lagging behind on the food truck retrieval, with her chopper destroyed, her best friend dead, the only thing keeping her in Baqubah was Sy.

"No one touches a hair on that man." Sy's voice was authoritative. Looking at Alex with narrowed eyes glinting with ferocious vexation, Sy spoke again. "You want to stir unrest amongst the people who decide to help us. I am not going to allow that."

"It was you who asked for assistance. Wasn't it because you knew you failed?"

The air in the room vibrated with challenged machismo from both Captains when Alex questioned Sy's ability to handle his job. Liv could see Sy was suppressing his fury, letting his hands hang to the side. She had to ask herself in that moment, was she the reason why they were in disagreement or was it her guilty conscience?

"What do you suggest?" Sy asked with gritted teeth.

"We go to the leader's holding and attack. Cut them at their roots."

Like her lips couldn't stop themselves, she stepped forward and blurted out, "We shouldn't do that."

Two sets of fiery eyes looked at her in that instant. She gulped as she glanced from one man to another. Sy averted his gaze to look to the side with a scowl that pierced her heart. It affected her deeply, confused her even, but she had an important issue at hand.

"Sir, we don't know whether the locals would help us or not. And ambushing the militants, with their last known residence in the city, I don't think we should endanger-"

Her sentence was cut short when Alex covered the distance between them and stood over her. She took a step back, heavily reminded of how small she felt, how she cowered away from him last night.

"You do not speak out of turn, Sergeant. Have you forgotten how this works?"

"Alex…" She whispered, feeling weaker than ever under his piercing stare. Liv met Sy's cold stare over Alex's shoulder and felt dispirited with the lack of support in the room.

"You're dismissed, Sergeant." Alex spat out the words, glaring at her with his sea green orbs.

She spared a glance to her second-in-command and nodded her head, trying to avoid the creeping sensation of inferiority rearing it's head. Her eyes quickly flicked between Alex and Sy before she walked out the door, resisting the urge to look back.

***

Liv grabbed her gun and slung it across her shoulder. Picking up her helmet from the table, she strapped it to her chin, securing it tightly to sit on her head.

"Go ahead. Mount up the ammo, I'll be out in a moment." She told her men who ran out with the boxes of ammunition to load up the Humvee. On her way to Sy's office, she came across soldiers from other units, walking in hurried steps as they were about to roll out.

After she was asked to leave, Sy and Alex had come to the decision to ambush the militant leader. She had been ordered to ready her unit as they were to attack the enemy with full force. She had her doubts but after how Alex treated her, she knew her opinions meant nothing. She had gone off to find Mahmoud's whereabouts and was informed that a team had been sent to bring him to the camp.

Liv reached Sy's office and stared at the door for a long minute. She had to talk to him, ask him if he was okay. She had to see him before they left for the desert which was about to turn into a warzone. Knocking at the door, Liv entered the small office and found Sy putting on his combat vest with a sulk on his face. He looked up the instant she crossed the threshold to the room, staring at her for a moment before going back to his task.

"Sy," Liv closed the door behind her, covering the distance between them and latching onto his back for a hug. She breathed in his scent, feeling warmth at the contact, only then realizing she had missed him tremendously. "Is everything okay?" She whispered, trying to keep the calm of their shelter intact, away from the chaos outside.

Sy did not respond, detaching himself from her embrace to grab his holster from the table. Liv watched him with confusion, feeling the coldness that was emitting from him.

"Sy-" She began but he spoke before she could finish her sentence.

"It is Alex, isn't it? The friend who you screwed up with?" His voice was sharp like the edge of the sword, cutting into her heart with each syllable. "Is that what you do, fuck your Captain where you go?"

Liv's heart sank, his words burned like hot metal on her skin. She stared at the back of his head, going over his words over and over again in her mind. Sy turned around to look at her, eyebrows scrunched, and an infuriating gaze accusingly boring into her.

"What?" She could only ask, left stunned and hurt.

"I saw you both last night, up on the roof. Is that what you wanted me to see? Let me know subtly that you didn't love me?"

"No." She asserted. Taking a step forward, she reached out her hand to hold his but he pulled back the instant her fingertip grazed his skin.

"You take me for a fool? You think you can string me along like that?"

This time Sy stepped forward, walking until her back hit the opposite wall. Liv could feel the sting of tears in her eyes. She could see the hurt, anger, scepticism in Sy's flaming blue orbs and she wanted nothing but to tell him what the truth was. But he caged her in with his arms on either side of her face, leaning so close to her face that his breath washed over her skin.

"I told you I love you, I asked you so many times if there was anyone else in your life. I gave you my everything." Sy closed his eyes taking in heavy breaths for a moment. "And this is how you reward me. Seeing you in his arms…"

Liv was rendered speechless. Her tears had overflowed, trickling down her cheeks in a hot trail. She brought her hand to grab onto his shirt when, shaking her head to deny his accusations when he pulled back.

"When we are done today, you leave for Baghdad, Sergeant." Sy grabbed his gun and his pistol from the table and walked out the door, slamming it behind him and tearing Liv's spirit to shreds.

***

“Sergeant?” Liv heard the gruff voice of her private speaking from above her. She opened her eyes, clutching her head in her hands as a buzzing noise reverberated in her ears. The hot desert sun blinded her eyes as she took in her surroundings. Looking at her arms she noticed her skin was matted with a thick black concoction of sweat, dirt and blood.

“Let me help you.” The private said, putting his hand on her back and gently pushing her to sit up. Liv shook her head when she sat erect, blinking her eyes several times until everything came to focus.

The compound was abuzz with people, soldiers in a hurry to mount the cars with ammo. She saw a few of the men sitting on the ground with injuries visible on their skin. Some were being given water and helped to stand up, while others were just lying on the ground, groaning in pain and agony.

Liv ached in several places with her head fuzzy from the hit she had taken to the side of her face. But even in that incoherent haze, she could figure out which vehicle had not made it back to the compound. She refused to believe he was dead. But her blood ran cold when she thought it was a possibility.

The last Liv remembered was running towards Sy’s unit with her men flanking her sides. The RPG had barely missed Sy’s truck but was close enough to overturn it on impact with the ground. Their envoy had stopped to cover fire Liv and her unit, while they made their way towards the upturned car lying on its side. Everything was only a few feet away when the militants had ambushed them from the side, forcing them to take shelter behind the remains of blown-up vehicles.

Gunfire had raged everywhere. Bullets were hitting the rusted metal parts of the car’s frame, missing Liv's body by inches. Liv had advised over the comms to cover her as she saw movement behind the smoky remnants of Sy’s truck. She could hear Alex’s commands over the other voices; he was sending the rest of them back to the camp, saying how his unit was only a few clicks away from her location and they would be there to assist her team. She could hear them trying to get anyone from Sy’s unit to respond but all they got in return was deafening static.

Liv could feel her heart beating in her ears with the fear of losing Sy and with the probability of dying herself. She had run behind a boulder, taken cover and waited for her troops to join her. She had looked up from behind the stony mass when all of a sudden, the back of a rifle had come from the side and hit her temple, knocking her out cold.

Groaning at the memory, Liv’s hand instinctively went up to the place of impact on her forehead. She felt the crusted ruddy line dripping down the side of her face, winching when her fingers touched the sore spot. Bracing her weight on the outstretched hand of her private, Liv stood up from the ground on shaky legs. She thanked the private for his help, dismissing him to look after others needing assistance. She watched him jog away when her eyes spotted Alex with his Lieutenant.

She had no idea what brought on the rage inside her, but her insides boiled when she looked at him. She stormed towards Alex, throwing her helmet to the side. She briefly took note of her men staring at her wide eyed, halting their activities to watch her figure cross the length of the compound with furious eyes and heavy steps.

Pulling at his Kevlar vest, Liv turned Alex around to face her, ignoring the shock on his Lieutenant's face at her disdainful behavior. Feeling lost, scared and angry at the one person who had fucked up the sanctuary she had built with the one she loved, Liv wanted to ask him only one question.

"Did you leave him on purpose? Did you leave Sy to die?"

“Sergeant! You better watch your words.” Came the Lieutenant’s order, coming to stand in front of her face. But Liv did not pay him any heed, she looked into Alex’s eyes, searching for her answer.

Alex clenched his jaw; his lips were pressed tightly in a thin line. Liv waited for him to answer, listening to Alex’s heavy breaths and keeping her eyes fixed on his. He scrunched his face, the lines near his nose deepening, until he moved to come closer to her. Liv had to crane her neck to look him in the eye, but she held her ground.

“Sergeant Ross, you do realize you are talking to your Captain?”

The anger in her was dissolving and was getting overcome by fear; fear of losing Sy. She felt her hands tremble as she balled them into fists with her eyes beginning to sting with the forming tears.

“We have to go back to get him, Alex.” She spoke in a raggedly calm manner. “We don’t leave our men behind.”

Liv hated him for many reasons, but right now all she needed was a friend. She spared a glance to the Lieutenant and then at the others standing behind them. Alex let out a heavy breath and momentarily closed his eyes before tapping her on the shoulder.

“Get to the medic, you’re bleeding.” He bluntly instructed, before turning to talk to the Lieutenant and walking towards the building which housed the office. Like on command, a trickle of blood trailed down Liv’s eyebrows, hanging onto her eyelashes before she swiped her hand over her forehead.

Fresh crimson liquid on her hand glistened under the sun, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the dusty winds. She felt her eyes blur for a second, her footing became unsteady until a set of strong hands came to hold onto her arms.

“It’s okay, Sarge, I got you.” She had no idea who it was, only that it wasn’t her friend or her lover.

***

No one could stay calm after returning from the warzone. No one could rest.

Liv had passed out again on the makeshift medical center’s bed. The docs said it was because of the blow to her head and the bleeding coupled with heat, but Liv wanted to add a few more things to the list. Topping everything else was the fact that it was almost night time and they were yet to find out if Sy was dead or alive.

She watched the rusty old blades of the ceiling fan whirr with metallic creaks. She looked to her side and noticed the groaning man beside her. He had his arm bandaged and his eye looked swollen shut. She recognized him to be from Alex’s unit, one of his privates maybe, someone who was out in the warzone for the first time.

Taking a deep, shaky breath and willing herself to sit up, Liv slung her legs from the edge of the bed. She touched the bandage on her forehead, dabbing at the bump of the material on her skin. She grabbed her shirt hanging from the metal railing of the bed and started putting it on over her t-shirt.

“You okay, man?” She placed a gentle hand over the private’s shoulder, nodding her head at him when he replied with a weak ‘yes’. She was about to ask him if he needed anything when the ruckus from outside the window pulled her attention.

Liv was staring wide-eyed at the commotion through the infirmary's window. Someone was being dragged by the collar of their shirt into the centre of the compound to where Alex and his men stood. Without wasting any time, Liv buttoned her shirt and ran out the infirmary, ignoring the protests of the doctor present in the room. She rushed down the stairs towards the exit, out into the yard to find Mahmoud pushed to stand in front of the men.

“Mahmoud! What is happening?” She ran to stand next to her friend, holding onto his arm as he stumbled forward. He had scrapes on his face and his nose was bleeding. His camo shirt was disheveled, the buttons on the front straining against their holes.

Disregarding her question, the man from Alex’s unit turned his scowling face towards the Captain. “We found him making his way to the camp. He refused to come with us as a fugitive and when he resisted-”

“You hit him?” Liv looked towards the poor man who had been nothing but helpful all this time. Sy always counted on him, he always told her how Mahmoud was like the beacon of hope for restoring some sort of peace to this place. “Sir, Mahmoud has been helping us all along. He has been important for everything that we have accomplished here.”

Alex crossed his arms over his chest while regarding Liv with contempt. “This man and his intel have led to my men getting injured. He was the one who set you up with the insider who betrayed you and now, your Captain’s missing. And yet you trust this guy?” He nearly spat out the last words to her, anger flaming in his eyes as he stared at Mahmoud’s form.

“Believe me Sergeant, I did not know about the boy. I did not know he would betray you.” Mahmoud held onto Liv’s arm, quivering in his place as he spoke. “I am not lying. I saw him myself. Captain and his men are alive and they’ve taken them captive.”

“How do you expect us to believe you?!” The man from before bellowed, grabbing Mahmoud’s collar again and yanking him backwards. Liv was quick to react, holding onto the soldier’s arm, grasping it tightly and pulling it away from Mahmoud’s shirt.

“Stop it! That is not how we treat them!” Liv turned to look at Mahmoud, ignoring the wild thumping in her heart. Her hands were beginning to tremble again, but she was also filled with the warmth of relief in finding out that her Sy was alive. “Mahmoud, please do not lie. You know Sy trusted you, more than he trusted anyone from around here.” She took his hands in hers, looking the man in the eyes with a pleading gaze. “Is Sy alive?”

“Yes, Sergeant. But-

“But what?” The beating of her heart was so loud in her ears, she was certain everybody could hear it. She had a sinking feeling in her gut, that whatever Mahmoud was going to say next would move the ground beneath her feet.

“They-the leader, he plans on executing the Captain and his men… make an example of them. To show what happens to anyone who helps the Americans.”

Blood drained from Liv’s body the moment those words left Mahmoud’s mouth. He went on to describe things he saw, but everything was a blur after that. Liv took a few staggered steps away, looking at the ground under her feet and feeling dread seeping into every fiber of her being. She had to pull in trembling breaths through her thoughts to finally calm her nerves.

Sy was hurt, they had beaten him. They were going to execute him.

Liv just wanted to crumple to the floor, lose all semblance of sanity, her mind fixated on how they had ended things. But she closed her eyes and willed herself to focus on her training. She had to save him or die trying. She loved the man and now that she knew he was alive, she had to give her everything to bring him back.

“Sir,” She said with a renewed fervor. Alex and his men looked at her at the same time. She could be reading wrong, but it seemed like Alex’s eyes had softened, the fury in his eyes was replaced with concern. “If you could hear me out sir, I have a plan.”

🌟 Series Masterlist 🌟

Chapter Eleven>

[13uswntimagines]

Works Like a Charm (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

Request: reader with the team where r falls asleep any and everywhere and on everyone? just super cute friendship and stuff

Authors’s note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​ cause without her this would not have happened! I hope you enjoy and totally feel free to hit me up with comments and questions or if you just wanna say Hi!

You were the baby of the team, and being the baby came with very special privileges. The team knew of your sleeping issues, and the various methods you and your therapist had implemented (including scheduling yourself to avoid all blue light sources for hours before bed and sleeping with a stuffed animal (the famed stuffed Triceratops, Roary) each night,) to help fall asleep and stay asleep at night. But it had only been a week since you had actually looked for help, so it was too early to expect results, as you told them (and yourself) repeatedly. 

More often than not you found yourself sitting on a couch, Roary cuddled close to your chest, watching the rerun of whatever game had been on, desperately waiting for your brain to turn off so you could sleep. That was the exact scene Ashlyn had stumbled upon. She glanced at the clock, wincing at the bold 2:15 that blinked back at her as she rubbed her eyes. 

“What are you doing awake kid? Thought you weren’t supposed to do blue light after 9?” She asked softly, plopping down beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You shrugged, leaning further into her side. You closed your eyes, burying your head into her warm arm.

“I literally laid awake for three hours. I tried not to focus on anything, or to focus on breathing, but I kept replaying the game in my head. So I thought I would watch it, see if rewatching the ending would help my thoughts, Idk, end too?” You moved so that your head was on her lap and you looked up at her. “Did anything I just said make sense out of my head?”

She nodded sadly down at you, her hands, stroking your hair slowly. You closed your eyes again, enjoying the feeling. You always wanted to be a cat when you were little. Your thoughts became slightly fuzzier, interrupted slightly when Ashlyn spoke. 

“Don’t fall asleep here kid. Ali will kill us both if we sleep on the couch,” The blond keeper 

“Just a few more minutes please?” You asked softly, cracking your eyes open. 

“Alright. Just a few,” she nodded. 

Coincidentally that’s exactly where Ali would find you the next morning. Cuddled into Ashlyn's stomach, snoring softly. From that moment, it became a team rule. It didn’t matter where you slept, as long as you were sleeping. 

*****

You were never going to live this down. Emily took a stealthy photo of you slumped against Alex’s arm, the climax of Black Panther’s fight taking place in the background. Kelley guarded your other side like a pitbull, just daring anyone to try and mess with you. 

“How did you get her to fall asleep Alex? She was so hyped up when we got here!” Emily said way too loudly, shrinking slightly when the veterans shushed her. 

“I literally just wrapped my arms around her while Kelley braided with her hair,” Alex whispered, glancing down to see that you weren’t moving before she continued, “she kept moving too much for Kelley to get the braid straight, so I just held her still like I do with my niece for family pictures. Once she stopped struggling, it was instant.” 

“Works like a charm every time. Who knew the world’s most feared striker could be turned into a puppy with some cuddles and pets?”  Megan laughed softly. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s hilarious. Now shush and watch the movie,” Kelley said, flicking Megan playfully. More softly she added, “you’ll wake her.”

That shut the group up quickly. No one wanted to get in trouble for interrupting the little amount of sleep you got. 

****

You were sitting next to Alyssa on the bench during practice, bouncing your leg you waited for your turn to run. It had been a stressful week. Everyone was preparing for the first real game of the season and even the usual pre-practice locker room chat had been tenser than usual. 

Stress usually meant one thing for you. No sleep. It was like your brain had a death wish and just wanted to make itself more miserable. The dark circles didn’t go unnoticed by your teammates, hence why you had been regulated to the bench with the keeper when you weren’t running drills. 

Alyssa started humming absentmindedly. You looked over at her. She was biting the edge of her lip, watching Becky run drills. She stopped and looked over, seemingly realizing that she was making noise. 

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“No, it’s really pretty! Please don’t stop on my account,” You said smiling and looking back towards the team as Alyssa started singing under her breath. “MmmhummmM, mmmhummM, So this is love. So this is what makes life Divine.” 

You swayed to the tune, closing your eyes, once. You opened them again, more slowly. Then you felt yourself blink twice more, more slowly this time. It took slightly more effort to open them again. You stared hard at the field, not noticing Alyssa scootch closer to you on the bench. Then you blinked again. 

 “Alright Naeher, you’re up,” AD called jogging over to the bench from where the rest of the keepers were practicing. She stopped short at the glare Alyssa sent her way. 

“Don’t think I’m going to be practicing PK’s today,” She said softly, gesturing to you with her free arm. The other arm was wrapped around you, keeping you from falling off the bench like you had almost done when you fell asleep. AD smiled, but then ran back to the group, unwilling to disturb you either. 

Maybe the pitch wasn’t the best place to fall asleep, but with the soft looks the team was sending you, they all knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Your health was important and they would help however they could. 

*****

It was like a rule on the bus. One didn’t fall asleep unless they wanted to get mustaches drawn on their face, or their cleats stolen. The bus ride to the practice field was long and supposed to be a time for team bonding, though it almost always ended up with Alex and Kelley sharing earbuds to listen to Hosier or Haley Kiyoko, Krashlyn watching some weird reality show, Megan Christen and Tobin discussing Re-ink stuff and the youngins causing havoc on the back, while Becky and Alyssa did their crosswords and Carli watched the road, trying not to get car sick. 

You and Sam had seats across the aisle from each other but would sit next to each other on trips like these, playing hangman or Super Mario bros on switch. Today was one of those days where you slid across the aisle, pen in hand, looking for entertainment to keep the boredom away. 

“That’s not fair. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is not an acceptable word to describe winning the World Cup,” Sam snorted, shaking her head as you finished the hangman. 

“You’re one to talk. Last time you gave me “jazzy” as a word to describe how it would feel to meet Mia Hamm. You realize that J and Z are like, some of the least commonly used letters in the alphabet?” You exclaimed, your hands waving wildly as you tried to prove your point. 

“It was a response to the fact that you picked a word that doesn’t exist,” Sam rolled her eyes. 

“Wacknut is totally a word,” you huffed crossing your arms. 

“You know what ducky, I think,”  Sam paused, covering her mouth as a giant yawn split her face, “You’re a wacknut.” She finished, exhaling and wiping a tear from one of her eyes. 

“Stop that, I didn’t sleep last night,” you said, yawning unintentionally yourself.

“Told you not to watch that last episode of Game of Thrones,” Sam said, stretching her arms slightly in front of her. 

“You were right, it was a terrible ending, and a disgrace to television, but I had to know” You mumbled, your voice growing soft, and trailing off towards the end.  

“I know, we were all let down by that one,” Sam said, leaning her head on top of yours, comfortingly. “I should take my own advice more often, 6 hours of sleep is just not enough.”

“Hmm, I know why they call you the tower of power, you’re soooo warm,” You nuzzled into her shoulder, her heartbeat soothing you. 

“Did anyone ever tell you the story of how I got that name?” Sam asked, stifling another yawn.

“No,” you echoed her yawn. 

“Good, they never tell it right. Once upon a time, there was a badass named me. The end.”

“Hmm,”

****

“So I know that we’re never supposed to wake Y/N up unless there’s an emergency, but we have practice and there aren’t any rules pertaining to Sammy,” Emily said too loudly, staring at where you were cuddled into Sam’s chest. The bus had stopped a few minutes ago and had slowly unloaded. 

“Yeah, they’re kind of impossible to separate without waking both of them up,” Lindsey nodded, showing Alex a picture she had gotten from above you. Not only was Sam’s head on you, the two of you were holding hands in your sleep, and your other hand was tangled on the end of her shirt like your dreaming mind had mistaken it for a blanket and tried to pull it up. 

“I have no problem carrying ducky, but I’m not tall enough to get Sam too,” Kelley said, scratching her head. 

Behind them, Dawn walked back onto the bus. “What’s the holdup people? We have a practice to get to! I’m not defending you to Vlatko if you’re late again Sonnett.”

You jumped at the noise, jostling Sam awake too. You blinked at the woman, eyes wide and suddenly alert, searching for danger. “What happened!” 

“Whoa, slow down killer. You fell asleep on Sam and she fell asleep on you,” Emily smirked as your cheeks turned blood red. 

“We just arrived to practice. You’re not late yet,” Lindsey said, punching Sam lightly in the shoulder and turning to grab her bag. “You’re lucky Sam that you had a sleeping meep meep to protect you, otherwise you totally would have been pranked for napping on the bus. 

“There’s no way in hell that meep meep fell asleep before our favorite tower of power.” Emily bantered back, shoving Lindsey off of the bus. 

“We better go,” You said softly, playing with the hand that was still intertwined with Sams. 

“Yeah, probably. Remind me to sleep with you again sometime. That was the best nap I had in ages,” Sam said absentmindedly stretching her neck to each side. Your eyes went wide. Then she froze, realizing what she had said. “Wait. That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine Sammie, I know what you meant, and I’d love that,” you bumped her shoulder with yours, then grabbed your bag. “Race you to the pitch!” 

Sam shook her head as if to clear it as you launched yourself off the bus. Then she grabbed her bag and followed you, sprinting to try and catch up. 

 Yep, the team would do everything they could to make sure their little meep meep got the best sleep she could. 

[roselen-mylady]

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part one

Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life.

They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected. Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occured she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

32332 days, 1 hour, 6 minutes and 23 seconds. 

Surely that wasn't right. 

"What does it say, Buck?" Steve's voice cut through his confused daze. Bucky held out his right wrist letting Steve observe the outrageously long number of days his poor friend would have to wait. Steve's eyes widened and he took hold of Bucky's arm, trying to see for himself. 

Bucky had been too dazed to do the math but the alarming number caused him to fall into despair as he dropped his arm numbly. 

It was his 18th birthday and two minutes ago he had been just as excited as most people were during their coming of age. But as he stared at the countdown on his arm, watching as the seconds slowly ticked by, he couldn't help but feel hopeless. 

"That's like 80 years." Steve gasped, realizing after the fact that his statement probably wasn't the most helpful. Most people didn't even live to see 80, let alone wait that long for a soulmate. Was it some sick joke? Was he destined to be alone? 

Steve couldn't even find words to uplift his friend's spirits, making them fall into an upsetting silence. They sat there for a few minutes before Bucky stood from his chair with a soul crushing expression. 

"I think I'm gonna call it a day." He said, unsuccessfully hiding his tearful gaze. Steve stood reluctant to leave but Bucky was insistent. He was never one to be weak in front of others, especially not one he devoted his every waking moment to protecting.  

Unsurprisingly, the celebration between the two friends ended and Bucky managed to find himself alone for the rest of his birthday. What was supposed to be a joyous day had quickly soured as he mourned the loss of someone he hadn't even met. 

Did he do something wrong?

What made him deserve such a cruel fate? 

•••

It took years for Bucky to somewhat accept his countdown and he had developed a habit to cover it up. He was able to almost forget about it even if only for a while before he eventually needed to expose his wrist. It was a horrible feeling knowing he would most likely die before meeting his soulmate. Even with medical advances, the odds were against him. 

Steve found that while most days Bucky was alright and things seemed normal, he still had bad days. Steve tried his best to distract Bucky on these days and avoided the subject of soulmates all together even when his own countdown appeared. Of course Bucky had been able to force a smile and express his happiness for his friend but Steve knew it wasn't real. 

He wasn't sure when Bucky started to move on but he remembered it was sometime in their mid-twenties. He had been ecstatic upon hearing Bucky so cheerful after so long being depressed. But Bucky's methods weren't the best or healthy for that matter. 

Bucky had decided that even though he'd never find his soulmate, it didn't mean he had to be alone so he started to become a lady's man of sorts. Oh, how Steve wished he hadn't. 

He couldn't exactly object to his friend's behavior, it was fairly common for men to date the way he had and it wasn't like Bucky was inappropriate in his relationships. Yet rather selfishly, Steve hated the idea. He knew his friend's behavior was only a way of coping with his countdown but part of him still felt that Bucky's countdown meant something. The idea made Steve ashamed but he was a firm believer that fate and soulmates were definite and that Bucky would find her. 

Perhaps it was that guilt he felt that kept him from saying anything about it when Bucky appeared with a new girl on his arm each time. Eventually Steve grew used to being the tag along and any opposition he felt faded away. 

Once he was used to Bucky's flings he wondered why he didn't try to stick to one girl. He must've cared enough about at least one of them to want to start a real relationship. But he realized first hand why Bucky had made an effort not to get too close. 

"He's my soulmate, Bucky!" The girl shouted, throwing down the picture frame she had been holding. Steve flinched at the sound of shattering glass, feeling embarrassed to be caught in the middle of the couple's fight. Inside the frame had been a picture of Bucky and the woman smiling while holding one another. It was horribly ironic as Steve looked to his friend, his heart wrenching at the devastated expression on Bucky's face. 

"Soulmates are a lie! It's not fate! It's not destiny! It's some idiotic hoax we all let control our lives!" Bucky yelled back. The girl fumed at his comeback, her face clearly expressing her anger. 

Steve couldn't blame either side. People had been raised to believe that their soulmates were tied into their lives forever and whether the relationship was romantic or platonic you could never escape them. He couldn't wait to meet his own soulmate and start a life with her much like the poor girl before him wanted. But Steve knew that Bucky's situation was to blame for his resentfulness not because he actually believed what he said. 

Because what no one knew except him and Bucky was that before he got his countdown, Bucky wanted that life too. 

But it didn't stop her from grabbing her bag and storming off toward the door. "You're only saying that because you'll never meet yours!" She screamed, hitting him where she knew it would hurt most before slamming the door behind her. 

It was agonizing watching his friend let go of the one girl he actually wanted to stay. They were good together, Steve knew that much but the girl had found her soulmate and Bucky was helpless to stop her from throwing everything they had out the window. 

Bucky had gotten horribly drunk that night and Steve would forever remember his slurred words as he gave Steve a short and bitter piece of advice. 

"Soulmates only cause pain and suffering. Don't ever let yourself fall victim." Bucky choked, bringing the liquor bottle back to his lips before wiping his tear stained cheeks. 

Steve wanted to tell him it wasn't his soulmate's fault and not to blame her. It was the girl's own fault for so mercilessly ripping out his heart for another man. Soulmate or not it was heartless and yet Steve couldn't help but feel in a way it had been Bucky's soulmate who was to blame.

For the heartbreak he saw in Bucky's eyes that night weren't for the loss of his girlfriend. They were for the missing soulmate he knew he'd never find to complete him.  

•••

Shortly after that night, America entered the second World War and Bucky had enlisted as many men in his country had. 

"It's for our country." Bucky had explained rather patriotically and while Steve felt the same for his country, he couldn't help but feel that Bucky had only become involved as another distraction. 

Steve tried desperately to follow in his footsteps, his motivation split between his inherited patriotism and dedication to looking out for his friend as Bucky had for him. And after months of trying he got his wish in a more unconventional way, becoming the famous Captain America. 

Yet unbeknownst to Steve, tragedy had struck Bucky again overseas and he was captured after an unsuccessful attack in Azzano. Strangely the idea of dying hadn't seemed as terrifying to him as it had the others. Whenever he thought of his soulmate, his death came to his mind along with it and he was almost numb to the thought, as sick as that sounded. 

"Stop." Bucky begged, leaning his head against the cold metal bar. His plea had caught the attention of the others in the cell with him and they stared at him, thrown off by the statement. 

"What?" One of the men asked. Bucky rolled his head to the side lazily, looking at him. He knew he couldn't be mad at them for making conversation using the one thing they all had in common but he couldn't help it. 

"Stop with the soulmate talk." He said gruffly. He turned his head back, staring up at the grated hole above them. The men were silent at first trying to respect their Sergeant's request but one bold soldier found himself unable to leave it alone. 

"Would you care to talk about yours?" He questioned. Bucky shot him a short glare at his snide remark. It was a younger soldier, one Bucky had known wasn't one for rules but hadn't had too many problems with before then. 

"No." Bucky growled, trying to get the kid to back off. He was much too tired to deal with the arrogant young soldier but he knew the kid wouldn't stop there. 

"Why not? She dead or something?" He asked. The other men quickly snapped at him for his insensitivity but Bucky was already on his feet. The soldier watched carefully as Bucky paced over to him, a glint of fear in his eye as Bucky stood before him. 

As a leader he wasn't new to asserting authority among the soldiers and whipping some into shape. But in their circumstance he found he didn't have the will to do so, instead letting out a long sigh as the others stared at him. 

"No. But I will be." His voice was soft, just barely loud enough for those around him to hear. The soldier said nothing more to him even as Bucky volunteered himself to be taken away, sparing his soldiers even if only for one more day. 

The idea of soulmates had left Bucky bitter and he cursed the universe for having dealt him such a bad hand. Soulmates were supposed to give people hope, a reason to carry on in the miserable scheme of things. But he had been deprived of that from the beginning. 

He found that he could no longer fight the emptiness that had grown in his heart for years from the absence of his other half. So he warmly welcomed whatever HYDRA had planned. 

But rather than torture or death he was met with Steve, yet not the Steve he had left. No this Steve was much bigger and stronger and Bucky already knew he was never going to get used to it. Once escaping, Bucky soon came to learn of the supersoldier serum and how Steve was now America's hero. And it didn't take much convincing on Steve's part to get Bucky to join the Captain's team of men as they sought out and destroyed the HYDRA bases. 

Bucky would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy fighting alongside his friends as they took out a significant branch of the German forces. Unlike his soulmate, fighting the good fight gave him a purpose and he was able to finally accept his unfortunate countdown, no longer feeling anger or sadness toward it. He didn't really feel anything towards it. 

Or so he had thought. 

He allowed himself to share it with the others, something he had only done with Steve. It was rather entertaining listening to their brainstorming and for the first time he laughed about it. It was ironic laughing at his misfortune but he felt entitled to do so. 

"What if you meet her in the future?" One of them questioned suddenly. The statement had rattled him so much he hadn't even known which had suggested it. 

"What?" Bucky mumbled, stunned. The idea of meeting someone 78 years in the future had never even seemed possible to him and he certainly wouldn't have allowed himself to hope.

"What if you meet her in the future? I mean, if Steve can be a superhuman who's to say time travel isn't in the near future." Dum Dum added. 

Bucky fell silent, processing the words carefully. He didn't want to give himself hope in finding her but there was some logic behind his statement. What if fate hadn't meant for him to never meet her? What if it was just going to take a bit longer than most? 

And with that small bit of confirmation from his heart, for one blissful second he let his mind imagine her. 

He thought of the color of her eyes or the style of her hair. Did she like animals? Did she bite her nails? Was she funny? Did she like the snow? Could she dance? He almost smiled thinking about teaching her to waltz. 

Steve watched with anxious eyes as Bucky stared at the ground, his smile slowly fading as he thought more. 

Was she out there somewhere believing the same as he did? Did she feel lonely too? Did she think about him? Would she love him?

A part of him felt that she would. Even though he resented the idea of soulmates he knew he loved her more than he felt was rational. It was an indescribable feeling, loving someone you knew nothing about and he would've argued he didn't if he didn't feel so depressed by knowing he'd never meet her. He loved and mourned her all at once and he knew deep down she was the only one who would understand how that felt. He knew she would love him too even if the only thing connecting them was their mutual loss of one another. 

"I think we should call it a night." Steve announced, not wanting them to say anything else that might hurt Bucky. They agreed and walked off toward their tents with drunken giggles and taunts. Steve went with Bucky to his tent though it was a silent walk. They sat inside on his cot for a good while before Bucky built the nerve to speak. 

"Do you think she loves me?" Bucky questioned suddenly. Steve hesitated before replying, unsure whether to play into getting Bucky's hopes up. 

"Yeah. I think she does even if she doesn't know it yet." Steve answered truthfully. He couldn't help but hope for his friend's happiness. Even though it seemed impossible, it didn't stop him from believing that one day Bucky might find his soulmate. 

Bucky nodded keeping his eyes on the ground. Steve took that as his cue to leave and he gave Bucky a quiet goodnight before heading off to his own tent. 

Bucky fell asleep shortly after that but was abruptly awoken sometime in the early hours in a cold sweat. For the first time in years, he had a dream. It left him shaken to the core and before he could even process it, he had begun to cry.

In his dream, he saw the woman he had believed he'd never meet. By the time he had woken up he could only remember a blur of her but it was enough to give him hope that maybe, just maybe one day in another life he'd finally be able to see her. To hold her close and tell her how long he had been waiting for her. 

But even his new found desire to find the woman behind the face couldn't save him from his fate that cold, devastating day. 

•••

His time at HYDRA came back in dizzying fragments but he remembered them finding him at the bottom of the frozen canyon, blood trailing from his torn arm. He supposed they thought he was unconscious because they began their procedure right away. He felt every torturous second of having the remainder of his limb removed and replaced with a metal version. 

He must've finally slipped from consciousness because when he had come to, he had control of the arm and he instantly used it to choke the man closest to him. They drugged him to get him to stop and reluctantly his grip on the man loosened as his body went numb. 

He didn't know how long he had been frozen for or exactly when he was frozen again but he knew every time he came out of cryostatis, someone died. With being the new fist of HYDRA, he assassinated important figures who might oppose them and while most were still foggy to him, he vividly remembered killing Howard Stark and his wife. 

During the times he was out of the ice he struggled to remember who he was or what he was doing. He was a soldier and every part of his identity had been scrubbed clean from his mind. But there was one part of him they could never erase and he recalled staring at the countdown every chance he got. He supposed it was the only piece of himself he had to hold onto and though he couldn't remember what the numbers had been the last time he was thawed it still gave him hope that he had a purpose other than to kill. 

"How many years are in 23,725 days?" He had questioned someone numbly. The HYDRA scientist closest to him had taken pity on him, answering his question quietly as to avoid getting in trouble. 

"About 65 years." They said shortly. He nodded silently, not even noticing as someone stormed into the room making the scientist cower knowing he'd done something he shouldn't have. 

However Bucky had been so satisfied with the answer he didn't even fight as they shoved the rubber piece into his mouth and forced him back. Those simple numbers were the reason he was thrown into the blender so often but it didn't stop him from asking whenever he got the chance. 

Of course no one answered him, not after what had happened to the last guy but even his simple curiosity was enough for them to tear apart his mind like a discarded puzzle that needed to go back in the box. Even years after being freed of HYDRA he couldn't remember most of the things they had done to him. 

It went on like that for decades and sometime during that he stopped asking about his countdown, finally becoming the mindless soldier they desired. Not even the idea of his soulmate could remind him that he was human and he hadn't questioned their cause for a long time. That was until Steve came along.  

Reminding Bucky of who he was wasn't an easy process, most attempts ending with him becoming hostile, even feral due to years of brainwashing. But soon the memories became too strong and even frequent brainwashing wasn't able to stop him from remembering parts of his past life. And after his final fight with Steve he realized staying with HYDRA was no longer an option but neither was going with Steve.  

So he went underground, trying to protect both himself and everyone around him. It was only a matter of time before Steve found him again, leading to the catastrophic fight between Avengers at that Berlin airport. After the final fight between Steve and Tony he realized the only way to keep Steve and everyone else safe was to go back to cryostasis. Thankfully Wakanda had supplied a way for him to do this, though Steve was naturally reluctant. 

"You sure about this?" Steve questioned. Bucky smiled, having never been more sure of anything. 

"I can't trust my own mind. So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody." He sighed, looking down, guilt washing over him. He had done so many terrible things, most of which he didn't even remember. He couldn't inflict himself on the world again. 

"Besides, maybe when I wake up my soulmate will be waiting for me." He offered with a playful shrug. Steve laughed, putting his hand on Bucky's shoulder. 

"Yeah, well if she is, chew her out for keeping you waiting for so long." Steve replied. Bucky laughed, shaking his head. He remembered the hate he once felt for soulmates but whether it be his fragile mind or just the fact that the numbers on his wrist were almost normal looking, he no longer felt angry. 

Instead he felt something he hadn't felt in a really long time. 

He felt optimistic. 

"She'll be worth the wait." 

•••

He was taken out again once his mind and arm had finally healed enough for him to feel like himself again. Unfortunately his soulmate hadn't been waiting for him when he woke up but he was content with waiting a little longer. And with the help of Shuri he made a life of farming and solitude in Wakanda while he did so.

Much of his time out in the green fields were spent allowing his mind to run wild about her. He had never let himself become excited about his soulmate since it seemed so hopeless before but now his wrist wore a more plausible countdown. Looking forward to it was justified and even expected now that he was so close. 

The numbers had decreased drastically in the 73 years his mind had been lost and it now read a fair number of 1825 days. Once showing Shuri the countdown she calculated the exact second he'd meet his fated soulmate but he could only remember it was sometime in October of 2023. While the year sounded like something out of a book he realized he had actually lived to 2018. The impossible thing he had told himself he'd never be able to witness was only 5 years away and he felt euphoric knowing he only had to wait a little bit longer to meet her. 

But his happiness didn't last long for the King of Wakanda himself came to Bucky with a new arm. He already knew what T'Challa would ask of him and he sighed, looking down at the black Vibranium arm likely made for him by Shuri. 

"Where's the fight?" He questioned, resignation clear in his tone. A part of him had known things were too good and that something would happen to change that but he had naively wished it would happen after finally meeting his soulmate. 

But the universe had planned to make him suffer one more time and he was woefully incapable of fighting it this time. 

•••

The battle against Thanos's forces had been harder and crazier than any fight he'd been a part of before. He hadn't even grown used to the advanced technology Wakanda contained and yet there he was fighting aliens alongside a talking raccoon. His years of being a soldier of HYDRA came in handy as he held his own against the horrible monsters that invaded the once peaceful land of Wakanda. 

And when Thanos had been hit in the chest with the ax that was larger than life, he found he was relieved. In that short moment he decided this would be his last fight and that he would dedicate every moment from that point forward to finding his soulmate once and for all. 

He didn't care if he had to spend the remaining years searching the far corners of the world. He would find her. 

But he hadn't realized how far things were from over until the snap. 

Tragedy struck Bucky one more time that day, only he hadn't been around to witness it. He was the first of many to be taken from the world at the hands of Thanos. 

But the countdown continued.  

Part two

[vincedeangelo]

At a glance he may look like Grant Gustin but in reality they’re just 213 year old Vince De’Angelo, a witch here in Barton Hallow. They are a lone witch. They work as a professor of Horticulture and Biological Sciences here in town and are known for being energetic and distracted. I’d watch my back if I were you..

[History]

Saying that life has been complicated for Vince is a bit of an understatement. It didn’t start that way, but it didn’t start easily either. Being born at the middle of the 18th century in Europe to a distinctly Bohemian traveling family, his parents were already well aware of a long vein of magic running through the family tree, his several siblings and half siblings could attest to that much, but most of that magic was rooted into nature. Vince grew up in comfortable chaos, happy enough for the most part, within the shelter of a large family who looked after each other and, while facing a great deal of downward glances from the rest of society, were themselves excellent at thriving and enjoying life with very little in hand.

It was what, in later times, might be compared more to the lifestyle of a hippie commune once the family did finally settle in an area of Britain and became, more or less, the farming, earth-worshiping sorts. Which was all well and good, that slow pace wasn’t as appealing to Vince’s teenage self though and he sort of laments that he did take off when he had to see more of the world; the things he saw weren’t exactly pleasant. It did very little to unsettle his excitable, eager personality but more than a few times he made a mess of his efforts out in the world.

It wasn’t until his twenties that he began to test his magic more, at that point much of his time was spend engrossed in the the developing underbelly of London and how strangely different it was than his own upbringing. It was there that he met the person, or rather the vampire, who became his best friend in very short order. Unconventional, yes, but the two spent more than their fair share of time discussing philosophy, life and the world around them. They were inseparable. At such a pivotal point in his life Vince directed his studies towards darker magic, seeing no fear in exploring the limits of them at the urging of the vampire. It was the start of his studies as a necromancer, and one of the point of his life he still looks back very fondly on.

It seemed almost impossible to imagine but as close as they were, as much adoration Vince had for his dearest friend and companion, but that bond became strained when the prospects of relocating became as necessity. The world, again, was changing drastically, and becoming less kind to those who were not human but especially the undead in London. A few murders in the area had suspicions heavy and Vince saw it as the chance to finally leave Europe to see the States, but his friend wanted nothing to do with the idea. The xenophobia of walking into a seemingly new and hostile place was too much, the arguments spiked and eventually they split paths; Vince hopeful to change their mind later but left the argument unresolved.

Always far too trusting a soul, and lonely, Vince became involved shortly after in a particularly determined coven under the name of the Children of the Silent Voice; a group of witches who were mostly like himself and held necromantic or otherwise ‘dark’ magic as their most honed abilities. He believed that magic wasn’t evil in any form, that like anything it held a place in the balance. They recruited him under the guise of crafting a safe haven for those like themselves and Vince devoted years to helping them find other witches via communication with spirits. The breaking point came when the coven was attacked by Hunters, forcing Vince’s hand with the situation, giving him little choice but to step outside the realms of peace and right into bloodshed. He thought his intentions were good, thought his efforts held purpose in helping those like himself who suffered the cruelty of humans' fear of magic.

Something was deeply wrong though, and it began his reign as second to the High Priestess of the coven; the bloodiest time in his life. It built around him a reputation that still lingers now; he was a destructive force, the constant tip of power. After all, winning was easy when the fallen were your’s to reanimate and command against your enemies. He existed as a figure of terror, caught up in the fog that was those confusing years.

It was all for nothing, in the end. During one of his attacks on a village that had, supposedly, destroyed several witches, Vince picked up a particularly stubborn spirit that wouldn’t leave him alone. She persisted, a nightmare that haunted him in ways that others hadn’t managed, a lost child who perished before her time. Her misery broke that daze, finally, and forced him to take a step back and view what he had been doing, the horrible things that had left stains on his hands. His mind had been twisted by those he followed, and he finally saw that truth. When he approached the Priestess with his doubts she dismissed him as a traitor, banished him from their ranks and he was almost relieved to flee. His last act before leaving Europe behind was to urge the spirit who had followed him to move on, and once she had he decided it was time for him to do the same.

Living through the 19th century in the States was certainly an experience, one he absolutely would not have traded for anything else. Seeing both the best and the worst of what people were capable of was an eye-opening view of the world, and he naturally developed a certain fondness for the eighties and its’ flower-child mentality that reminded him so much at home. He bounced around, joined a cult or two out of curiosity, wandered off when he grew tired of it, even played a few lighthearted attempts at using his power to help people communicate with their lost loved ones but mostly maintained a human image as the growing uneasiness with the supernatural turned from tension to a sudden war.

One Vince wanted no part in, purposely avoiding to take sides on the matter and acting under the ideal that it was never going to solve anything. Having known real horror and being the cause of it before, he was approached time and again to join the ranks of various covens and groups but refused each time, no longer willing to be a part of such things. He expected it to settle down in a few years but they never did and the battles just kept hitting too close for comfort and sending him darting off to the next spot in search in peace. It never lasted long enough, but he just kept trying, looking for the silver lining and the end of that conflict that never seemed to come.

When rumors of Barton Hollow stirred up they caught his interest, the possibility of a new start in a place where he wouldn’t be constantly accosted for involvement in the bloodshed sounded wonderful. It was an easy choice and he quickly set off to what he hoped would be his new home for a while; in short order setting himself up as a professor at the college thanks to his handful of degrees earned over time and making himself useful to the local magic using community with his flair for cultivating wickedly dangerous plants and herbs.

Vince can be a bit much at times. He’s excitable, not at all reserved, and tends to ramble. That rambling may turn a million different directions in one conversation; he’s quite a mess about it. But he adores people; living, dead, human or otherwise. He’s very quickly becoming a relatively well known figure around the Hollow for his cheerful presence and willingness to engage people around him. It’s a sharp contrast to the history written in such bloody terms, but he doesn’t hide it. He’s open enough about his mistakes, but he certainly hopes that people understand that the past isn’t the measure of what a person is but who they were before they knew better.

As for that past, by all accounts Vince is considered one of the stronger necromancers left in the world, and one who has practiced dark magic for a very long time. Plenty of people seek him out for those skills and he does lend them to causes he thinks are going to do some positive change, but by the large his power is only used in small ways anymore. He can reanimate the dead but has learned the agony of what it costs to both himself and the poor soul, can communicate with the dead and does so when he needs information, and he knows an unsettling but rather effective way of stealing the last sights and few moments of death from a corpse's eyes. Not something to witness if you have a weak stomach. Of course he can also destroy life with a shocking amount of ease. But as someone who values life a great deal and knows the worth of it, he is far more careful in his practices these days.

While it really has very little to do with his abilities as a witch, he is known around town by the covens and the lone witches alike as the person who has an impressive garden of plants and herbs that are fairly lethal. He carefully tends to plants that are highly toxic, have properties that are considered dangerous and drug-like, and those that other witches use in spell craft but cannot access very easily because of their dangerous nature. He willingly offers this rare and deadly flora to those in need of it regardless of coven association, if he’s sure their intentions aren’t to use them in a malicious way. Just don’t try to steal his plants, that hits a nerve you don’t want to rub too thin.

Much of his gift for, and interest in, gardening and plants comes from growing up helping his mother and grandmother raise their garden in his earliest years. Those fond memories fuel his care in that work, but of course his magic influences much of his life so it seems like his real talent in the area is with those deadly species more than their mundane counterparts.

He has a pet cactus named Jared that makes the trek between his classroom on campus and his home in the downtown region of the Hollow daily; Jared is very well looked after and is a standard sort of his species. Nothing all too extraordinary to Jared, but Vince does enjoy putting little hats and costumes on him for various holidays and events the same way most people would dress up a pet. Jared has the distinction of being carried to and from home every day, Vince insists it would be cruel to just leave the poor thing all alone in the classroom at night.

Vince is demisexual, polyamorous; he's fairly unbiased to the gender of his partners though he tends to favor men a bit more, it certainly doesn't sway his interests too much from the rest of the gender spectrum. He’s had an interesting go with relationships in life but nothing ever stuck for long. His list of ex’s run the range but for the most part the breakups were civil, if awkward on his part, ones. He still maintains friendships with a few of them without much drama, still the occasional night spent in their company, but for the most part he’s been solitary for a good twenty or so years by his own choice. Having spent that time burying himself in education and the fascinating scientific world that has surged in the 20th century that took up most of his time. He’s very friendly but painfully awkward at the basic ability to recognize that people are interested in him, and equally bad at making his own interests known because by the large he doesn’t view intimate situations as solely outside the lines of friendships and his tendency to blur the two has made for some amusingly skewed situations in the past.

He is intensely afraid of small spaces; graves absolutely terrify him and any enclosed space causes him to panic. The reasoning lies in some of his conditioning early on in his necromatic practices when he accidentally managed to get himself trapped during the exploration of an older graveyard; the underground tunnels beneath it at one point collapsed and he was unable to escape. He was lucky that another witch who was mentoring him at the time found him but it instilled lifelong terror in him.

Vince loves to read, he’s been around a long while, he absolutely is enamored with knowledge and the creativity of people. It doesn’t matter what; from the most coveted early century tome to the most hilariously badly written new trashy romance novel; he reads with the sort of determined fervor that keeps him constantly hunting for new books. The internet, for that reason, is something else he loves; there’s always endless distraction on there.

He’s not the typical image for a necromancer but he hardly thinks that’s a bad thing. His students in particular he has a soft spot for, generally willing to go out of his way to do what he can if they need help. But really that extends to most people; he’s just a cheerful, upbeat sort who tries not to dwell too much on the bad. He’s also horribly clumsy at it though, but he’s good at laughing at his mistakes.

Vince misses being part of a coven, but even with the urging of those in the Hollow he hasn’t agree to join any of them. The past has made him wary of the intentions of leaders, and he doesn’t want to be a pawn once more. He’s toyed with the idea of starting his own but dismissed the possibility with the certainty that even as acting as second to someone he trusted as fully as he would have to another Priestess it’s unlikely anyone would be comfortable with someone with his power in that role, especially not with the shape the world in in with the ongoing war.

[Wanted Connections] To be vastly expanded on later, but to give a jumping off point for plotting: 

Vampire he used to be best friends with. 

Someone older than himself (213), was in Europe/London in those early years, and would have had a very close friendship with Vince. Basically the person he considered his companion and other half of sorts; he misses them very much but hasn’t seen them in a long time. They had a bit of a falling out over Vince’s involvement in the Silent Voice Coven back in the day and after the dust settled with all of that Vince went to the states and lost all contact with his friend.  This person would know a great deal about Vince, would have been about as close as anyone could be, and very much needs to be back in Vince’s life again. 

Siblings/Half Siblings

Vince had a large family, several of whom were witches themselves. He may have younger or older siblings or half siblings around, or could have werewolf or vampire siblings now depending on if they were human to begin with and were turned. He’s lost track of family over time but would remember them, this is very open to ideas and different sorts of sibling relationships. He was always an odd one in the family. 

Witches looking to recruit him for various reasons. 

The war, past or present tense, the covens, just in general. Vince has a lot of power, an unsettling amount in fact, but he’s actively avoided involvement with the covens aside from his supplying them with various plants and herbs since he’s moved to Barton when it first was established. Good intentions or bad; people who put that pressure on him to join them. 

Someone human he can ‘adopt’. 

Really Vince has a soft spot for humans, he finds them fascinating really and admires their drive in what amounts to such short lives. Someone he’s grown fond of in a brotherly sort of way and keeps an eye on, helps, and basically just tries to keep out of trouble. Bonus points if they are in fact a lot of trouble to deal with. 

People who know his past too well. 

There’s nothing all that hidden about Vince’s past and how bloody it was, but he’s put it mostly behind him. Some people haven’t, and some people like to give him grief over the idea that people can’t change. This person is an ongoing source of exhaustion for him but he’s toughing it out, trying to make them see the good; but it’s not easy. 

Someone who knows his worst secret

Lots of witches use magic to lengthen their lives, but for those with necromanic abilities the spells are particularity gruesome. Vince did something a long time past that he isn’t too eager for others to know, for the sake of keeping his own life thriving well past his mortal years, but this person, somehow, has managed to get that knowledge. With that comes a degree of power over him, for the sake of keeping that secret. A dark fae he traded a favor to ensure his life never ended naturally, another witch he sought out for a spell that he never should have; I'm open to ideas on this one.

Hunters 

Vince is a necromancer, a rather well known one. Over time he's come across people who have wanted to destroy him but has managed to evade them well enough. But this one is out for blood, maybe because of a contract, maybe his actions in the past did something to harm their family line, maybe they just really can't stand dark magic. Whatever the case it's a hard situation for Vince, not wanting to kill again but also very resolute on the idea of not dying. 

[danielxrk]

 ✞ I PROMISE MYSELF ONE DAY *     I’MA TELL ‘EM ALL

daniel gives the audition a day to ruminate.

he calls a few days after he gets the business card, after talking it over with woojin (and some others-- primarily woojin.) he explains what happened to the person on the other line in rambly, long-winded detail, more wordy than daniel ever is thanks to frazzled nerves. the secretary he speaks to doesn't seem startled in the slightest, and instead, explains all the details he needs to know in turn. two minutes, demonstrate at least one performance skill (daniel still doesn't really know what this means), and schedule the audition for sometime in the next week.

naturally, daniel chooses november 8th, the very last day possible, to come in. he spends another two days going about his life as usual, constantly agonizing over the audition in the back of his mind. he thinks of potential song choices over customers' coffee orders, hears guitar chords over readings he does for class in his room. he pulls his acoustic guitar out from its place where it hides underneath his bed in most free moments, quietly strumming, looking up potential audition songs on youtube and trying to transpose the sounds he hears onto the instrument in front of him.

jaehwan proves a great help, faithful guitar teacher and avid supporter as always, and daniel tries not to think about what will happen if this audition succeeds. he doesn't want to consider a contract in his hands, and a commitment to a company every day of the week, and jaehwan and the others short a bassist for empty enigma once again. he doesn't want to restructure his entire life around a trainee schedule-- he doesn't want to kill himself over dance steps every day for the rest of his life, or get told how inadequate he is in every lesson.

and yet, he still works hard to prepare his audition-- still works to do his best, and ignores the doubts and anxiety every time they surface once again.

he ends up learning three different songs on the guitar (with jaehwan's help), and shortens them all to fit within his time frame given for the audition, and with each passing day, flops between his different choices, indecision reigning supreme. he practices all three equally, waiting for something to click and help him narrow his options down.

he practices at sungwoon, minhyun, woojin and jaehwan's apartment too, always a safe space for music that daniel doesn't have at home, and they don't provide much help in narrowing down song choices, all having a different favorite and daniel, mostly too embarrassed to sing any of them for them so they can get a real idea of which option suits his voice the best.

he stuffs string beans into his mouth over dinner, and mina gives him a weird look. he pauses after he swallows it down, letting his fork fall to the side of his plate.

"daniel, are you okay?" his mother asks, and for a moment, daniel considers telling them about the audition. he considers confessing to some of the secrets of his life-- telling them about the mgas, and his love for music at the very least. empty enigma can stay a secret, but he should really start coming clean, if he might pass an audition that could change his entire life. he looks from his mother's face to his father's, and then his brother, taking a break from his own busy life to have a dinner with family like old times, and he considers it. he really does.

"ah, it's just..." the opportunity is right there. he could finally bring breathing room back into his life-- get rid of the suffocating blanket he places over everything, trying to hide it, trying to avoid disappointing his family.

but he can't do it.

"a customer was really rude to me at work today. i keep thinking about what they said," he admits, falsely.

"what did they say?" his mother asks, eyebrow raised expectantly, and daniel better come up with something good, or else she'll dismiss his worries. he can see it on her face.

"ah, um, she said that...i'm not good at anything, and can't do anything right-- because she's seen me at work before, and every time, i do a bad job," he lies. it's a pretty terrible thing to say to someone, and seems realistic enough. the food service industry can be a nightmare.

he swears his mother scoffs, but she shakes her head. "don't listen to people like that," she advises instead, and daniel nods.

"i just..." she looks at him expectantly, and he shrugs. "i don't know how long i can keep serving coffee."

"well, that always was a temporary job. it's probably about time you get a real one soon."

"maybe."

"yes. you can always work at the company, you know? it would be a good job."

"i'll think about it." he would, quite frankly, rather die. his gaze settles on mina, and the dark expression on her face suggests she understands.

after dinner, when daniel picks up the dishes off the table, and he and mina split the duty of washing dishes, the opportunity presents itself once again, and this time he doesn't shy away. "hey, don't tell mom this--" he begins.

"i can't tell mom? i'm already interested," mina replies immediately, and daniel gives her his best stern and serious look. he trusts mina, but doesn't appreciate any remarks to make him consider that trust might be displaced. he wants to believe she wouldn't betray him as far as serious matters go; after all, she watched the mgas on her own and saw him on the show, and  their parents still seem to be none the wiser, so...

he takes the business card out of his pocket once again and shows her, and she gasps, nearly dropping one of the dishes on the floor.

when he's back in his room, seated on his bed, guitar in his lap, he considers the lyrics of his song choices, and as he quietly runs over them all, there's one that resonates above the others, and he thinks he's finally made his decision.

stepping into the nova building brings him back full circle, to when he first set foot here, during rehearsals for round one of the mgas. the room the secretary directs him to isn't so different from the practice room he spent his first week in, either, but the implications are all different. this isn't practice time. he's already practiced enough. now, it's time to show the judging panel what he's got, and that they're right to give him another chance-- that he's improved since hyun bin last saw him, and since so jisub said goodbye to him, great contestant on the mgas or not.

when they call him in, he strides in with a smile on his face, refusing to betray any of his nerves. hyun bin is much closer to him now than he ever was on the mgas, and he breaks character for a moment, just to blink in moderate awe at the man. he gets a handle on himself soon though, and he introduces himself. "hello, i'm kang daniel. i'll be singing and playing guitar today." with that, the man at the end of the table nods, permitting daniel to begin.

he strums a few random notes on his guitar, then settles into the right position, and starts, fingers gliding over the frets. he only has a few beats, leading with the guitar, before he has to sing.

yeah, maybe i'ma get a little anxious maybe i'ma get a little shy

it's a straight-forward outline of how this audition will go from the start of the song, a confession of his current mental state, and how these things usually go for him: nerves, shyness, daniel by definition.

cause everybody's tryna be famous and i'm just tryna find a place to hide

for a simple song, it's surprisingly soul-bearing for daniel, and of course, that's part of the reason why daniel chose it. it's relatable for him, expressing his feelings about the audition. so many people around him would jump at the opportunity to audition for nova while he hesitated, and becoming an idol is a dream for them, while it was never a thought in daniel's mind until this summer, and still not any of his goals. he's spent most of his journey with music hiding, behind a secret identity in empty enigma, stuffing all proof of his double life under his bed or in his friends' apartment. he's really hiding so much, and the past week proved he wasn't ready to change that yet.

all i wanna do is just hold somebody but no one ever wants to get to know somebody i don't even know how to explain this i don't even think i'm gonna try

it is hard to explain-- the fact that he doesn't dream of being an idol, yet he's still standing here, strumming strings, singing to the best of his ability, even though the song is well exceeding the high end of his range. he just wants to show hyun bin that he isn't afraid, and that he's improved, and that he can handle vocal challenges; he'd rather take this risk than stick to a basic performance, just repeating what he already tried on the mgas, not showing anything new. it might backfire as he leans into the chorus, and has to reach for the higher notes.

and that's okay i promise myself one day... i'ma tell 'em all i'ma tell 'em all that you could either hate me or love me but that's just the way i am

he makes this song his vow, just like the words say, that one day he'll stop swallowing down his own passions and desires, and bear it all for the world to see. one day, he'll tell his parents, and he'll endure their judgment and pursue his own path regardless of their words. maybe one day, he'll unveil himself as the real person behind cameo of empty enigma, allowing his fans to merge with his own from the mgas into one pool of spectacular people daniel might never think he deserves. one day, he'll shamelessly be the true version of himself. (one day, he'll know who that is himself.)

i'ma tell 'em all i'ma tell 'em all that you could either hate me or love me but that's just the way i am that's just the way i am that's just the way i am that's just the way i am that's just the way i am

he struggles to reach his notes at the end of the chorus, and is relieved to slip back into the more manageable range the 'that's just the way i am's' fall in. as he sings, he tries to think of it as a mantra to himself, too-- that all of the different facets of himself make up who he really is, and that he doesn't need to try and change to fit into anyone else's boxes. it's good practice for the day he'll declare this to everyone without fear-- getting it into his own head first.

maybe i'ma get a little nervous maybe i don't go out anymore feelin' like i really don't deserve this life ain't nothing like it was before

another mention of nerves, but this time it comes with a new confession, and for daniel, it means this: he doesn't think he deserves this audition. he didn't blame the judges of the mgas for eliminating them, and harbored no resentment. more than that, he thought they were right, and never expected to make it as far on the show as he did. the daniel of today isn't so different from that daniel. he has a little less fear now, minimal additional time on the bass due to empty enigma's hiatus, and a bit more vocal experience than the daniel of before. one thing is certain, though; daniel's life hasn't been the same since the mgas, and now that he had a taste of the stage as just daniel, there's a part of him that wants that again. he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to shake it.

'cause all i wanna do is just hold somebody but no one ever wants to get to know somebody if you go and look under the surface (surface) baby, i'm a little insecure

a little insecure seems like an understatement, and yet, here daniel is, performing in front of a panel of judges from one of korea's most successful entertainment companies. just making it this far is enough of an accomplishment for him.

another pre-chorus where he transitions into a falsetto, more vows that one day, he'll tell them all. he launches into another chorus, smile on his face, even as his voice strains, pushed to the limits of his upper range. (maybe it was a bad choice, or he should've played the song in a different key, but it's too late for any of those regrets now.)

i'ma tell 'em all i'ma tell 'em all that you could either hate me or love me but that's just the way i am am, am yeah, this is what you wanted oh, this is what you wanted i am, am, am yeah, this is what you wanted oh, this is what you wanted all along

the bridge originally goes even higher than the song, but to save his vocal cords, daniel pitched it down, now something manageable within his range, but with the help of his guitar, the song still rises, climaxing, and then giving way to his final, shortened chorus.

i'ma tell 'em all that you could either hate me or love me but that's just the way i am

one final strum of his guitar, and then the room is silent. the judging panel gives no indication of how his audition went, so he simply bows, then sees himself out.

one day, he won’t have anything to hide anymore.

[jooheonies]

All Yours

Character(s): You X Minhyuk, Yoo Kihyun

Genre: smut, slight?romance?? idk its a relationship and they love each other? i think thats how this works??

Warning(s): orgasm denial/edging, slight!degradation, jealous sex (lmao if that’s a warning), dom!minhyuk, slight?sexual tension, semi-public sex

Length: 5.1k

Summary: In which Lee Minhyuk hates that stupid Yoo Kihyun makes him jealous.

Minhyuk is a little childish sometimes. It’s just part of his personality, he says, he’s just a little insecure, just a little possessive.

He knows that you’re his and that he’s yours, but there’s always a little seed of doubt niggling at the back corners of his mind. He’d never try to control you, though, but you can see it in the little things, like the way he pouts, or the way his lips turn down in a frown when he sees you with someone else, or the way he begins to emphasize how much you mean to him.

And it’s so utterly Minhyuk, to sit there and always cheer on everyone else and praise them to the heavens, but forget about himself. And forget that he’s just as important to you as you are to him.

So the first time it happens, he stays calm. After all, it’s Kihyun. It’s Yoo Kihyun, his best friend of seven years so really, he shouldn't even be upset. Meeting at the mall to hang out after not seeing each other for a couple weeks is bound to make you more clingy than usual. So when you and Kihyun nearly forget about him and walk so far ahead you you look like you don’t even know him, he waves it off. After all, you haven’t seen each other in a while.

But maybe he pouts a little bit every now and then, shrugging in response when you ask him what you want to eat. And maybe he gets just a little childish when you sit down at the booths, sitting on the other side of the seats instead of next to you and avoiding eye contact. Kihyun jogs off to a corner of the food court to grab some food for himself and you stick with Minhyuk to decide what to get to eat.

“So, baby,” you begin, trailing your fingertips down his forearm, “What should we get?”

His arms slide off the table in one swift movement, “I don’t really care, but maybe you’d be more interested in what Kihyun’s getting? Since you forgot that I’m here and all.” He sniffs lightly at the end of his sentence, lifting his hand to inspect his fingernails.

A stunned silence echoes. Had you really left him out that much? Your eyes lock on his searchingly and he turns away, frustration etched onto his features. Minhyuk stares determinedly at the wall before you clear your throat, bringing his gaze back to yours in a flash. He opens his mouth as if to say something when his eyes shift to something behind you, narrowing for a split second—so quick you wouldn’t have realized it if you weren’t staring. His expression shifts quickly, mouth widening into a smile as he brings his hand back up to the table to wrap around your wrist, tugging you up.

“Oh, look, baby,” Minhyuk says, pulling you to his side of the table, “We were so busy talking we forgot to get food and Kihyun got some for us!”

You look up, eyes taking in the sight of a slightly amused Kihyun staring down at you, three cups of ice cream balanced in his hands.

“I figured you’d take years picking something, so I just bought some ice cream for us,” he announces, sitting down across from you and sliding two cups of ice cream in your direction. “I’m just that considerate of a person.”

Minhyuk throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in close and nuzzling into your shoulder. “We just got distracted,” he says, pecking you on the cheek lightly.

Kihyun laughs a little and nods, digging his spoon into the ice cream as you fidget uncomfortably in your seat, playing with the little plastic spoon before Minhyuk’s hand wraps around your wrist. You turn to the side to see Minhyuk holding up a plastic spoon to your lips, smiling much too wide for it to mean anything good.

“Say ahh,” he adds sweetly, bringing the ice cream to your lips.

You flush with embarrassment, flashing Kihyun a glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by Minhyuk, as his eyes narrow and he prods your lips with the spoon.

“Eat.”

Coughing a little, you open your mouth timidly, letting the cool ice cream slip past your lips and into your mouth. Kihyun glances up briefly, eyes locking on yours and he smirks.

“Wow. So cute. I think I’m going to vomit.”

Minhyuk giggles a little, tugging you closer until you’re practically in his lap and nuzzles closer to you.

“I know, isn’t my baby the cutest?” There’s a slight edge to his voice as he stares at Kihyun that’s nearly indecipherable, but you hear it and a slight shiver runs down your spine.

Kihyun nods, mouth full of ice cream and as dense as ever, “Yeah, the cutest. She still looks like a rat, though.”

You bark out a laugh, nudging Minhyuk’s side as you rest your head on his shoulder. He stiffens for a moment before his shoulders relax and he smiles.

“My rat.”

The second time it happens, he doesn’t try to hide anything. Kihyun’s hand grazes yours as you pick up the rifle, readying your aim at the little deer on screen.

“Why won’t you let me play?” Minhyuk whines as he leans against the game machine, arms crossed with a pout on his lips. “I didn’t come to the arcade to watch you two play!’

Kihyun snorts, closing one eye as he aims, “That’s because you can’t play this game for shit, Minhyuk. At least I can.”

You laugh, rolling your shoulders back, “Same. I’m sorry, baby, but you suck at this game.”

Steadying your aim, you pull on the trigger once and cheer when the bullet goes through two deer at once. “What’s that, Kihyun? It sounds like your ass getting beat!” You yell, bringing one hand up to cup your ear.

Kihyun snickers under his breath, pulling on the trigger and firing off a round of shots that knocks nearly half the deer off the screen.

He turns to you, laughing as your mouth hangs open. “You sure it wasn’t the sound of your ass getting beat, buddy?”

“Play me again! That wasn’t fair at all!”

“No, I’m the best at this game, it’s a waste of time for you to try and beat me!”

“Are you sure you’re not just a wimp?”

Kihyun opens his mouth, ready to send off another scalding retort when you hear a smatter of laughter. You both turn your heads to the side in confusion, eyes landing on a group of teenage girls giggling and elbowing each other as they stare at you. Kihyun looks back at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion before looking back at them.

“You guys make a really cute couple!” One girls blurts out, cheeks reddening as her friends giggle even louder.

You and Kihyun look at each other, grimacing in disgust.

“Oh, we’re not togeth—” you begin, smiling weakly at the girls just as Minhyuk sidles up next to you.

“Babe, you’re taking a really long time playing this stupid game with stupid Kihyun,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hands playing with the hem of your sweater.

You turn to look at him as his hands slide up, cupping your cheeks and bringing you to his lips. Eyes widening as his fingers graze your jaw and move down to your waist tugging you closer, you stumble closer to him, hands latching onto his shoulders. 

Kissing Minhyuk has always been like this. He leaves you disoriented and dazed and very much wanting. His hands lock around your waist and hold you there as he drags his tongue over the seam of your lips, your mouth opening in a moan. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, hot and heavy, as he presses against you.

Your eyes snap open when you hear someone clearing their throat loudly behind you. Pressing your palms against Minhyuk’s chest, you turn to the side, heaving slightly and locking eyes with a smirking Kihyun.

“We’re in public, guys. Please stop.”

You blush, turning to look at the girls who have stopped giggling to stare at you, faces bright red. Kihyun coughs loudly, leading you and Minhyuk to the door and pushing you out, mumbling something about ‘horny little shits’ under his breath.

Minhyuk just giggles and interlinks his fingers with yours, swinging your laced hands as you walk, humming lightly.

You ask him about it later at home and he just waves it off telling you that you’re looking into things too much, trying to find things that aren’t there. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re just overanalyzing everything. Minhyuk just nods and tell you everything is fine, but his eye twitches just a little bit when he says it, and his lips curl down into a frown.

The third time he’s not very discreet at all.

You slide into the passenger seat as Kihyun starts the car, Minhyuk sitting in the back and immediately pulling out his phone.

“Where do you want to go?” Kihyun asks, pulling the car out of the driveway. “I’m guessing either chinese food or italian, but I want italian, mainly because it’s closer.”

“Yeah, I’m fine with whatever,” you tell him, your gaze drifting off of Minhyuk’s hunched form. His eyes are focused on his phone, fingers locked around the frame just a bit too tightly.

You idly talk to Kihyun, your thoughts slowly drifting from Minhyuk and soon, you’ve completely forgotten he’s in the backseat.

“I’m not joking, he actually asked me if I sucked the professor’s dick since I got an A on the final!”

A snort leaves your mouth and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth as Kihyun pulls into a parking spot. “I can’t believe he actually thought that! You’re the biggest prude I’ve ever met!”

Kihyun turns to face you, lips pursed, “I’m sorry that I’ve been saving my purity for the one.” He brings his hand up his chest in mock hurt and hunches his head back to form a double chin.

“Kihyun, your purity has been gone for a long time; you’re just picky as fuck.”

Your laughter stops short when you hear the car door slam shut from the back and turn to find the backseat empty. Minhyuk’s back is turned to you from what you can see through the window and his hands are pushed deep into his pockets.

And maybe he’s being a little sensitive right now, but he can’t help it, because it isn’t like it’s the first time you’ve forgotten about him. And for some godforsaken reason, it’s always whenever Kihyun is around, and Minhyuk hates the his best friend makes him jealous but at the same time, he’s just so fucking pissed that you never fucking remember him.

He turns around when you climb out of the car quietly, gently closing the door behind you.

“Hey, babe. Remember me? Your boyfriend?” He asks sarcastically, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You wince a little, before furrowing your brows, a wave of irritation washing over you.

“If you had a problem,” you hiss, stepping closer to him, “you should’ve said something. Not just sit around in the back pouting and waiting for us to invite you into the conversation.”

“Darling, it didn’t seem like you wanted me in the conversation to begin with.”

And there it is. A shiver runs down your spine and you turn away, bringing your hands up to run at the goosebumps that dot your upper arms. He only ever calls you darling when he’s mad, when a part of him feels scared that you don’t love him as much, when he’s upset or worried or anything in between.

Kihyun steps onto the pavement, stretching his arms above his head and blinking obviously at you.

“Why’re you guys just standing there? I’m hungry and I vote we go in right now.”

You nod, not bothering to look at Minhyuk because you’re not too sure you can handle that right now. Stepping forward to match your footsteps with Kihyun’s, you push open the door, shuddering when a cool blast of air hits your legs. The door swings back into Minhyuk’s face as you release it, not bothering to even hold it for him, a loud oof sounding behind you.

Kihyun speaks to the waiter, giving him the head count and out of your peripheral vision, you see Minhyuk rubbing his nose and flinching slightly as his fingers brush over the reddened flesh with too much force.

Kihyun tugs on your arm, drawing your attention back to him and pulling you as the waiter shows you to the seats. The table is pressed up against an open window, a cold breeze fluttering the curtains. He pushes you into one of the seats, sliding into the chair opposite of you. Minhyuk sits next to you, pulling off his jacket and dropping it gently onto your shoulders. You look up as the heavy fabric falls over you, but Minhyuk’s gaze is set determinedly to the menu.

He coughs lightly into his fist, his other hand coming to rest on you knee, drawing small circles into the skin. You almost snap at him when Kihyun’s voice interrupts you.

“What are you getting? I’m so confused because half of this shit is written in Italian and I’m not sure what the difference is between tagliatelle and penne,” he hisses over the top of his menu, a panicked look in his eyes.

You laugh a little, the sound quickly turning into a choked cough as Minhyuk’s hands graze up the insides of your thighs, his fingers cold and shocking against the warmth of your skin. Your thighs clench together, trying to prevent him from moving more, but it just brings his fingers closer to your core and you nearly whine at the feeling. Minhyuk’s gaze is still locked on his menu, but a smirk graces his lips.

Your mouth opens as you lean forward, ready to tell him off, when Kihyun interrupts you again.

“An answer, maybe?”

You turn to glare at him, relaxing your thighs for a fraction of a second. A second that Minhyuk uses to trail his fingers up so that the tips graze the lace of your panties.

“I think I’m getting the um, ah the um maybe the cannoli?” You try, wriggling around in your seat as Minhyuk’s fingers press against your clit through your panties. He dips the tips of his fingers into the waistband, tugging at the elastic as he slides one finger into you. Biting down on your lip, you try to muffle your moans as his finger languidly dips in and out of you, a nonchalant expression on his face. Minhyuk teases you with his fingers, picking up the pace and then suddenly slowing down, bringing you closer and closer, and then leaving you hanging. The sharp taste of blood fills your mouth and you realize too late that you’ve bitten into your lower lip and torn the skin trying to stay quiet.

Giving up, you fling your napkin down onto the table and announce, “I’m going to the bathroom really quick. I’m just not feeling too great.” The words come out in a rush, but you assume that they heard because Kihyun nods, not even bothering to look up from his menu and Minhyuk—you don’t even bother looking at Minhyuk.

Stumbling away from the table as quickly as you can, you rush to the corner of the restaurant and push open the first door you find, stumbling into a dark room. You slam the door behind you, panting heavily as your eyes take in a mop and bucket and rows of toilet paper and great now you’ve gone and locked yourself into the broom closet. Genius.

Just as your hand moves to twist the knob, the door opens, a bright burst of light entering the small space and you squint as someone  pushes in. Your eyes readjust to the light and Minhyuk’s smirking face enters your vision.

“Hey, sugar,” he says, backing you up against the wall. “Kihyun and I were worried since you left in such a rush, and being the good boyfriend that I am, I wanted to come by and ask you how you were doing.” His mouth splits open into a wide grin as he finishes, eyes glinting with amusement and poorly concealed attitude.

You glare up at him, hands landing on your waist defiantly. “Nope. I’m perfectly fine. Not sure what you mean.”

Minhyuk’s smile only grows as you speak, “Hmm, is that why you locked yourself inside of a storage room, darling? Is that what “perfectly fine” is?”

A hand grazes your thigh again, going up the inside of your short skirt and your resistance falls just a little bit. Minhyuk chuckles darkly, bringing his lips to your neck and nipping softly into the tender skin. A soft moan leaves your mouth as he shifts your bodies to move the broom handle out from behind you as he presses up against you, rolling his hips against yours.

“Not so loud, sugar,” he whispers against the skin. “We don’t want everyone hearing you and the whole restaurant seeing what a pretty slut you are for me, right?”

You scrabble at his shoulders as his length grazes your clit, “Fuck off, Minhyuk.” The words leave your mouth as a snarl and he immediately halts his movements.

“Oh? Alright then, I guess you won’t be needing any hel—”

You press your lips against his, latching onto his biceps desperately. “Okay, I got it, never mind, please keep going,” you tell him in between rushed kisses.

Minhyuk laughs into your mouth, slipping his hands into your hair and pushing down so your your knees onto the floor.

“Pretty baby is so needy,” he says, raking his thin fingers through your hair. “Who’s it for, baby?”

A whine leaves your mouth as he tightens his hold and uses his free hand to unzip his jeans, pulling his length out. Minhyuk drags the tip down the bridge of your nose, smearing precum on your face and your eyes widen in surprise.

“Minhyuk, people will see when I go ou—”

His laugh is deeper this time as he moves his cock to your cheek and rubs it against the soft skin of your cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. They’ll just see how pretty you can look and what a good little slut you are for me.” He drags the tip down to the corner of your lips, hissing when you open your mouth.

Minhyuk is by no means easy to take, but you pace yourself, sucking gently on the head, flicking your tongue lightly against the slit. His other hand slides into your hair as well, tugging your head back so you end up looking straight up at him, mouth hanging open.

“Don’t make any noise, alright? We don’t want everyone to come in and see you being such a pretty little slut, right?” Minhyuk asks, smacking your cheek with his cock, a wet slap echoing in the empty room. “Or does my little girl like it when everyone sees how good she is for me?”

You nod, wincing when his hand holds steady against your hair. His eyes glint a little as he pushes the head back into your mouth.

“Fuck yourself onto your fingers while you suck me off,” he orders, sliding his feet further apart.

All inhibitions leave you when his cock slides all the way into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes water, gag reflex kicking in as you choke.

Minhyuk tuts, clicking his tongue, “I thought you would be able to take it, sugar. You run your mouth all day with Kihyun but when it comes down to being a good little girl, you can’t use it right?”

You whine as he presses back into your mouth, not bothering to wait for a response. One of your hands scrabble down to lift the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging your panties to the side. You slide one digit into yourself, moaning at the feeling. Minhyuk grunts at the vibrations that trail up his cock, hissing when you press the flat of your tongue directly on the underside of the head. You flick at your clit with your thumb, trying to focus on Minhyuk’s length in your mouth, thick and hot.

“Fuck, there you go. Take all of it,” he hisses bucking his hips up into your face, his hand tugging your closer by the strands of your hair.

You pump your fingers quickly, adding a third finger and crying out. The coil building at the pit of your stomach grows and you whine as you mumble a quiet “close, ‘m close”. Your hips begin to buck wildly as you approach your climax, losing control before Minhyuk jerks you back by your hair.

He wraps a hand around his length as your jaw falls open, eyes shut in anticipation. Rough grunts leave his mouth as he jerks himself to completion over your face, your hand still trying to reach inside of you properly from the new angle. Your eyes fly open when your feel warm spurts of come landing inside of your awaiting mouth, long, sticky strands flying onto your face to land across your eyelashes, dripping down your cheeks and mixing with the strings of spit dribbling down your chin.

Minhyuk curses as he gazes down at you, eyes dark, “Fuck, baby, that was so good.”

He tugs you up quickly, turning you around so your hands splay flat against the surface of the wall as you rest your cheek against the cool drywall. You jut your ass back slightly, mewling when his fingers dig into the soft flesh.

“Pl-please, Minhyuk,” you whine as he drags the tip of his finger up and down your folds teasingly.

“Please what, honey? I didn’t quite catch that. I’m pretty sure you know how to use your mouth, right, sugar?”

Nodding, you arch against him as the tip of his finger slides in fleetingly, teasing you. He laughs and presses you flat against the wall.

“Fuck, oh my god, Minhyuk, please do something, anything, please,” you beg, nails digging into the wall as you move onto your tiptoes in an attempt to bring him further inside of you.

“Anything, sweetheart?” Minhyuk quips by your ear, warm breath hitting the shell of your ear. “You sure you won’t regret it?”

The arousal laced in his voice has you nodding feverishly, panting loudly as Minhyuk’s fingers press into you all the way. His fingers are longer and thinner than yours, reaching further into you and you arch at the feeling, clawing at the wall. He presses his lips against your neck and you feel the curve of his lips as he listens to you trying to muffle your moans.

His fingers pump into you faster, curling up and stretching you out as you moan and writhe against him. He sets up a quick rhythm, licking long stripes up the side of your neck and leaving small marks to bloom against the skin. You outright wail when he lifts your leg, bending at the knee and hooking it over his forearm. Almost crying out loud at the new angle, you bring one of your hands off the wall to clamp down on your mouth, worried about how loud you two are being.

“Good?” Minhyuk asks teasingly, slowing his fingers down and grazing his thumb over your clit. You shift against the wall, one foot hanging awkwardly in the air from where he has your leg hoisted.

“Minhyuk,” you pant, voice broken and needy and desperate. “Minhyuk, please.”

He chuckles darkly against your neck, “What is it sweetheart? Tell me.”

“Pl-please, f-fffuck me,” you hiss quietly, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Good girl,” he purrs, running his free hand down your back to rest on your ass. “You’re going to have to be very quiet though, because we might get an audience otherwise, and I don’t want anyone else seeing my baby like this.” His voice turns into a growl as he speaks, shifting your thigh slightly so that the bend of your knee rests in the crook of his elbow.

You gasp loudly when Minhyuk slides into you, stretching your walls.

He chokes, digging his fingers into your waist, “So tight baby. Fuck, you’re so tight.” He spits out the words, voice strained and a swell of pride raises inside of you at having reduced him to this mess.

Minhyuk thrusts into you slowly, hesitation etched onto his features and you didn’t think he would be this gentle—you don’t want him to act this gentle.

“Harder, Minhyuk,” you whisper, spit slathering onto the wall, turning to face him. Your neck hangs at an awkward angle and you can see the pause in his movements, his face reluctant, but he picks up the speed a little bit anyways.

It’s still not enough.

“Please, Minhyuk, fuck me like you mean it,” your voice cracks, drool leaking out of the corner of your mouth as you whine. You can feel the dried cum on your face cracking as your mouth stretches open.

His chest rumbles at that and the dynamics switch so quickly, your head spins. He growls as he fists one of his hands into your hair, snapping your head back and ramming his hips up into your with so much force you wail. The friction of his dress slack, still hung low on his hips, heightens the pleasure and has you mewling.

“You’re so dirty, sugar,” he hisses as his hips snap ruthlessly against yours. “Sitting there all this time ignoring me and talking to Kihyun, but now you’re begging for my cock.”

A broken cry erupts from your lips and he sound of skin against skin and heavy breathing fill the small room. “Y-yyes, ppplease Minhyuk just fuck me.”

He grunts into your neck, biting harshly into the skin and digging his fingers so hard into your waist, you’re pretty sure you’ll have fingerprint-shaped bruise marks tomorrow. You stuff your knuckles into your mouth to muffle your screams as Minhyuk shoves into you, jostling your body up the wall.

Your body feels as though it’s on fire and everything is too much, too good, too intense and it has to peak somewhere. Shuddering as you approach your end, Minhyuk pulls his hand back, a sharp slap resounding in the room as he brings it down onto your rear. You nearly cry as the skin of your ass burns, arousal tripling as Minhyuk rasps into your ear.

“That’s for testing my patience today, sugar.”

And then his hand comes back around to rub at your clit and you howl.

Your end washes over you in intense cascades, a choked off scream erupting from your lips as you bite down on your knuckles. Minhyuk’s thrusts grow erratic, sloppy and uncoordinated as he chases his own release, dropping his head onto your shoulder with a low ‘fuck’ as he comes in thick spurts inside of you for the second time.

He drops your leg, catching you around the waist as your legs nearly give out from under you, laughing with a ‘woah, there’. Minhyuk turn you around gently, holding you up with his arm and leaning forward to give you a lingering kiss, soft and sensual and it makes your toes curl at the touch.

You sigh into the kiss, relaxing into the post-orgasmic haze and toying with the sweaty hairs at the nape of his neck.

Minhyuk pulls away from you, pressing his damp forehead against yours as he sticks a hand into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, wiping at your face and legs. You wince when your feel the dried cum on your face stick to your eyebrow, pulling at the hair when Minhyuk moves to clean it.

“Sorry, love,” he tells you with an apologetic grimace. “I didn’t realize that it would get all over the place like that.”

You rolls your eyes, hissing slightly when the handkerchief lightly grazes over your sensitive folds.

“Stupid, that’s what I told you.” You cross your arms over your chest as you regain control over your legs. “and I’m surprised Kihyun hasn’t come looking, so let’s go now because I don’t need him on my case about this.”

Minhyuk nods, laughing softly as he tucks himself back into his pants with a low hiss and helps you readjust your skirt. He crumples up the handkerchief,spinning around to look for a trashcan when the door slam open and an employee stumbles in, mop in hand.

She stares at you, wide eyed and stutters, “Excuse me, can I help you? This area is for employees only.”

Minhyuk smiles widely, sliding your hand into his grasp, “She wasn’t feeling well and looked for a bathroom and ended up coming in here. I just came by to get her.”

He sidesteps the girl, pulling you out with him with a cheery ‘thank you!’

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He whispers, bending down to give you a panicked look as he holds out the balled up handkerchief.

You shrug, giving him an unsure look as you walk back to the table, a slight limp in your walk. Kihyun glances up from his plate, half a string of spaghetti hanging out of his mouth and smiles teasingly.

“You guys were gone for a while and this hot waiter came by with big arms and I’ve never been so happy at an Italian restaurant in my life.”

Laughing, you push Minhyuk into his seat and follow suit, dropping a clean napkin over your lap to hide any noticeable stains on your skirt.

Minhyuk grimaces, awkwardly twitching his hands on the tabletop, before finally dropping the handkerchief on a corner of the table with stiff movements.

“And you know, I think he was into me, too. His arms were like, so buff, but he had this weird look on his face? Like he was thinking really hard about like, pouring water into my glass? Unsure of what that means,” Kihyun continues, resting an elbow on the table. He leans forward to whisper something when his hand shifts and the plate falls on his lap, spilling spaghetti all over his pants.

“Gross, oh my god, gross, ew,” Kihyun cries, frantically swatting at his sauce-stained crotch. “This is so gross, what the fuck,” he mumbles, as a waiter comes jogging up, white towel slung over a broad, tanned shoulder, and a pitcher of water in one hand.

“Sir, is everything alright?” He asks, whipping his towel off one shoulder and gently pressing it to Kihyun’s thigh.

Kihyun’s face reddens and his mouth gapes open as he frantically reaches across the table for another napkin, snatching the first one his hand lands one.

Everything sort of happens in slow motion after that.

You and Minhyuk look at each other in horror as Kihyun pulls the handkerchief off the table, simultaneously pushing out of your seats to lean across the table and take it back. Kihyun’s blushing face becomes bewildered as a squelch sounds from the cloth, clear liquid beginning to seep between his fingers. A multitude of emotions pass over his face, confusion, shock, horror as he stares at it, eyes flicking from the handkerchief to you to Minhyuk to the hot waiter.

Kihyun screams.

A/N: lol im sorry to the requester who asked for this bc it definitely deviated from the actual prompt buuuuttttt I did have a lot of fun writing the end! 

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