#but I will be bringing in a couple. I claim Air Man and Metal Man!

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side. 

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

 “God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts. 

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for. 

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips. 

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors. 

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue. 

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds. 

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of. 

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?” 

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. 

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard. 

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly. 

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling. 

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss. 

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other. 

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all. 

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him. 

It’s too meticulous. 

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock. 

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface. 

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance. 

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer. 

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans. 

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does. 

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring. 

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety.  “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like. 

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod, 

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in. 

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle. 

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[josephquinnswhore]

hi honey! i discovered your blog not too long ago and my love your writing is so amazing i actually can't get enough!

i had a request if your taking them? it would be a dad!pedro pascal x wife!reader. and i've been thinking about this heavy since he was at the oscar's

could you do like a super fluff about everyone's reactions if he was the one to win an oscar for best actor?

hope you have a wonderful day my love! 💝

Cause for Celebration - pedro pascal x female reader

Summary: Pedro is nervous about being nominated for his first Oscar Award.

Word Count: 1.9k

Note: This is the best frigging idea I’ve ever seen. I love this and I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🤍 This is my first request I’m crying so many tears right now! Thank you anon I LOVE you. May you pillow always be cold on both sides. Please let me know if you like it 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Your fingers seem to have a conscious of their own, mindlessly twisting your wedding ring around your finger to stop your hands from jittering as you were led to the paparazzi.

“Pedro! Pedro over here!” The flash of white light was blinding, the screaming and calling of paparazzi as they’re desperately attempting to gain your attention, you smile politely as you stand next to Pedro, changing your pose to his arm around your back and your hand resting on his chest. “Pedrito! I love you!” A fan screamed from next to the photographers, the one confession was enough for Pedro to thank the photographers, entwine your hands and make a beeline straight for his fans, as you approach the fans are a mess, crying and screaming as Pedro signs their items, even taking some selfies with fans. “Y/n can we please get a photo! We love you!” Your heart skipped, smiling at how sweet his fans were and you accepted graciously, “of course sweetheart!” You bare the biggest grin and lean into her as she cries, ignoring the metal barrier that presses into your ribs. “Thank you so much! Good luck Pedro!” You both thank them and move on to the interview the woman, you knew well from Pedro’s past interviews and long mop of auburn hair. Pedro’s warm hand met your back, hands grazing on the sequinned gold dress that clung to your body graciously.

“Pedro it’s so good to see you again, this is your wife right?” Pedro let out a small laugh, turning his body towards you in an attempt to include you. “Yes, this is my beautiful wife, how couldn’t I bring her? She’s my number one supporter.” The redness that spreads along your cheeks heats your face, adding to the blush from your make up. You clasp your hands together and let out an excited huff of air, “you’ve done so incredibly this year honey, you deserve this Oscar. I’ll run up to the stage and snatch it if you don’t win!” Your giggles are harmonised by Pedro’s and Amelia’s laugh. “Will you be on the dance floor with Pedro at the after party this evening?” Your hand tentatively rubs down Pedro’s arm, shaking the nerves off you, “of course how could I not? I cant have another beautiful woman claiming my man!” Pedro scoffs playfully, “you know I only have eyes for you cariño.” Amelia sighs adoringly at the two of you, “well that confirms it folks! Pedro and y/n are the hottest couple on the red carpet tonight!” She turns away from the camera her co worker held and back to you, “good luck tonight, see you two next time!”

Both saying your goodbyes, Pedro’s assistant led you past a long line of celebrities, waiting to be let in, your breath hitched, “oh my god you’re skipping past Andrew Garfield!” Pedro slips his hand into yours, “must be getting important baby,” he jokes, knowing of your little crush on Andrew, and you’re led straight into the venue. “You’re the most important to me baby- whoa,” you gasp in awe, interrupting yourself. The room was ridiculously huge, hundreds of seats in rows you couldn’t count, the stage was empty, other than the stand and a large screen above the stage, red curtains framed the outside.

“I can’t believe this is real, I mean I can. You deserve this more than anyone, I’m just so proud of you.” Celebrities fill the hundreds of seats, the ones near you being filled with A-List celebrities you’d crushed on when you were younger. “Thank you baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your temple, moving his arm around to rest on the back of your chair, you lean into him as the ceremony begins, lights dimming slightly as the spotlights shone bright on the presenters.

Unsurprisingly, Michelle Yeoh won best actress. She was a talented actor, her role as Evelyn in ‘everything everywhere all at once’ was unmatched. The mix of sci-fi and adventure had you on the edge of your seat and was a brilliantly produced movie. Her speech was just as brilliant, her sense of humour and gratitude was touching, and you felt nothing but happiness for her as she thanked her family, shaking the hands of presenters, Harrison Ford and Kate Hudson who clapped in celebration for her.

“We would like to start off with a massive thank you to everyone who joins us tonight, this has been a massive year of acting and the most incredible. We are excited to announce that Halle Berry and Elizabeth Olsen will be presenting the next award and last of the night.” Harrison Ford and Kate Hudson clap to themselves as they introduce two of your idols, barely containing your excitement you clap steadily, Pedro laughing at your excitement.

“This is it baby, this is yours.” You grip his hand encouragingly. “We are happy to present this years best actor, with some incredible nominees including; Austin Butler for his role in Elvis”, a montage of the Elvis movie flashes on the large screen tv. “Brandon Fraser for his role in The Whale,” cheer erupts through the stadium, Brandon was special to a lot of people, no doubt he would win if Pedro didn’t. “Colin Farrell for his role in ‘The Banshees of Inisherin, and what an interesting movie that was.” You find yourself jittering, Pedro’s warmth leaving your hand as he straightens his jacket, a nervous twitch of his. “Last but not least, Pedro Pascal for his spectacular role of Joel Miller in The Last of Us game rendition.” Your eyes focus on the screen, your husband portraying Joel Miller, your hand running down his suit pant on his thigh. “I’m here baby, we got this.” You whisper, reassuring the anxiety both of you felt.

The room cheered for Pedro, your heart soars with pride as you cheer along. “Alright alright let’s get to it.” The crowd shushes, the rooms tension increased tenfold. The fumbling of the envelope could be heard through the microphone, the crackling of the paper as it opened and the two women looked at each other with a big smile on their face. “The winner for the 2023 Best Actor award is,” you’re on the edge of your seat and Pedro is still, anxiety clawing at him. “Pedro Pascal!” They exclaim in unison. Your jaw hits the floor, pride and excitement becoming too much, the whole room cheered for him, he was unmoving in his seat, in shock that he actually won. You pull his arm upward, a big grin on your face as he stands, you stand with him and you don’t miss the loving look in his eyes, he kisses you softly, laughing as he pulls away, moving toward the stage. You and your peers are clapping, your tears welling on your lash line threatened to ruin your perfectly applied make up. Pedro shakes Halle and Elizabeth’s hands, taking the Oscar in his hands and cradles it, as if it were made of glass. “I don’t even know what to say, I was certain I wouldn’t win so I haven’t prepared much of a speech.” The confession earned him a chuckle from the crowd, yourself included at his truth. “I just, want to thank my family, my mother for guiding me my sisters and nephews for their support. Everyone on my team and the guys at Naughty Dog for giving me this life-changing opportunity. I want to thank the other nominees, especially Brandon Frasier, your journey and story has touched us all and we love you man.” The room erupts in cheer, whistling clapping and yelling echo in agreement. “Lastly and most importantly, I want to thank my beautiful wife, for always believing in me, pushing me to be a better man. For loving me and for being selfless, for putting up with a lifestyle she knew nothing about. I want to thank her especially for making me a father to our beautiful daughter Eméile, and our beautiful son on the way!” Your cheeks are burning ferociously as the crowd gasps and turns to you, seeing you confirm the statement with your hands protectively grasping your stomach, a small bump that would’ve been otherwise noticeable, was now noticeable.

Past the point of caring about your make up, tears are falling down your cheeks, a sob choking you up as it gets stuck in your throat, you blow him a kiss as he finalises his speech with a repetition of his wedding vows. “Thank you for saving me, I wouldn’t be here without you cariño.” You were sobbing, clapping for your husband as your chest expands to make more room for your heart that is so full of love. He pulls you into a bear hug as he embraces you, his own tears of happiness falling on to your bare shoulder. The event coming to an end as they thank everyone for their presence. “With that ladies and gentlemen, we want to thank you all for joining us tonight. Please feel free to stick around for the after party to celebrate!”

Pedro pulls away from you, shaking the hands of his peers as they congratulate him, inviting him to party with them early into the morning, in which he declines. “No thank you, me and my beautiful wife are going to spend our time celebrating as a family, you all have a wonderful evening!”

“Dad you won! I knew you would! I’m so proud of you!” Your daughter Eméile exclaims excitedly as she sees the golden figure of his Oscar. She buries her face in his suit-clad chest and sighs. “You’re like, the coolest dad ever now. You know that right?” Pedro laughs and ruffles your daughters hair. “Uh I would hope so Em!” She smiles as she hugs you, gently approaching as she doesn’t want to hurt the baby, even if you assure her a hundred times it’s fine. “I’m so proud of you too ma.” You bite your lip to stop it’s wobble, “thank you baby. I’m proud of you too. I’m darn proud of us all!” You admit with a huff. “Why don’t we watch a movie with dinner and popcorn to wind down?” You and Em shoot each other a look and grin, Pedro raises an eyebrow at your scheming. “I vote ‘We can be Heroes’.” You snort as you purse your lips, “Agreed. Two votes babe you’re outnumbered.” You confirm with a smirk on your lips.

Pedro sighs, “alright, I’ll order takeout. Chinese?” There was no objection as you both murmur in agreement taking seat on the lounge.

“I don’t wanna hear a peep outta you two about how cringe this movie is.” You and Eméile both burst out laughing, “but dad it is kinda cringe.” Pedro sighs as he sits with the popcorn, the smell wafting into your nose as you salivating as your hand dives into the oversized bowl of steaming buttered popcorn as the credits roll in. “You’re 16, don’t you wanna watch like, Wednesday or something?” Em scoffs, “no, I wanna watch this,” she points to the tv and turns to her dad, “and since when did my age have anything to do with my interests?” You raise your eyebrows at Pedro and he gives you a look of confusion, shaking his head. “Teenagers are so confusing.” He mumbles to himself as you all settle into the couch, crunching on the popcorn simultaneously as you cuddle up to each other as you wait for your Chinese takeout to arrive.

What in the world did you ever feel nervous for? You think as you watch the movie on the screen, the effects making you laugh as you watch Pedro-Marcus fly through the sky on the tv screen.

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 1

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Tav gets kidnapped and is surprisingly calm about her new predicament. She spends her first night in the devil’s bed. Raphael is a pain in the ass to share a bed with.

(AN: A pretty self-indulgent fic that I am working on. It is a lot more light-hearted than what I have previously written. The plot also gives me an opportunity to explore a more private and less performative Raphael. There will be more chapters.)

Warning: NSFW

It was a couple of weeks after the defeat of the elderbrain. Tav had been out drinking with a few of her companions. She had gotten very drunk and at some point during the evening she had gotten lost from the rest.

A handsome young tiefling man had approached her and bought her drinks. He had red skin, yellow glowing eyes, and a disarming smile.

They talked for a couple of hours. He claimed to be a wizard like her. She should have known something was up when he seemed to be very unknowledgeable about even simple spells, but what could she say? The man was charming, and the alcohol made it hard for her to care about him potentially lying just to get her into bed.

When they got to his place, she was half-way out of her clothes when something hit her head.

Everything went black.  

When she woke up, she heard the faint sound of something...jingling? She felt a sharp poke to her ribs. She grumbled quietly, still not entirely awake. She received another poke to her ribs. She whined and mumbled in response. Then there was a full force kick that squeezed the air out of her and made her turn to her side.

She held onto the boot that had kicked her and opened her eyes. Black boots that went into a tip at the toes. She knew where she had seen those silly jingly boots before. She looked up. Familiar orange eyes looked down on her. He was in his cambion form.

“Oh shit,” she mumbled.

“Indeed,” Raphael said in a dangerously low tone.

Tav had signed his contract back then and used the Orphic Hammer to free Orpheus. She did intend to give the Crown of Karsus to Raphael, but her companions made her change her mind. The Crown of Karsus ended up in Mystra’s hands instead, in order to cure Gale of his orb.

“Thank you for bringing her here, Cassius,” Raphael said to someone else while his eyes were still locked on her. “Now leave us.”

Tav looked behind Raphael to see the young tiefling man that she had gone home with. So, he was a warlock… It suddenly made all the sense in the world why he did not know his ass from his elbow when it came to wizardry. The warlock smiled at her as he left them. Tav’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Ugh…” she groaned and looked up at Raphael. “He’s one of yours? You couldn’t have sent Korrilla or something?”

“You know Korrilla’s face, little mouse,” Raphael sighed. “You may not be the brightest person I have ever crossed, but I don’t expect you to be so dull that you would walk into my trap willingly…Then again, nothing would surprise me with you.”

Trap? Why couldn’t he just whisk her away like he did that first time they met if he wanted her there? Tav’s brow furrowed as she tried to understand. She lifted her head to look down her body. She wasn’t wearing a shirt. That was going to have to be a concern for a later time, because she noticed that she was wearing something around her wrists. They were tight metal cuffs with infernal letters inscribed in them.

Her brain was not her friend between the high levels of alcohol still in her blood and the fact that she had been hit on her head with a blunt object. She held the cuffs up to her face and studied them with all the concentration she could muster. She had seen something like these cuffs before…

“Help me out here…” she said and looked up at Raphael.

“They are constructs like those that held Prince Orpheus,” Raphael explained. “I’m aware that your mental capabilities leave something to be desired at the moment, so I will gladly explain it to you in simple terms: You won’t leave this house with those on, and you won’t get them off without the Orphic Hammer.”

“Is that what all this is about?” she sighed. “You could have just asked for it back. The damned thing has just been collecting dust at my house anyway.”

“No, Tav,” Raphael said in a darker tone. “This is about punishment. We had a deal, and you broke it. You snooped through my house, took things that did not belong to you, killed my incubus…I allowed it because I thought you still had the sense to go through with what we agreed upon.”

She winced. It had been a stupid decision to go to his house and one that did not even pay off. When Gale had been offered Mystra’s help, they went to the House of Hope to gauge their options. Everything seemed so tightly secured and locked down that they decided not to risk it in the end.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Haarlep…” she said.

“Don’t be,” Raphael replied smoothly. “I have half a mind to make you his replacement until your dear little friends bring me my hammer back…Then, I will make you watch as your friends die a cruel and slow death. After, I will take what is now rightfully mine: your soul.”

Well…fuck.

This wasn’t good. Her friends would without a doubt come to her rescue if Raphael told them that she was held captive in his home. She needed to keep them away and bide her time until she could figure out a solution.

“Say that they don’t come,” She said. “What then?”

“They will,” Raphael said. “You will be treated well until then since I need you alive and in one piece to lure them here. You will be granted free roam of the house, three meals a day, and a soft bed to sleep in. Consider yourself prized livestock that gets pampered in its final days before being sent to slaughter. Not that you deserve it…”

She took a deep breath. She had to somehow contact her friends and ask them to stay away. Then, she would have to find a way out of those damned cuffs so she could return home. How in the Hells she would manage to do that without the Orphic Hammer, she did not know, but it was not an option to gamble with her friends’ lives in order to bring it to her.

Tav had always found a way to be calm and relaxed, even in the worst of situations. She already had half a plan in her mind. All she needed was a moment of privacy to use a sending spell to alert her friends.

Raphael extended a hand to her, to help her up and off the floor. She took it and was pulled to her feet. She winced and held a hand to her head once the blood rushed to her injury from the blunt object hitting her.

“Come,” Raphael said and led her through the house.

They stepped through the barrier to the boudoir.

“I trust that you have already familiarized yourself with this room during your burglary, so I believe we can skip the tour,” Raphael said with no short amount of bitterness and then gestured to a wardrobe. “You will find clothes and essentials in there.”

Raphael turned around to face her. He looked her up and down. His gaze lingered at her bra and cleavage for just a second too long. Tav crossed her arms to cover herself.

“Bathe, rest, make yourself at home,” Raphael said with a smug smile.

Tav looked around the room and then at Raphael.

“Where will I sleep?” she asked.

Raphael’s smile widened and he gestured to his bed. Tav’s brow furrowed as her eyes went from him to the bed.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Deadly,” Raphael said calmly. “You killed my bed warmer. I believe it’s only fair that you take their place…Of course, I would never force you to do anything. If this little arrangement doesn’t suit you, I can have a cell in the dungeons cleared out for you. Its last visitor has been decomposing in there for a while now…”

“Alright, alright,” Tav said in defeat. “Fine. I get it…I won’t complain.”

“I thought not,” Raphael said smoothly. “I have business to attend to before retiring. Until then, Korrilla will be watching you.”

Tav sighed. She had hoped for a moment of alone time, but Raphael was not stupid. He was probably fully counting on her trying something, so he made sure to keep a close eye on her.

Korrilla entered the boudoir shortly after.

“Evening, boss,” Korrilla said with a smile, greeting Raphael before turning to Tav. “Tav.”

Tav smiled and waved casually at her. She had never minded Korrilla. After all, Tav did not know the circumstances of her pact, and she did not feel like judging her solely because her boss was a pain in the ass.

“Remember,” Raphael said addressing Korrilla. “Do not let her out of your sight.”

Korrilla nodded and Raphael gave Tav one last glance before leaving the boudoir.

Tav and Korrilla stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other. Tav was trying to figure out how she could divert Korrilla’s attention away from her.

“I think I’m going to take a bath,” Tav said casually and moved towards the restoration pool.

“Good idea,” Korrilla said, already following her. “I have to say, you look a mess. Cassius really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Surely, he could have used a spell to knock me out instead. Not too bright, is he?” Tav said and started slowly taking off her clothes, waiting for Korrilla to give her a moment of privacy. “He’s new, I presume?”

Korrilla seated herself on the other side of the pool, so she had a clear view of Tav.

“Correct,” Korrilla answered.

“'Correct' to which statement?” Tav asked with chuckle. “That he is not too bright, or that he is new?”

“He is new,” Korrilla said with a smile that signaled to Tav that she did not disagree with the other statement either.

Tav pulled off her pants, leaving her in her underwear. Korrilla was still watching her.

“Are you seriously going to keep staring at me while I bathe?” Tav asked.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Korrilla said and gestured for her to continue taking off her clothes. “I promise you that no matter what, I have seen far worse within this room.”

Tav sighed quietly. She reluctantly took off the rest of her clothes and slipped into the warm water of the pool. She felt relief as the water instantly healed her head-injury and took the edge off her hangover. Tav leaned her head back on the pool’s edge and closed her eyes for a moment.

After a long bath, Tav dried herself off and wrapped herself in a towel. She walked to the wardrobe with Korrilla at her heels. She opened it and sifted through the clothes.

There was a bit of everything: dresses, shirts, pants…Tav looked at some of the underwear. She pulled out a strappy leather bra with matching panties and showed them to Korrilla.

“Is he serious?” Tav asked with a deadpan expression.

“Leftovers from Haarlep, if I should guess,” Korrilla said.

Made sense. Tav looked after any type of nightclothes. Most of it was very revealing, but she managed to find a long silk night-gown. It was still suggestive, but it was her best option out of the bunch. The neckline was quite revealing, but at least it covered more of her body than the other negligees she found.

“This will have to do,” Tav sighed and put it on.

Tav crawled into bed after. It might have been the most comfortable bed she had ever laid in. The mattress was neither too soft nor too firm, and the sheets were silk. She felt sleepy moments after she had laid down. Korrilla was watching her from a chair.

“You’re not sleepy?” Tav asked and looked at her. Was there even a small chance that Korrilla would fall asleep so that Tav had the chance to send message to her friends, she would fight her sleepiness and stay awake.

“I’m not going to cuddle with you, if that is what you are asking,” Korrilla answered, looking wide awake. “I don’t sleep on the job.”

“Oh, you flirt. Not what I meant. I was just asking,” Tav mumbled with a sigh. Her sleepiness won against her determination. She gave up on her hope to reach her friends that night and decided to try the day after as she drifted to sleep.

She stirred from her sleep when she heard Korrilla leave, and Raphael enter. She yawned quietly. She made sure her night-gown was adjusted so it covered as much as possible before closing her eyes again. She felt a dip in the mattress as Raphael laid down behind her.

She gave a surprised yelp as Raphael grabbed around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Her back was up against his chest, his arm held around her tightly, and he settled his chin on the top of her head. He placed his leg over hers, effectively making sure that she could not move during the night.

This was without a doubt the closest she had ever been to Raphael. His skin was unnaturally warm, like that of a person with a high fever. She knew that protesting would not get her anywhere, because there most likely was a reason as to why he held her like that: to make sure that she would not try anything during the night.

She tried making herself comfortable despite the restrictions to her movements. Raphael’s grip tightened slightly in response.

“Lie still,” he grumbled.

Tav felt the deep rumble of his voice through his chest, and she would have been lying if she said that it did not do things to her.

“You’re a really uncomfortable big spoon, do you know that?” she complained and squirmed again. “I’m just trying to make myself comfortable.”

She felt something through the fabric of her nightgown as she adjusted her position in his arms. It made her freeze for a moment.

“Are you naked?” she asked in disbelief.

“Mm,” he affirmed tiredly. “Sleep, mouse.”

“I can’t persuade you to put on some clothes?”

“You are very demanding for a woman in your position,” Raphael said. “No. I will sleep in my own bed as I please.”

She sighed and adjusted herself one last time before closing her eyes.

Sleeping in the arms of a devil was pure hell for a multitude of reasons. Tav had never sweated so much in her life.

With difficulty, Tav rolled over to her other side since her back was literally soaked with sweat. Raphael’s grip was so tight around her that she was almost forced to lean her head against his chest as she faced him. She refused to do so and leaned her head back and away from him. The awkward position made her snore softly in her sleep. She was rudely woken during the night by his tail hitting her thigh, as a hint for her to stop snoring.

She was rudely woken yet again, when he suddenly snaked his arm under her to grab her and move her with him like a ragdoll as he rolled over to his other side.

In the early morning, Tav opened her eyes as she felt something press up against her behind. She could hear on his breathing that he was still at least somewhat asleep.

He was rock-hard and his, what felt like, impressive size was resting against her ass.

He rolled his hips against her and groaned softly.

The arm that had been holding her tightly, moved down to her hip to push her back against him. Another soft groan.

Tav’s eyes widened, and she was suddenly very awake.

She was careful not to move, but she did feel a tinge of growing arousal despite herself.

He pushed her back against him once again and groaned slightly louder. It was followed by a sharp inhale and a stir, as he woke up entirely.

A few moments later he got up and off the bed.

Tav squeezed her eyes shut. They had both knew what just happened. Should she say something? Should she pretend that she was asleep the entire time? Pretend she was dead? The last option was honestly tempting but she decided to try her luck with option two.

She listened to his movements. After a short while, it got quiet. She waited a few moments to be sure that he had left, before opening her eyes.

This could be her opportunity to reach her friends.

She sat up quickly and looked around the boudoir. Her eyes fell on the young tiefling warlock who must have entered without her hearing a thing. He was sitting in the chair that Korrilla had sat in the day before.

“Morning,” Cassius said with a smile.

Tav groaned in frustration and slid back into bed.

[blueberryboistories]

Jacob's Double Stuffing Pt. 2

Jacob all of a sudden wakes out of a trance. The workers are tying his fat wrists and ankles with strings. “What happened? What are you doing to me?” the rotund boy in his blue tracksuit stands as the actions occurs around him. Jacob felt like he had fallen asleep and this would be a fever dream. He looks down and finds the beach ball belly still firmly in place and his feet blocked from view. “Put me back, I can’t be this fat from just chocolate!”. He man flaps his fat arms like a child throwing a temper tantrum. “Don’t worry Jacob we have a plan in place” Jacob turns his fat head to see the chocolatier directing the workers. Jacob can feel the bottom of his double chin graze the tops of his swelled tits. The boy looks inflated with fat, roll upon roll of flab. His fat hairy gut fully exposed, red stretch marks scattered across from his rapid growth. 

“Gentlemen it's time for inflation!” Wonka yells as the workers step back from the fat guest. “INFLATION! I am already inflated with fat!” Jacob screams, his words almost muffled by his fat cheeks. “My dear boy, if we are to continue with the tour we have to take drastic measures. You can’t walk due to your newfound flab, we must make you lighter” Wonka says as he runs his hand along the exposed flesh of Jacob’s gut. The flabby guest moans slightly and begins to comply. “Now we need you to drink this” the candy mans holds up a bright green soda bottle to the man’s lips. Wonka tilts the liquid and Jacobs takes it through his fat lips. Jacob feels the bubbles tingle his nose and throat. With the liquid gone Wonka removes the bottle from his face and takes a step back. Jacob lets out a deep heavy burp and says “That soda wasn’t half bad Wonka, what’s it called?” staring at the group as they back away. “Its called Fizzy Lifting Drink, you’ll see why in a minute”.

Jacob begins to feel a tightness across his middle. Burping again as it grows inside him. It feels like someone stuck and air hose inside him. His fat hands grab the sides of his stomach as the pressure builds. He feels his feet leave the floor and the group get shorter as he rises. “Ok everyone it’s working! Grab a rope!” Wonka says as the team of workers grab the ropes connecting his limbs. A worried look grows on Jacob’s face as they pull like a balloon. “Wonka what are you doing to me now?!” he yells down to the group as they almost loose control the fat ballon. “I told you we had to make you lighter. We are going to the next stop on the tour now. My workers will guide you!”.

The fat boy and his team of handlers navigate the halls like a balloon in a parade. Fat Jacobs floats above, his fat bumping the ceiling or walls when the workers loose control. The workers shorted the ropes and bring the boy closer to the floor. Jacobs reads the words on the door they are about to enter: INVENTING ROOM. His inflated form bursts the doors open, he burps a couple of time and the pressure begins to lessen. His fat feet slowly return to the floor and the weight of his 350 pound body returns. After a couple of steps he is out of breath “Wonka . . . slow down . .  don’t go so fast”. His fat hands rest on top of his belly as he tries to catch his breath. “Sorry Jacob I have to remember you can’t walk as fast with all that extra weight” Wonka chuckles. “Right over here is my newest invention though. A machine that can produce a three course meal, all in one stick of gum”

“Impossible!” Jacob says not believing the claim. “Its true! Would you like to try it? We should have all the problems worked out. I’m sure it would help satisfy your insatiable appetite” the candy man tempts with a glint in his eye. “Alright why not! You know I can’t turn down anything you make Wonka” Jacob stares up at the gleaming metal machine as it come to life. Buzzers, gears, cogs, and lights go into action. A flurry of activity calms and a single bright blue piece of gum is dispensed out of the machine.”Go ahead and grab it big guy, I’m sure you’ll love it” Wonka points for Jacob to take it. Jacob lowers his chubby hand and takes the gum. Depositing it in his chubby cheeks and beginning to chew. The gums favor develops in his mouth within seconds. 

“Oh my god! Real tomato soup running down my throat! I can taste and feel it, this is amazing” Jacob exclaims as the flavor deepens changing again “Mmmmmm  . .  Roast beef and a baked potato! I can taste the sour cream and cheese. Beef covered in wonderful gravy” He big boy moans as his fat hands press into his gut feeling the food go in. “Just wait for desert!” Wonka says with a devilish grin as he steps back, Jacob doesn’t notice with his eyes closed in ecstasy. “Here it is, BLUEBERRY PIE! MMM my favorite! juicy blueberries and delicious ice cream! I can feel the juice running down my throat! MMMMMM” the fat boy doesn’t notice that his skin begins to turn blue. starting with his nose and spreading across his whole body. His exposed gut turning a deep hue, hairy flesh turned brilliant blue. His blue hands grab at his rolls squeezing the blue skin. “Its always goes wrong with the dessert!” Wonka exclaims bringing Jacob out of his pleasure. Jacob catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror. Horrified to see the color he is. 

“What the hell is happening to me, Im turning violet! What have you done to me now!” frantically grabbing at his fat flesh. “Im sorry Jacob I thought we had worked out the kinks” Wonka smiles as the blue boy panics. Before he can say another word Jacob hears gurgles rise from his body. He feels the flow of juice quicken and he watches his gut expand outward. Seeing his reflection as the hairy flesh stretches, the bright blue color widens as he fills. His fat arms rise up as he inflates. The tracksuit begins to loose the battle and tear to shreds. He fat pecs exposed to the air as blue liquid dribbles from them. “mmwonka . .  helpmme!” Jacobs mumbles as he loses ability to speak, fat blue face swelling. “They all end up as blueberries, oh well I will get it right eventually!” he calls the workers over “roll him to the juicing room before he explodes, we can’t have a mess like last time” the workers begins to roll Jacob as he reaches the end of swelling. A round blue ball of fat with hands, feet and a head. as he rolls by Wonka says “Jacob I cannot make any promises, your fattening incident earlier may complicate our ability to extract the juice from you. You may have to live here from now on and be our taste tester. Does that sound ok to you?”. “mmyes . .  mr wonka” Jacob accepts his new fate as the chocolate mans fatty boy. one of the workers whispers in his ear as he rolls “We will have plenty of fun playing with our new blueberry toy fatty”. Jacob moans as the workers roll him away

[buckybarnesdiaries]

the knife

© @jamesbrnes

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Once a week, Bucky cleans and sharpens his knives, but this time, the easy task takes another path.

word count: 1.936 words. (i know, it's long, but it worth it).

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! knife!kink, sir!kink, praising!kink, foreplay (female receiving, use of a knife), language, mention of bodily fluid.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Who in their right mind wouldn’t feel hypnotized by the way Bucky has to dance a knife between his fingers?

Once a week it’s all he does during the day. Clean and sharpen his knives, after spending the whole morning training with them, while you can’t stop looking at him amazed. And horny. You feel like a slut, let’s be clear. You can’t help but imagine how good his hands make you feel whenever he touches you, whenever he grips your throat, whenever he pulls your hair. But, mostly, he’s too stupid to notice it. Even innocent you could say.

So, there you are, sitting on the sofa in front of him pretending to be reading a book, while his fingers grab a cloth with too much care to clean the blade of his favorite one. The one you got him for your first anniversary. A mini-machete with a black leather handle and golden ornaments all around it. When Bucky saw it for the first time, he fell in love.

As soon as he raises his oceanic eyes towards you, yours fall to the pages trying to hide the bunch of emotions within your chest and your lower belly. You can’t help but lick your lips clearing your throat, a gesture that makes him giggle putting down the machete over the table. In complete silence, Bucky stands up to stretch his arms to the ceiling, before leading his steps dangerously closer to you. Pressing your lips to contain a guilty laugh for being caught in action, you look at him through your eyelashes.

“You have something to tell me, doll?”

You shake your head swallowing greedily, about to choke on your own saliva.

“You sure?” He inquires then, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

Fucking grey sweatpants. This time, you nod with your head, whilst he is sitting by your side. Bucky grabs the book between your hands, tossing it above his shoulder to somewhere on the floor, without putting his eyes away from yours. You gulp again, starting to feel some difficulties to breathe staring at him placing his arm made of vibranium over your shoulders. There’s no gesture on his face when he raises his left hand to your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“C'mon... Tell me what you want”.

His lips brush yours, driving you insane and racing your heart, as his firm tone of voice slides itself between them. A shiver runs down your backbone, drying your throat as the heat floods your guts. But you can’t think of a single word to say. Bucky waits patiently a couple of seconds, nodding at the end as —for him— the game has started. He puckers his lips, about to get up from the sofa pulling his hands away from you. And you stop him. Of course you do. As soon as you can react. You grab his cold wrist to push him back, almost falling on top of you.

Bucky’s laugh fills the whole room, getting comfier between your legs while your fingers get tangled in his long brown hair. Using the tip of his tongue, he licks your lips at the same time he crashes his pelvis against your needed core. You can’t hold a loud and pleased moan, closing your eyes and hearing another laugh coming from his mouth.

“Last chance, doll. Do you have something to tell me?” The soldier grunts onto your lips.

“Just… touch me, please”. You’re almost sobbing so anxiously, when Bucky starts to rock his hips between your legs, creating a very satisfying friction.

“No, doll... We’re gonna try something new”.

Your eyes widen in surprise, curiosity, and confusion, touring the length of his metallic arm until reaching the long fingers grabbing the mini-machete you gave him. You gasp uncontrollably, while his other hand snakes up your thigh to find your panties under the baggy shirt you’re wearing. One of the shirts you usually steal from his wardrobe. Bucky brings the blade to his teeth, holding it there to sit up and help you to strip. In less than a blink, you are completely exposed to his attentive and lustful blue eyes.

You spread your legs for him without the needing of being asked for, showing him in all its glory your warm cunt shining in your arousal. Bucky would give his life for digging his hard and twitching dick in your pussy right now, but he has another plan. One that you are going to enjoy anyway. Leaning over you with the machete now back to his hand, his left forefinger goes straight to your folds; wetting it with your sweet juices in a soft stroke.

“Open your mouth”. He demands with such a raspy tone of voice, bringing the handle of his knife to your lips.

You welcome it in silence, delighted, hornier than ever. Twelve inches of leather that you suck and lick pleasantly for him. You cover it with your saliva, swirling your tongue around it as he marks the rhythm inside your mouth. Meanwhile, his index finger helps you to calm your anxiety, giving enough attention to your swollen clit. You can’t think, you can’t moan, you can’t breathe. You two haven’t started and you feel already that you could cum in less than a sigh. Bucky sees it in your eyes, and he can’t hide a petty smile growing on his face. He loves to tease you.

“Have you been feeling like this all day, uh?”

Pulling away the handle from your mouth, he drags it over your skin, down by your collarbone and the small space between your breasts. Slowly, too damn slowly. You don’t know how he can control himself this good when you’re about to cry. You need him so much. All the time. But days like these… You need him twice as much.

“Yes…” You just mumble weakly as the wet handle reaches your abdomen continuing his path down.

“Tell me what you want”.

“Put it inside me, please…”

“Please, what, uh?”

“Please, sir”.

You can see your boyfriend breathing through his parted lips, catching his air at the moment he watches you whimper when the leather slightly touches your clit. You are so beautiful for him —legs opened, hard nipples and begging.

Placing his flesh arm under your waist to raise a little your ass, Bucky plays with the handle up and down your slit, making a pressure that causes you to grunt annoyed. He giggles inevitably, sliding it slowly into your wetness, and you can’t help but arch your back pleased when the knife starts to stretch your walls so torturously and deliciously. When his cool fingers touch you provoking you a soft chill, and you feel it’s completely inside you, Bucky moves back his hand with the same slow pace.

He’s driving you crazy. He knows it pretty well. He doesn’t enjoy anything more than the fact of having you under his control, under his power. Gripping his warm hand around your throat, he makes himself some space by your side on the sofa. Now, his lips can touch yours, drink your delighted sobs, look at your eyes from closer.

“Do you like it, baby doll?”

“Yes… Yes, sir… I li— like it, sir”. You utter with a broken thread of voice, nodding with your head briefly.

“I know. I can feel it. You think I don’t notice…” He whispers in a hum, sticking his forehead to yours, tightening the grip around your neck. “But the truth is… I do it on purpose. I always make sure you look at me. Anyone else, but at me”.

Oh, there it is. These insecurities he always hides masterfully, but the ones that claim your attention the whole time. Bucky needs you too. You were the first person who didn’t treat him like an assassin, nor like a monster. He lives to make you happy. He can’t think about the idea of losing you one day, just because he doesn’t give you enough. But he is. He is more than enough. And you prove him every single day since you met him.

“Please, sir… I wa— want more… faster”. You plea against his lips, placing your arms around his, softly swinging your hips at the rhythm of the knife he’s using to fuck you.

“You want it faster, uh?” He repeats playfully, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek at the end.

“Please…”

And Bucky pleases you. The move of his wrist makes the pace increase a little. The handle goes somewhat deeper, carefully to not hurt you. He twists it making you moan, stir, bite your tongue. Bucky is well-aware of what you like and how you like it. And he wants to make you cream his mini-machete to remember that day whenever he uses it in a mission, far away from you.

A wet, dirty noise starts to make an appearance when the thrusts into your soaked cunt are more constant, just like your satisfied vocals echo the room. Bucky spreads kisses all over your face, keeping his fingers around your neck to keep you close.

“God… you’re such a good girl taking my knife this good”. Your boyfriend can’t help but purr onto your ear, feeling how he could cum in his sweatpants just by looking at you so damn needy for him. “And I swear… it’s not gonna be the only one… I’m gonna make you fuck all my knives, doll”.

Just imagining it, you feel the tickles concentrating in your lower belly. You feel your juices spilling down your buttocks and staining the sofa. This man is going to be the death for you. But if you have to die… Is there any other better way?

“C'mon… do your magic…” He encourages you, getting closer to your lips.

Bucky doesn’t give you the chance to moan in a reply, tucking his tongue into your mouth to devour it. The pushes to your g-spot become eager, harder, and well-aimed; wanting at all cost to make you cum. And as soon as he feels your legs shivering, he goes faster. You can’t control it. The orgasm is growing inside you easily as a forest is set on fire with a match. Crying out with his tongue invading your cavity and dominating yours, you tangle a hand on his hair arching your back as you find a new position that gives you some more pleasure. But you can’t hold it anymore.

Bucky is stealing your air by gripping your throat tighter, kissing you so impatiently, and you can’t hold it anymore.

The soldier swallows the loud howl that borns in the deepest place of your soul, feeling the explosion inside your stomach as you jump inevitably into the abyss of heat. But he doesn’t stop. He continues rocking the knife inside you, wanting to hear you a little more. Wanting to hear his full name mixed with your delighted whining and your growls. It’s never enough for you, nor for him. And now you want him inside you.

“Please… Please…” You cry pushing his metallic hand away from you, making him toss the soaked knife with your juices to the floor. “Please, sir… Fuck me… I beg you… I need your dick”.

“'Course you need it, my little angel… You need it all the damn time, don’t you?” He doesn’t sound angry, but his voice is rougher than ever.

He’s upset because you have forced him to pull out his mini-machete, but soon Bucky forgets it when he is buried deep inside your cunt. His cunt. Only his.

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[inkandpen22]

The Heiress and the Gangster (1/?)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: violence, swearing

Word Count: 2.7k

Part Summary: Y/N Adair, an American heiress, is visiting London for the social season with her fiancé Alfred Bamford. Alfie Simmons and Tommy Shelby have formed a plan to kidnap Y/N and hold her for ransom, that is until Tommy changes his mind...

Masterlist

Y/N

The car rolls up to the entrance of the race track. My driver, Mr. Richards, comes to a steady halt and immediately hops out of the car.

"Ready, darling?" Al questions with a grin beside me.

I pull back the velvet curtain covering my window to peer up at the arena. "As I'll ever be."

Mr. Richards opens the door and offers me his glove-covered hand. "Miss Adair."

I step out gracefully, my wide-brim hat blocking the beaming sun from my face. Al crosses behind the car to join me. His head finds its way to my back securely. Robert, my main bodyguard, climbs out of his own car with two more security my father hired. Al escorts me inside the stadium to the boxes. Robert leads the way with his two henchmen behind us. It's like being put into a human box.

When we arrive at our box, we're greeted by our friends in attendance. It's rare that we make it over to England, so when we do it's nice to see everyone. Al and I perform our social duties, making small talk and asking about everyone's families as though we all didn't have dinner together last night. It's the same couples in different settings for the entire month we're here.

_________________________________

Tommy

I watch from one of the pub tables at the top of the box with John as posh folks shuffle in to find their spots. When news broke that Y/N Adair would be visiting London for a month, both American and England were over the moon. The youngest child and only daughter of William Vincent Adair, the richest banker in America. She will inherit a third of his multi-million dollar fortune. It's a known fact amongst the public that's she's the favorite child so the percentage may be greater than just a third. My boys and Alfie's team are banking on that rumor. If she were to be kidnapped and held for ransom by a couple of English gangsters, it's certain her father will pay a hefty sum for her safe return to The States.

John nudges me subtly to avoid attention. "There she is!"

My eyes flicker away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd toward the entrance of the box. A young woman in an all-white lace dress crosses our path. A gentle smile rests across her lips as the Viscount and Viscountess Furness approach her, each greeting her with an embrace. Her Y/H/C hair peeks through beneath her lavish matching hat. For a moment, I experience hesitation. She's not what I expected at all.

John nudges my arm with a snicker. “You alright, Tom? Look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” 

I shake my head, taking a smoke from my cigarette. "No, that can't be her. She's far too young."

"Of course it is!" John argues.

A young gentleman in a brand new navy suit follows close beside her, keeping a protective hand pressed to her back. He shakes hands with his peers, charming his audience as he and Miss Adair are greeted with cheers.

"And her arrogant playboy fiancé, Alfred Bamford." My brother scoffs. "His family owns more railways in the U.S. than any company in the entire world!"

As my brother babbles, I watch closely as Y/N stands beside Alfred with a restrained, but convincing, smile. As he gloats and encourages banter with their fellow posh folk, she's quiet and glancing about the arena.

"Their marriage will create a media frenzy!" John describes in my ear. "Adair Banks and Bamford Rails, it's a match made in posh people heaven. Shame she'll never live to see it," he snickers.

I press my cigarette into the ashtray and turn my body toward my brother. "As soon as the gun fires that's when Alfie's man takes the shot.” I check my watch. “He'll be here in five minutes. That's when you leave and fetch the car. Understood?"

He nods sharply, "right, Tom. Got it."

___________________________________

Y/N

Anticipating the race, Al and I stand right against the rail with our dainty gold binoculars, searching for my family's horse.

"I need Olympus to win," I worry outwardly. "I need to prove to my father that this trip was worth it."

"I’m certain William will be pleased no matter the outcome."

"You don't know my father then," I chuckle.

"Excuse me!" A voice announces over the chatter of the box.

I glance over my shoulder as a well-dressed middle-aged man hurries up to my security. His brow is sweaty and his white suit wrinkled. He rushes out words to Robert before being escorted over to me.

"Welcome to Ascot, Madam," he welcomes, gesturing to the large building. "I'm John Wilkson and I'm a partner at the track. May I get you anything before the festivities?" He rubs his hands in circles nervously.

I offer John my hand with a warm smile. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. If possible, I would like a pot of Earl Grey."

"Oh yes! Yes, definitely!" The man gushes as Robert leads him toward the door. "Right away, Madam!"

"Thank you!" I nod, maintaining my smile until he's out of view.

Al chuckles beside me at the man’s expense as he rubs his palm up and down my spine. "How are you enjoying it so far, My Dear?"

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," I remark. " It doesn't appear any more luxurious than Arlington Park."

"You are far too difficult to please, darling," he teases, scooping up my glove-covered hand and planting a kiss to the back of it.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to today's festivities..." the announcer begins, causing widespread cheering across the crowd.

Al and I clap our hands along with our friends.

"Your tea, Miss Adair, a young waiter informs me as he sets down the set on a side table by our chairs.

I thank him quietly before he dismisses himself.

"Don't forget, tonight is the dinner with Prince Albert and Lady Elizabeth," Al reminds me.

"Aw yes, thank you!" I express with relief as I step back to pick up my teacup and return to my spot beside him. "They're quite lovely, aren't they? Their engagement is such delightful news." I bring my cup to my lips for a sip.

"I'm certainly looking forward to the wedding, it'll be a spectacle." He smirks. “Another excuse to return in the spring.”

I narrow my eyes mischievously, sharing the same agenda as him. "They can be the social event of the season in England, but we shall claim America."

Tommy

Two of Miss Adair’s men are positioned outside while his Head stands against the far wall, just a few feet from her. Alfie's hitman enters the tent without suspicion, dressed like a posh race-goer and his gun well concealed. He glances in my direction, giving me the signal to release my brother. I give John a brief nod and he disappears through the opening in the curtain.

"Jockeys! Prepare your horses!" The announcer declares, marking the start of the races.

I clap along with the crowd. Everyone in the box is zoned in on the gates where the jockeys are mounting their horses. Alfie's man claps as well, keeping his eyes on the horses to blend in as he continues toward Miss Adair and Mr. Bamford. He stops in the second row, just behind the couple.

My eyes flicker to Y/N. A glowing smile forms across her face as she switches her sight away from the gates toward her fiancé. Her eyes glimmering with optimism and excitement. There’s a youthfulness in her I haven’t seen in anyone since the war. She has no idea that the man behind her has been sent to point a gun at her head and kidnap her. Her attention travels about the box, at her friends and peers. Her eyes glance in my direction, her soft Y/E/C eyes meet mine. Her radiating smile softens as her hands slows to a steady halt. Then, something in me just... snaps.

My attention changes to the man on the field lifts his gun into the air. At the same moment, Alfie's man reaches into his coat pocket.

"No! Wait!" I shout, knocking the table out of the way. "Everyone down!"

I leap over the chairs and tackle Alfie's man. He sets off the gun as we stumble to the floor, chairs flying all about. Screams ensue as we wrestle on the floor. A man I recognize as the Head of Y/N's security steps on Alfie's man's hand. With a hiss, he releases his fist around the gun and the security knocks it away. I rush to my feet to inspect the damages, to see if Y/N was hurt, but I see no sign of her. Where did the bullet hit? A hanging bit of cloth that was once the awning answers my question. The arena is in chaos as people travel upstream toward the exists. People are being trampled and pushing each other about.

I work against the traffic down toward the railing to where I last saw Y/N. I shove people out of my way in a hurry. Then, that's when I spot her hat, squashed flat on the floor. I lean down to pick it up and that's when I finally find her resting against the wood base of the rail, holding her head with a bloody hand.

Y/N

I remove my hand from my stinging forehead to see my once white-glove soaked in blood. One minute I was scanning the reaction of the crowd behind me, then there was a shout. The shot for the race to begin rang and I was knocked forward. My head hit the metal railing and I fell to the floor. My forehead was stinging and I realized I was bleeding. Then, I swear I heard another gunshot. I've tried to stand up, but everyone’s scrambling to get out. Plus, my head is throbbing

Suddenly, a man appears hovering above me. He stares down at me with a clenched jaw and a look of determination. He leans down, scoops up my unscathed hand. Before I utter a word, he begins to usher me through the chaos. My feet shuffle across the floor briskly to keep up as he grips my hand tightly. People continue to shout and scream for their loved ones, frightened.

"Who are you?" I ask loudly over the noise.

He ignores me, guiding the way through the arena. People rush down the closest stairs, eager to reach one of the main exits. This man, however, avoids all the staircases and remains on the walkway of the top floor. I sense he's leading me to the furthermost end and hopefully to an emergency exit.

"Answer me this instant!" I demand, attempting to yank my hand free. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, Miss Adair, I do!" He finally answers and whips his head around to meet my gaze. "Now, if you wish to not get shot, I suggest you follow me!"

I check over my shoulder for Al. "But my fiancé-"

"They're not after him," he states turning his attention back ahead.

My stomach drops. "You mean you know who's behind this?"

"I know enough..." His answer is vague and it worries me.

"Why do they wish to hurt me?"

"Your family is the wealthiest in the United States! You should really travel with more security," he suggests over his shoulder.

My prediction was correct, the man takes me to the furthest end of the platform to a fire escape of sorts behind a curtain. It's much less hectic than the main stairwells other than some workers attempting to escape. The man never releases my hand as he leads the swift way down the metal stairs. Once we're on solid ground, we weave through various parts of the arena. Booths and vendors scatter the area. The man seems to know this well, making a bee-line for a large white tent tucked away near the main staircase where Al and I first entered the race track.

When we rush into the tent, I first note a series of telephone booths, the dirt floor, and the absence of any of else. The man releases my hand and starts marching around. I assume checking to make sure we're alone. I spin around, checking my surroundings, frightened that one of these men this stranger speaks of will attack me suddenly.

My head is pounding and I can feel the warm blood twinkle down my cheek. My hair must look a fright. Who am I kidding, my white dress is covered in blood and dirt, every part of me is messy.

Tommy

Y/N and I both struggle to catch our breath. I double-check that neither Alfie nor any of his men are hiding out in here. "We should be safe in here," I announce.

"Don't you think we should fetch a car or something!" She rushes out worriedly. “My car is parked just-”

I shake my head, moving back toward her. "No, not yet. They'll be expecting that."

Now that her hand is away from her head, I can inspect her injury properly. A minor gash above her brow. It doesn't appear awful, won't need stitches, but she has significant amounts of blood down the side of her face and cheek.

Y/N

"Here." The man reaches into his pocket square and pulls out his handkerchief. He brings one hand behind my head and the other presses the fabric to my forehead. "We'll have someone look at this once everything is settled."

I nod, still a tad dazed to say the least. "Thank you," I mumble as my eyes fall to his tie directly ahead of me.

For a moment, despite the chaos outside the tent, there's a sense of peacefulness as the stranger pats my cut.

"So, you know my name, what's yours?" I ask. Considering he saved my life, I don't think we should be strangers anymore. “Since we were in the same box, I suspect you’re friends with the Bowes-Lyons.”

"Thomas, Thomas Shelby," he answers directly without much emotion.

"Well, despite the circumstance, it's pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. I'm surprised we've never met before considering we share friends."

A faint snicker escapes him as a smirk creeps onto the edge of his lips.

I grin. "What's so funny?"

"An heiress calling me "sir," he chuckles, glancing down from my forehead to meet my gaze. "It's not exactly something I thought I'd ever hear."

My brows scrunch together in confusion. “But aren’t you-”

"Tommy!" A voice calls from behind me.

Frightened, I rush to stand behind Mr. Shelby. My hands wrap around his bicep as I peek around his shoulder. His arm reaches around to keep me close to his back.

"In here Arthur!" He hollers.

Wait, he knows the person?

Suddenly, a lengthy man with a mustache marches into the tent. When his eyes land on us, his brows scrunch together. "What's this? What happened to-"

"Change of plans," Mr. Shelby states, physically relaxing at the sight of him.

The man switches his sight between me and Mr. Shelby. He rocks on his heels nervously. He steps to the side to get a better view of me. "Oh uh... hello then... Miss Adair. Nice to meet ya," he greets.

"And he's a friend?" I ask Mr. Shelby quietly.

He chuckles. "Yes, he's my brother. He's safe."

I step out from behind him hesitantly. I redirect my attention to Arthur and remove my glove to offer him my hand slowly. "Pleasure to meet you as well."

His brows rise at the sight of my hand, but he shakes it nonetheless. He chuckles. "She's awfully friendly," he tells his brother.

"Did you happen to see my fiancé? Alfred Bamford," I ask, growing worried that Al may have been hurt.

"He was escorted to your car I believe by one of your security."

"And the others?" I press urgently. “Are my friends alright? What about Lord and Lady Elphinstone?”

His features fall. "I lost them in the crowd, Miss..."

My eyes grow wide. "I should go find them!"

I go to head back outside, but Mr. Shelby grabs my wrist and steps to block my path.

"The men trying to harm you may still be out there," he warns.

"But my friends! Alfred!” I argue. “They’re probably worried sick! I’ll find my car and have them take me back to the hotel!”

"They'll be searching for you there! I'm sure they already have it staked out."

I huff. "Then where do you suggest I go?"

His eyes flicker to his brother and it's evident a thought has crossed his mind.

"I have an idea..." he states vaguely.

Oh no...

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Masterlist

[smutty-ki113r]

🎠Laughing Jack🎠|| Carousel

Fluff one-shot x gn!reader— only warning is angst (2.6k)

Inspired by: Melanie Martinez

After months of endless nagging you finally convinced Laughing Jack to let you visit his amusement park. He had claimed it was too scary and you would get creeped out but you weren’t one to take no for an answer.

Giving you a piece of candy so the trans-dementional trip wouldn’t be too hard on you. Tasting the sour lemon taffy he gave you and making a tense face as the flavor pulled at your taste buds and stuck to your teeth.

Your head getting dizzy as your surroundings warped and his room became red and white vertical stripes. Blinking a couple times as he leaned into your face, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” You told him, almost falling back at how close he was. As soon as your perception adjusted you looked for the exit to the tent you were inside. “Onward!” You said excited, marching comedically to the entrance flap.

“This isn’t exactly the safest place”, he called from behind, catching up with ease because his legs were so long. “You need to stay close to me at all times” you smiled at him, it’s not like you were complaining, “got that?”

Giving him a keen nod you stepped out of the grand tent. Squinting at the sky, which was tainted a dusty gray, swirly clouds amber of scattered around in the background. The carnival was beautifully revolting, with littered attractions as far as the eye could see.

The place looked somewhat abandoned, if you get past the faint cries of children, from their souls stored in toys. Rides that once colored a vibrant red had paint chipped, specks of dull metal flaked over the bars.

Game stands broken down and leaning unsteadily, disturbing toys with eyes and limbs missing hanging from the top. It looked like it might fall down at any minute, but you couldn’t help but notice the newer looking boxes of supplies lying around next to the stands.

Fairy lights hung from the tilted signs, decorating the food court. A fresh trail had been made between the rides.

It warmed your heart that he had made subtle efforts to fix the place up, he certainly didn’t think you would notice.

Looking back at his nervous smile, Jack was terrified you would hate the place. You thought all but the opposite, giving him a big grin. Your expression relaxed him, assuring him that you wouldn’t think he was a freak and leave. His whole demeanor shifting, making him more comfortable and even enthusiastic.

Straightening out and giving you jazz hands, “what are you waiting for?” putting one hand on his hip to motion you to the park with the other “lets go have fun!”

Following behind you with a giggle as you approached the carnival games. The ring toss looking somewhat appealing in between the other activities, so you told him you wanted to play.

“Basically you get 5 rings, if you get at least 3 in the pins you win a prize” he explained.

“Alright alright lemme try” you waved him off, snatching the rings and giving one a toss. It missed, you brushed it off. The second one made it in and Jack gave a little cheer, it still wasn’t enough.

Hyperfocusing on the pin in the middle make a soft throw upward, the edge hitting the top of the pin and falling to the side. You gave a groan, calculating your last two throws.

Your forth throw made the pin to the side, and you only had one more try left. Aiming for another pin at the side to release, the ring clanging against it and falling to the floor.

You went to look at Jack with a frown but he wore a happy expression, “you won!” He exclaimed. Confused you turned back, finding the ring you had just tossed around the last pin. You were completely certain you had missed it, racking your mind for an explanation as jack handed you a small purple bunny that was missing an arm.

Realizing that Jack had manipulating the game so you could win, throwing him a knowing glance. He just happened to be looking away, whistling guiltily.

Squeezing the bunny you moved onto the next game, it was ballon dart toss. The stand had pale red and black balloons scattered across a board. Excitement was written all over his face, you cocked an eyebrow in question.

“It’s a two person game!” He said, “whoever pops more balloons wins!”

He handed you four darts and kept four for himself, “you can go first” he motioned with a grin. Pacing the dart in two fingers a couple times before throwing at a balloon. Giving a groan when you missed and waiting for him to go.

Being as skilled as he was he managed to land one in a bullseye. “Oh it’s on” you dared, getting one point yourself. LJ got the second one too, staring at you intensely as you evened out the score.

Giving him a small smile as the dart broke the surface of the balloon with a sharp noise “pop goes the weasel right?” You laughed, referring to his famous song.

He looked at you almost in shock, taken aback by your joke. Shaking himself into reality he broke out in a light blush, a part of him touched, as if you were accepting him for who he was.

Too distracted by your eyes on him to play the game with concentration. Missing the third one with a growl he waited for you to take your turn, which you lost. It was the last point and Jack was a shoe in, so obviously he took the victory.

You were happy for him, passing along a “good job!” as he retrieved the big brown teddy bear that was half his size, and all of yours. It was missing an eye, thin stands of makeshift fur pulled out and a silky red bow around it’s neck.

“Here” he said, dangling it in front of you.

“For me?” You asked, “but you won”, trying to look up at him but the bear blocked most of your view, only letting you see above his nose.

“Just take it” he practically pushed it into you, making you blow out an oof.

Holding it to the side at the torso with one hand you broke out in a grin “thank you for the plushie” you said, hugging him from the side and squeezing his torso “but I want you to be my teddy” you laughed. He looked incredibly flustered, frozen as you broke away.

“You’re big and tall” you tippy toed up to give his shoulder pad feathers a ruffle “and fluffy”

The man looked like he was about to faint so you decided to knock it off, laughing and telling him you wanted to go on the carousel next. Quickly, LJ happily led you too it, skipping in front of you (mostly to hide his blush).

Standing at the controls to cue a round, watching you walk around to find a pretty horse. Given, all of them had dark spots and chipped paint, but they worked all the same. Leaving the bear on another horse and climbing onto a white one that had a yellow saddle, intricate lacy designs patterned on the sides. Royal blue reigns across it’s chest and a lion on a crest.

It was beautiful, and you traced your fingers on the drawing. It must have been stunning, but the weathering of time and agony had gotten to it. A painful reminder of what was, a mere reflection of the chipping away of a joyful being.

Prying away from your thoughts as you felt the vibrations of Jack stepping onto the walkway- with one of his big smiles. Even after everything, he still wore a smile. It made you want to tear up, he really needed all the love he could get.

He was too tall to get on a horse, so he just stood by you. His big hand gracing the golden pole and holding on, watching as you peeked up at him. Even though his eyes were constantly bright he displayed something…deeper. It was a sort of shine, a sparkle if you will, luminosity glazed over in such a way that one can only get lost in its vastness.

The looped music in the background was secondary as you rose up and down with the horse, giving Jack a little smile and thanking him for bringing you here. “I’m having a lot of fun with you” you noted.

“Well of course you are! It’s a carnival” he said with joy.

“No I mean with you” you clarified “you’re pretty great Jack”. This time he didn’t avoid your gaze, his mouth open slightly, not knowing how to react to the sincerity of the compliment.

The ride slowly came to a stop, and you were feeling slightly tingly. Maybe it was the air, or the loss of focus. “How about a roller coaster?” You dared, to which he gave a tense face.

“Those are pretty broken, you’ll probably die riding one and that’s not what we want” he said, stepping off the carousel. “How about some cotton candy instead?”

You nodded your head vigorously, following him in the pursuit for the fairy floss, the bear falling behind forgotten. Passing by more unused rides that had long past rusted and a house of mirrors to get to the food court.

Jack humming happily as he dipped a paper cone into the bowl of revolving fibers of sugar. Whipping up a swirly pink and blue cotton candy and handing it to you with a proud smile.

He went to make another treat until you spoke, “I’m not that hungry so we can share” you proposed. “If you want”

“Are you sure?” He asked, concerned that you didn’t have much appetite. “Do you want some candy or maybe a funnel cake?”

You shook him off, taking a bite out of the cloud-like dessert. It was absolutely delicious, honeyed and saccharine on your tongue in a blend of flavor you had never tasted had before.

Soft as it disintegrated onto your mouth, leaving behind a remanence of something too sweet. Bringing it up to Jack, who was so tall you had to extend your arm fully to get it to his mouth.

He simply laughed at your struggle, taking a bite before giving you a thin smile and taking it from your hand. Sitting down at a bench so that you could both share comfortably.

By the time the candy had finished you noticed little bits of the silky texture stuck on his nose. Painfully stifling a laugh you turned away.

“What’s so funny?” He asked with a genuine smile.

When you didn’t answer his tone changed, “what’s so funny huh?” he sounded a bit angered.

Hiccuping through your laughter you faced him, leaning in real close to his face, enough so that you could feel the heat emanating from it; taking a bite of the pink woven candy on his nose and holding it in your teeth.

His face went red at the sight, embarrassed that he had cotton candy on his nose. Well, that and for a moment he thought you were going to kiss him.

Noticing your hands were all sticky you asked him if there was a sink somewhere. After both of you washed your hands you sat back down at the bench.

The sky was going dark, the poofs of dusty cloud fading in with the night but still managing to remain visible. You heard a whirr as Jack turned on all the rides at the carnival, lighting the whole thing up.

You sat in awe, a mere spectator in the empty yet live amusement park. Admiring the music that added to the ambiance, watching Jack approach you.

“Wanna take a walk?” He asked, but there was something…off. LJ seemed nervous as you got up and walked next to him.

He had been thinking about it for a while now, probably even before he brought you to the carnival. Even though he had washed the gooey candy from his hands they were still sticky, but it was from sweat. Giving you side glances as you paced the trail with him.

Debating to himself whether or not he should do it, if you would hate him for it. Telling himself that he would regret it if he didn’t, but thinking about the potential negative reactions you could give.

Passing the carousel once again as you noticed the usually loud and happy clown was silent, lost in thought as he stared into the distance, his lips forming a tensing line.

Wondering if he was ok, but brining up the topic might make him uneasy. Perhaps you being there at his haunted amusement park was ticking him off, or if you taking that cotton floss off his nose was too much, or if you were pushing your luck, or worse what if you triggered hi-

All thoughts faded from your mind the moment you felt a slow, shaky hand grasp onto yours. You had to look to where he held you because he was so gentile you thought it was the wind. Holding onto you softly enough that it felt like a feather, somehow still creating a little pocket of warmth between you.

A glowing thump of heat pulsing inside your chest, happiness digging into your cells and giving you the confidence to squeeze his hand.

He let out a sharp inhale at the feel, still avoiding your gaze as he relaxed into your touch. Not daring to move his hand too much or he might risk ruining the moment, afraid of hurting you with his claws.

Approaching the Ferris wheel he finally spoke, “this is probably the one ride that won’t break”, not a peep about holding you. “Do you want to go on?”

You finally caught his gaze, absolutely melting at the smile in his eyes. Responding with a ‘yes’ and letting him open the door for you. Sustaining his grip with you as he helped you on, not letting go even after you sat.

The cart wasn’t exactly small, but with a guy the size of Jack it was pretty compacted. It’s not like you minded, the lack of space gave you an excuse to bunch up alongside him. The feathers from his pads tickling your face as you rested on him.

Watching the view as the cart took you higher and higher, it was perfect. The evening set in the rich obscurity of the night, lights of the festival blinking as if they had a life of their own. The bulbs on the stands making z’s as they illuminated the red and white drapes of the far off tents.

Jack held your hand with such care and caress, you gave him a reassuring press to let him know it was ok. He was so enveloped with the passionate act that he squeezed as well. Letting you feel all the dips and curves of his hand. Clutching onto you, as if you might disappear too.

Facing him to cup his cheek with your free hand, caressing him and tucking a stand of hair behind his ear. Trailing your thumb across his skin and feeling him lean into your touch, swearing that between the lines on the pad of your finger there was a tear that you had wiped away.

Getting lost in the breaths you shared as you inched closer to his lips, giving him a second of warmth longer to prove that you weren’t going anywhere.

[whumpurr]

Adrien and Sawdust part 1

cw: pet whump (and everything that comes with that), whump recovery, past whump, emeto, disordered eating, unreliable narrator, 'it' as a pronoun

part 2

--

Adrien didn’t know what possessed him to show up to that sale. Maybe his house was finally too big for him, with it’s cold, empty, dark corridors and uninhabited bedrooms. He knew that he wasn’t looking for any sort of uncouth company, and he wasn’t searching for something to keep his bed warm. The days had blurred together enough that he’d decided to find something to space them apart, to mark each day from the next and to make life interesting again.

And he wanted to help someone.

So he wound up getting in his truck and driving away from his house, the skyscrapers of his fencing fading off into the rest of the woods that surrounded it as he put the wheels to the dirt and headed out.

Adrien was shocked to see that there were only a handful of cars and trucks pulled up to the sale. It was a lot less formal than he had expected as well. He had anticipated more of an auction type setting, in a building with rows of chairs and someone bringing the pets up to the stage to parade them around. He wasn’t too experienced in the matter, but he wasn’t thinking that it would just be the equivalent of a yard sale. The pets are mostly in cages, arranged haphazardly in the mud and grass. Some of the pets are curious, scarred fingers picking at fallen leaves or pebbles that they can reach through the bars of their dog cages. The pets that were not left in cages were either standing or kneeling down in the dirt. There were maybe eight pets, give or take. Adrien couldn’t account for ones he might not be able to see past people’s cars, boxes, and empty crate kennels.

The air had a little bite to it. Adrien was in a heavier jacket- not a full on winter coat- but the majority of the pets were dressed in tattered t-shirts and shorts, kneeling on the hard cage floor or on the cold ground. Adrien couldn’t help but feel his gut wrench as he looked on while people did their deals, talking to some of the ones Adrien could only assume were the sellers. People in simple black polo shirts, scattered about the scene, talking to customers who came in their casual clothes. It really was no big event to many of these people, but for Adrien, this was something he would likely only see this one time.

Welp.

Time to pick one.

Adrien shoved his fists into his jacket’s pockets, trying to look comfortable and blend in with the other patrons. He had been stuck at the entrance just staring for long enough to see a good number of the pets get snatched up by other customers. Adopters? Future owners? He didn’t know what the right word for it was. As dirty as this all felt, leaving a bad taste in Adrien’s mouth, he had only found the event through an ad on his social media. The fact that it would be pushed so casually made him feel even worse about being here.

He approached a cage that had a seller standing near it. The cage had been looked over and passed by a good number of times by the other patrons, and that piqued Adrien’s curiosity, as uncomfortable as he was.

“So,” He cleared his throat, glancing at the opaque plastic dog crate and the worker, “What’s wrong with this one?” He pointed his chin to the crate, trying to sound as gruff and uncaring as he thinks everyone in this event does. The worker looked down at a small clipboard they were carrying.

“This one was a rescue from a previous owner.” The worker stated. Right, rescue. Adrien remembered that the people running this whole even claimed they were ‘rescuers’ of pets. That being said, Adrien still recalled having seen a couple articles exposing them for being viciously cruel to pets while they were in their care.

“Right… And that’s an issue because?” Adrien pushed. The seller looked at him, first like he was stupid, but then with a sense of respect.

“That could mean the previous owner could want them back, at some point.” They put a hand on their hip, “Either you’re dumb or you’ve got a maximum security prison for a house. Speaking of, the old owner was arrested. Something about a dog fighting ring, and the pet’s here now. Got surrendered to us by the cops, they even gave us all it’s shit.” With that, they pointed a finger to a dirty blue duffel bag set next to the crate. “You want it or not?”

A quick look around the venue let Adrien know that most of the pets had been bought already. He hadn’t even gotten to look at this one, but he knew that if he waited much longer, it’d be snatched out from under him.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll take it.” He extended a hand and the paperwork was shoved into it. Listed were places to sign his name, and fill out his information, legally putting the pet under his name. He got to work on signing it. “How- how much is it?”

“Forty five bucks.” The worker said, nonchalant. Adrien’s seen dogs sell for more, much more. He pulled out his wallet and took out forty five in cash, putting it on top of the clipboard as he handed it back. “Thanks. Need someone to help put it in your ride?” The seller must have been asking as a courtesy, they looked like they already knew the answer as they looked up and down Adrien’s muscular body.

“No, thanks.” Adrien picked up the duffel bag first, putting it in the car before returning to grab the pet. Warily, he held onto the handle at the top with two hands, preparing to heave it up. With one solid pull, he almost sent himself flying backwards as the crate weighed maybe a third of what he was expecting. As he stumbled, he heard a small gasp from inside the crate.

Hurriedly walking over to his truck with long, striding steps, he put the crate down on the back seats, pressed against the back of the passenger seat. The metal grate of the front door was facing him as he peered into the dark cavern behind it.

In the cage was a small person, a pet, as he had expected. It had long, matted, brown hair, and deep brown eyes that stared wide at Adrien before diverting. The pet had on at least a shirt, from what Adrien could see. It was cramped in the crate, but even so, the pet pressed itself against the back wall to get away from Adrien.

“Okay,” Adrien sighed out, “I can see that this is all scary for you.” He shut the side door as softly as he could and got in the driver’s seat, turning the car on and turning the heat up. “I’m gonna take you home now. Might be a bit of a rough drive over the dirt, road’s not paved.” He didn’t know if he was talking to himself or to the pet. He didn’t know if the pet could even understand him, or if his voice was possibly freaking it out even more. He drove with the radio off, not wanting to spook the pet.

The drive home felt like it stretched on for ages, but Adrien was eventually greeted by the metal of the gate that surrounded his house, rising up like a series of spears from the earth, glinting in the sunlight that cut through the tree canopy. The worker wasn’t wrong when she assumed he must have some pretty extreme security around his house. He’d had an issue with a stalker before, and with the help of some heavy fencing, a handful of cameras, and some other measures, he intended not to repeat that experience.

The truck came to a stop in front of the house, having cleared the long driveway. Adrien shut off the car, hopped out, unlocked and propped open the front door of the home. He once again brought in the pet’s duffle bag first, then returning for the massive- but light- plastic crate. As he moved it, he could feel the pet trembling so hard that it rattled the cage.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. I’m just taking you inside. It’s nice and warm in there.”

The cage was put down with a soft thud, Adrien leaving it in the entrance hallway, just before the hall opened out to the kitchen and living room. He undid the latch on the cage’s door, swinging it open.

“You can come out now. You’re safe.” He said in a soft voice. The pet simply trembled, eyes squeezing shut and backing up more against the back of the cage. Adrien took a few steps back, sitting cross legged a little ways away from the pet’s cage. The creature inside it shivered, keeping itself as far into the kennel as it could. Adrien couldn’t even get a good look at it.

“You must be hungry.” He sighed, standing up and taking the few steps he needed to to get into the kitchen. “I’ve got something, here.” He pulled out a box of colorful, fruity, sugary cereal, pouring some out into a bowl and sticking a spoon in it. Next, he went to the fridge,

“Do you drink m- ah.” He quickly came to realize that the pet probably wasn’t going to speak. Rather than risk it, he shut the fridge and set the bowl of dry cereal down in front of the cage, backing up again. A few minutes of frustrating stillness later, Adrien chose to give the pet some space, standing and moving out of the foyer and going into the living room.

“You can come out. That cereal is for you, I hope you like it.” He sat himself down on the sofa. ‘Would it- they? Would they be more comfortable with some background noise?’ Adrien wondered. He took up the television remote from the coffee table and put on a random channel, some kind of reality show. The volume was low, but it was enough for a soft chatting to fill the quiet. Adrien tried to keep himself busy with his phone, scrolling through social media, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at the cage every now and again.

Slowly, gradually, Adrien managed to keep his attention focused on his little device, knowing that if the pet finally did decide to look out of the cage and caught him looking back, it would most certainly panic and retreat again. The room was relatively quiet, save for the sound of the television.

The pair of people on the show were speaking to one another. One man and one woman, and at their feet was a black dog. Adrien wasn’t really listening to what they were saying, but the dog barked. The only reason that that sound suddenly caught Adrien’s attention is because he heard it be repeated.

From behind him.

A dog’s bark came from behind him in the house, from the direction of the foyer. It was almost identical to the one on the television, and as soon as Adrien heard it, the very next thing he heard was a thunk and a rattling from the cage as he assumed that the pet must have moved too quickly or lurched back and hit its back or its head on the ceiling of the crate. Adrien spun around, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa to look back at the crate.

Back in the foyer, Adrien tried to not look too obvious as he stared as the pet inched out of the crate. It kept it’s head low, ever so slowly creeping out of the crate. He watched as he saw pale skin littered with marks and bruises, and light brown eyes, and long, matted brown hair that’d gone too long without care. Around its neck was a bright red collar with a golden tag. The pet’s skin was stretched tight over his body, the raised ridges of bones showing easily.

The pet was dirty, old mud caked on its body, smears of something all over its body, Adrien didn’t know if it was blood or more dirt. Despite that, there was something strange. Sat atop its head in pristine condition was a pair of fake dog ears on a hairband. They looked awfully realistic, but Adrien could see the black band that they were attached to. As the pet fully left the cage to investigate the food, Adrien could see something else, too. Its shorts were filthy and ill fitting, but around its waist through the beltloops of the shorts was a long piece of string. Hanging from it, over the pet’s rear, was a short, fake dog tail, again in perfectly clean condition.

Looking down to the pet’s hands, he saw that they were balled up. Over the small fists was layer after layer of duct tape, dirty and loose from sweat. If the pet wanted them off, Adrien’s certain it could easily pull them off with its teeth, but it makes no move to do so.

The pet lowered its- his, Adrien could see that now- head to the small ceramic bowl filled with colorful cereal. He sniffed it, then quickly pulled away, making a repulsed face. Immediately after his rejection of the food, his eyes went wide and he looked at Adrien, then instantly looked down, trembling.

“Hey, hey,” Adrien lowered the volume on the television and got up, going to the pet and kneeling down. The pet drew back, lowering his head down to the floor, forehead pressing against the wood. “You’re, ah, do you speak?”

“Wruf!” The pet let out another eerily realistic dog bark, though he kept his head on the floor.

“No, no, like… Words? English?” Adrien was kind of at the end of his rope, not quite sure what he should do. “And uh, you can sit up.”

The pet sat back on his legs. Adrien caught sight of the golden tag hanging from the red collar. ‘Sawdust’, it read.

“Sawdust? Is that your name?” Adrien asked. He wanted to reach out and hold the dangling tag so he could make sure he read that right, but he was certain that if he tried that, the pet would get even more scared. The pet glanced over to the side, nodding its head. “Okay, you understand me at least. Can you speak with words?”

--

“Y- Saw- Uh…” Sawdust stammered out, voice rough and looking as though he was on the verge of tears. “Sawd- dust can speak, sir.” He wanted to know why his new master would want his pet speaking to him, but he knew better than to question his owner.

“Okay, good, good. That’s good.” Master sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Is there something wrong with the food?”

What little color was in Sawdust’s face immediately drained as he went pale. He couldn’t let his master think that he was ungrateful, lest he took away the food altogether. Sawdust looked down at the bowl of rainbow colored cereal.

“N-no, no, Master, thank you for the food.” Sawdust dropped back down onto his paws and knees, lowering his head and chest to the floor. He sniffed at the bowl again. It smelled sickly sweet, sugary unlike any dog food he’d been given, but the sound it made when it was poured and moved did sound like dog food. Hard. Crunchy. That was familiar at least. Maybe it was dog food after all?

“There’s a spoon in there,” Master spoke, his deep voice rattling Sawdust’s bones. “You can use that if you want.”

Sawdust’s breath caught in his throat. Was Master mocking him? Pets can’t use things like that, especially Sawdust with his paws. Was Master testing him? Sawdust hiccupped and swallowed down a whine, not wanting Master to see how upset he was. Instead, he buried his face in the bowl of dry, colorful dog food. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore how fruity it smelled, it smelled like things dogs weren’t allowed to have. He took some into his mouth. It crunched, but it was far easier to eat than dog food. It wasn’t as hard, it didn’t hurt his wounded mouth to chew.

Sawdust trembled. Did Master want him to be sick? That must be it. He hiccupped, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks as his stomach turned. He chewed and swallowed as quickly as he could, resorting to panting and breathing through his mouth to try to not taste the cereal as much. He took another bite.

He gagged.

“Buddy? Sawdust?” Master called. Master’s voice was soft, but Sawdust knew that he was faking it. Sawdust swallowed the bite in his mouth. This wasn’t dog food. He couldn’t eat this. Dogs can’t eat people food. His mouth was filling with saliva that he tried to swallow down, but his body wouldn’t let him. He panted, drool dripping down onto the floor as he pulled away from his Master. Goosebumps erupted across his body and he shivered, body rejecting the people food. With a heavy heave, he turned away from his master and threw up onto the hardwood floor.

[ayamturd]

flight│quackity

summary: a late snack run turns into a fun ride; in other words, sleep deprivation and a shopping cart equals helpless giggles and scraped knees

warnings: minor injuries, slight blood descriptions, fluff

pairing: irl cc!quackity

a/n: here’s my sleep deprived, crack continuation of my quack fic payment :P

huge warning in and of itself that it is not edited

wc: (1.3k) - m.list

payment - pt one

Hugging the tub of ice cream close to your chest, you bounced your head to the old song, its tune outdated and staticky on the store speaker. 

Quackity continued to push you in the cramped shopping cart, your lower half completely incased with various snacks and packaged foods. While the trip was originally your idea to satisfy your own guilty pleasures and inability to sleep, dragging Quackity along only fueled your lack of self restraint considering he was now the one adding in the irrelevant items in the cart. 

“Babe,” you called out. Quackity gave out a low hum in recognition that he heard you, his gaze still focused on the shelves of the aisle. 

“Are you sure you want to get these Takis? You’re not exactly one for spicy food.”

He pulled the cart to a sharp stop, the halt jerking you forward as you barely managed to grab onto the sides of the metal basket. Quackity looked at you in disappointment and gestured widely to the snacks you currently sat in. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to start judging me for my snack choices when you’re the one who’s getting a majority of this shit.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief, and you quickly narrowed your eyes in turn. The sight alone made him gulp when realized his mistake of questioning you.

“Excuse you. I’m only concerned for your pain tolerance considering how pitifully sad you handle spice. If you wanna judge me then I can just as easily bring you physical pain, since you’re being so insistent right now.”

Eyes wide, Quackity started at you incredulously and shut his mouth close. He barely managed to blink until he attempted to smoothly recover from your none subtle threat. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you and your snack choices?”

You rolled your eyes and turned before he could see your eased smirk, shaking your head lightly while simultaneously throwing the obnoxiously bright purple bag out of the cart. 

“Mhmm.”

After almost two hours alone in the empty store, both Quackity and you were able to agree that you finally finishing your entire sweep around the entire store and decided to pay. 

Although there was no possible line to stop you, you pulled on Quackity’s sleeve as you  approached the only checkout open, the tired employee sitting against the counter with his head on his hand on the verge of falling asleep after watching your silly antics as his only source of entertainment. 

“Wait, Alex, before we pay, is there anything else we could be missing?”

Quackity gave you a deadpan expression as his only response, words unnecessary to express how stupid your question was in the first place. You nodded immediately with close eyes. 

“Yeah okay, good point. Let’s go already.”

As you began the consuming task of placing each item on the conveyer belt, you attempted to turn it into a fun game when tossing the snacks rather than placing, still sat in the cart crossed legged. 

You got arguably pretty far until the cashier had enough of your game and glared harshly down at you, his glasses reflecting the store light and amplifying his lack of patience so early in the morning. He was no doubt payed too little to deal with people like you. 

With a guilty grin, you slowly placed the last bag of chips for him to scan and waited for Quackity to pay. 

“Will you be needin’ a bag?” the man asked in a dead, monotoned voice. You furrowed your brows and looked to Quackity to respond, his own eyes squinted considering the amount you both purchased and were hypothetically expected to hand carry home. 

“Nah, we’ll be fine,” Quackity pushed off, his tone obviously sarcastic. Whether or not the cashier picked up on his joke or not was at a loss to the couple as he nonchalantly ignored it overall. 

“‘kay.”

He swiftly handed Quackity his spare change without looking, and gave a loud yawn before shoving the purchased snacks away from him. 

“Have a nice night.”

Unsure of how to proceed, you pushed your lips together and decided to take it upon yourself to gather the food in your arms, lifting them in your chest and plopping down with them on top of you. 

Like he could read your mind, Quackity wordlessly pushed the cart away with you in it, away from the counter and through the automatic doors of the store. Without as much as a thank you, you both speed away when the worker noted your departure. 

“Hey, now wait a se—”

Giggles soon turned into cackles as Quackity hurried his pace. As you rode over the small bump of the entrance, you screamed with excitement as you raced against only yourself on the asphalt road, stolen cart in bound. 

Quackity pushed off with his dominant foot and stood on the lower ridge, his added weight yet powerful force quickly increasing your speed down the small hill. 

Together, you yelled at the top of your lungs from the weightless feeling of flying, gravity free of its hold on you and you clung onto the snacks in both fear and exhilaration. Quackity’s warm breath radiated near your left ear, his loud shouts smothered by the wind you were catching as he leaned forward in suspense. 

You flew as far as the hill could take you, until a sudden pothole broke your lifted flight. Like Icarus himself, your risen flight was tragically cut short. 

The front wheels of the tiny cart twisted unforgivingly before snapping upon impact with the small ground cavity, launching you both mid air without the freedom to glide gracefully. 

Landing hard onto your hands and knees before tumbling out, you didn’t realize you held you breath from the anticipation until you were letting out heavy chunks of air from your lungs, the intake harsh and winding to feel. 

You were numb and still buzzed from the adrenaline, eyes wide while unsure of what to think of your current status. 

Sprawled slightly a few feet away from you, Quackity’s own exhales joined yours for what felt like minutes before he sat up. He looked at you in panic, suddenly realizing the possibilities of your own injuries in spite of his. 

“Are you okay? Can you f—” your chuckle interrupted him, arm raised to cover your eyes from the kindhearted pureness of his concern for you over his. 

“Yes, Alex. I’m fine, perfect in all honesty.”

As you laid there with your arm still over your face, you felt Quackity slowly make his way over you, his presence hard to ignore no matter how silent he tried to be. Peaking an eye over your arm, you were met with his huge beam, cheeks full by the pull of his mouth and delighted expression. You rolled your eyes from his cheerfulness, but didn’t dare try to hide your own smile.  

“You’re ridiculous.”

Without a beat, Quackity refuted your admittedly true claim. 

“And yet you love me still.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Bonus:

“You didn’t tell me you were fucking bleeding??”

Quackity rushed forwards to hover over your knees, the wound covered in sparse blood and bits of the asphalt imbedded into your skin from the impact. 

While you were in immense pain since the throbbing numbness faded, you only grinned brightly from the cause and reached behind you. 

“No worries, babe, ice cream will save the day.”

You placed the wet condescension of the ice cream tub against your skin with a hiss, tears leaking from the harsh stinging you faced from adding pressure and a change in temperature to the sickly warm cut. 

“See?” you asked, with a wavered smile and clenched teeth, “all better!”

Quackity stared dumbfoundedly at you, giving quick glancings to the now bloody cardboard in your shaking hands and your unconvincing smile. 

“That’s disgusting.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“…really?”

“I’m bleeding out, give me a break.”

tags! - @notphilosopherstudentblog @mitzimania @basilly @inniterhq @forutheworld @esylwen@sleepysoupi @mayasimagines @dysfunctionalcrab @strxbrymilkkuu​ (feel free to send an ask or comment to be added!)

[duuhrayliegh]

A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

pairing: bucky x reader

warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS!!!!!, language, canon lvl violence, soft!bucky, some suggestive content, it’s ten thousand words so i’m sure i missed something, just lmk and i’ll tag it accordingly babes.

word count: 10,246 (i may have gone a little overboard)

a/n: this is the last part, unless y’all want more. i’m rlly proud of myself w this series, granted MUCH of the content was already written for me, nonetheless, here you go. i hope y’all like it <3

read A Friend of Yours - pt. 1 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 2

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

check out my m.list here!

xoxo ray

The Wilson family house was adorable. Two stories with chipped blue paint on the walls and yellowing white on the columns. You had beat Sam there, so you decided to just look around for a few minutes before meeting Sarah and the boys. You walked out to the dock in front of their house, admiring the water, how still and calm it was. You were staring into the distance when you heard small footsteps from behind you.

“You know, it’s rude to sneak up on people.” You weren’t sure which boy it was, but you were trying to present a non-threatening front.

“You know, it’s rude to invite yourself onto someone else's property.” You were surprised when you heard Sam’s voice respond to you. Turning quickly to face the man with the confused expression. “I thought you wouldn’t come to the States because of the whole Enemy of it thing.” He walked away from you, gesturing for you to follow as he picked up your abandoned duffle. “He’s not here if that’s who you’re looking for.” You shook your head as you crossed the threshold into the living room.

“I’m not here for him, although he would be a much welcome bonus.” The two of you shared a laugh. “But no, I’m here to help you however I can.” Sam’s eyes narrowed, wondering if he should question your generosity. Your eyes must have given away your desperation for a home because he decided against it.

“Okay, but if you’re here, you’re gonna work. We’ve got a lot of shit to get done if we’re going to fix this boat up.”

“What boat?” You smiled at him as he began explaining what was going on. He just skimmed the top of what was really happening, but you could tell he was worried even though he wore a good facade.

“Get changed into some clothes you don’t mind getting messed up.”

“Am I going to be doing, like, manual labor?” He gave you a ‘duh’ look to which you groaned, “So, shorts are out of the question?” Sam had already walked into the kitchen before replying.

“Only if you want to freeze your ass off!” You changed quickly into a pair of ripped mom jeans that you cinched with a belt at your waist and a white short sleeved shirt.

“Do you have an overshirt I can borrow?”

“You mean, a flannel?” Sam shot back as he exited the room.

“Yeah, an overshirt.”

“No. A flannel. Come on, say it with me, flannel.” He tossed one your way, which you put on the rolled the sleeves up to your elbows.

“It’s an overshirt, Sam. I’m not seeing the issue.”

“Y/N, it's a flannel. Just say flannel, why you gotta make it all fancy?” He walked out the back door and onto a wooden bridge that led to the marina the boat was docked at. He didn’t let the flannel thing go the whole way over, making you laugh loudly and shake your head. As you walked up the dock, you could see several people helping Sarah and Sam with their boat.

“This is all you guys?” You were amazed, you hadn’t seen togetherness like this since before Aunt Peggy died. “Wow.” You said mostly to yourself as Sam walked you up to the woman of the hour.

“Sarah, we’ve got another one. Sarah, Y/N. Y/N, Sarah.” You stuck your hand out for Sarah to shake, which she did kindly. “I’m going to work on getting some of the siding off the boat. Sarah, Y/N is all yours.” He darted off, leaving you with Sarah.

“What ya got for me, Sarah? I’m here to do whatever you need.” She began instructing you to help with cataloging everything that people were bringing. Whether it be rusty spare parts or a couple twenty dollar bills, Sarah wanted to know and she wanted a record of it. A truck pulled up next to the boat and Sam got out hugging the men that exited it.

“Tommy, Carlos, man, this is amazing.” They exchanged a few more words before one of them asked the inevitable question.

“How do we get it off the truck?” A loud scraping sound emitted as the pallet was taken from the truck bed. Bucky lifted the bundle of parts over his head effortlessly, dropping it on the ground. He turned to the group of three men staring at him.

“You’re welcome.” You laughed as you approached. Bucky hauled a gray and black case onto the truck bed, speaking to Sam about it. Suddenly, one of the pipe fittings went out of whack, causing a steady stream of air to escape on the boat. Sarah stopped in front of it on the dock.

“Sam!” She was holding her clipboard as she watched Sam try to stop the leak with a crescent wrench. Bucky walked up next to Sarah, saying hi before telling Sam he was doing it wrong.

“Men. They even mansplain to other men, can you believe that?” You said from beside Sarah while Bucky finished fixing the leak. You tilted your head to admire him, “But we love to watch them work, huh?” She laughed as you wiggled your eyebrows at her. Bucky and Sam turned back to you and Sarah and Bucky’s eyes widened when they landed on your figure. Sam walked toward the front of the boat as Bucky stopped to introduce himself to Sarah.

“Sarah--” His eyes flicked to yours, “Y/N.” Then he quickly followed behind Sam.

“Oh, what was that, Y/N?” Sarah teased, two can play at that game.

“I don’t know, what was your thing about, Sarah?” You said her name like Bucky did to mess with her. She shoved your shoulder away and pushed you back to work.

You had to admit, watching Bucky do domestic type things with his metal appendage did things to you. Just knowing that he was comfortable enough to be around Sam’s whole family with his arm fully on display, made you happy.  The sun was beginning to go down, and you were sharing a beer with Sam and Bucky. Bucky hadn’t spoken to you directly since he got there and it was starting to irk you. You thought that you had something, but maybe not. Bucky rose from his position on the boat, clinking his bottle with Sam’s, claiming he needed to find a hotel room so he could catch his flight tomorrow.

“You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?” Sam joked.

“I just don’t wanna make it weird for your family.” But Bucky’s eyes caught yours as he spoke.

“Just stay here, man.” Sam began a rant about the people of the town, ending with, “Plus we already got one freeloader for the night, what’s one more, right?”

“Oh goodie! Are we going to braid each other’s hair and play Seven Minutes in Heaven, too?” you teased Sam, but Bucky stiffened.

“We can do whatever you want.” Sam said, then he pointed at Bucky, “Just don’t flirt with my sister. Cause if you do, I’ll have Carlos cut you up, feed you to the fish.” Bucky made a face at Sam before smiling again.

Later that night, after you had all eaten dinner and the kids had gone to bed, you contemplated what your next move was going to be. You were sitting in one of the patio couches outside, a blanket wrapped around your legs, watching the stars reflection in the water. Bucky walked out on the porch, a pair of sweats-- that he had to borrow from Sam because he didn’t pack anything-- slung low on his hips, his blue Henley stopping just before the waistband of his boxers.

His gaze met yours and he approached you as if you were a wild animal and you were going to run away if he made any sudden movements. Your legs had been sprawled across both cushions of the couch, so instead of letting you change positions, Bucky just lifted your legs and then rested them on his lap. His left hand was rubbing back and forth just above your ankle.

“Is there a reason you’ve been avoiding me, James?” He ignored your question all together, opting to ask his own.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You thought back to the first time that you ever saw him. Chained to a chair, hair hiding his face from nosy onlookers.

“Uh, yeah. You were being treated like an animal, caged in a glass box. Why?” His left hand never stopped its motion on your leg.

“When you first started staring at me, I was absolutely positive that it was out of fear. Then when I actually looked at you, you were curious.” You nodded your head, recalling the emotions.

“That was a stressful day.” You could sense that Bucky didn’t need your input to get to where he was going.

“Then, when we were in that stupid tiny blue car that Steve had crammed us into,” he paused to laugh at the memory, “I was sure in that moment, that I was never going to see you again.” His gaze hadn’t left his palms on your legs, refusing to meet your eyes. “And when I saw you in Madripoor, I was positive that it was just someone who looked a lot like you. It couldn’t have been you, I wasn’t that lucky.”

His left hand gripped your leg as he spoke, “But then you started talking and I would’ve known that voice anywhere. All I wanted was to be close to you.”

“Bucky, you almost broke my arm because I sucker punched Zemo.” He shushed you.

“All I wanted was to be close to you, but I’m also a violent person.” He brought his head up, locking his steel blue orbs with yours. “Then you kept talking and you were so smart. So beautiful.” His metal hand left your leg to cup your chin. “Every word out of your mouth mesmerized me, even when you were kind of insulting me.” His thumb stroked your jaw, traveling up to your bottom lip. “And God, the way you said my name.” Your nostrils flared and your brow raised.

“What? James?” You trapped your bottom lip in between your teeth, giving Bucky reason to pull it out with his metal thumb. Your tongue shot out to wet your lips out of habit and Bucky shot you a glare.

“Doll. What’re you doing to me?” He dropped his thumb back to your cheek as his eye flicked over your face. He brought his hands down to your waist, holding it tightly and pulling you closer to him. Your ass now rested against his right leg, and he transferred his grip to wrap around your blanket covered thighs. A squeal escaped your lips without your permission, making your face contort.

“When we were sitting at the bar in your gallery I wanted nothing more than to smother you with all my love and affection.” Your heart rate increased, you want that too. “I’m glad I wasn’t able to though.” Your stomach dropped, a feeling of rejection washing over you. You began to pull away from him, wanting to escape his touch. He gripped your legs tighter against his body, “At that time, I wasn’t what I should be for you. I’ll probably never be exactly what I should be for you, but I’m selfish enough right now that I don’t care anymore.” He twisted his upper body to face you.

“What are you talking about, James?” A visible shiver ran down his spine as you said his real name. He brought both his hands up to grip your face. The cool air added to the temperature difference of his hands.

“I’m talking about this.” It wasn’t a half a second later that his lips were on yours. It took you a second to respond, but you did with fervor. Your hands traveled to his neck to show him that you wanted this too. His fingers fanned out, cupping behind your ears to bring you impossibly closer to him. His tongue traced your bottom lip, seeking entrance which you denied playfully. He brought his thumbs to rest on your chin, applying pressure as he asked again. At this point, you didn’t care about the pardon, or Karli and the Flag Smashers, or Sharon and the Power Broker, or even Sam, Sarah and the boys. You could only focus on James’ lips that were molding so perfectly with your own. You eventually had to break apart, your fingertips coming to rest on James’ kiss swollen lips. You locked eyes with him again, his pupils blown wide, and the two of you laughed.

“Oh, that.” You traced his lips while holding his stare. “Is that why you haven’t been talking to me?” He nodded quickly, gaze drifting down to your lips again. He leaned forward wanting to steal another kiss, but you stopped him. “That’s not okay behavior, James. You can’t just not talk to me because you’re frustrated with yourself.” He hummed a noise of assent, kissing your fingertips on his lips. His palm came up to keep your fingers pressed to his lips as his eyes roamed your face. “What does this mean, James? You aren’t just going to get my hopes up and then walk away right?”  He pulled back from you, a look of disappointment crossing his features.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like that would be a possibility.” He took a deep breath, “After my time in Wakanda, after Shuri de-programmed me, I thought I finally had a group of people I could trust. Then, Ayo was able to remove my arm within the blink of an eye, but not the way that they had when they were tweaking it.” He rested his body against the back of the patio couch. “My therapist had been telling me that I needed to trust someone, and up until that point, I did. I thought I had people who fully trusted me as well.” He looked over at you, silent tears racing down his cheeks. “This clearly isn’t a good excuse, but I felt like you wouldn’t have trusted me either.” Your hands came up to his face, wiping away his tears.

“James, I’ve known of you for years before I met you. Remember how Sharon said I did that report on you in high school?” He nodded as much as your hold on his face would allow him to. “Well, that’s when I first fell in love with the idea of you.” His eyes widened as you continued speaking. “Then, I was lucky enough to meet you and it felt like everything fell into place. After Sharon and I ran off to Madripoor, I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you again, and I was okay with that because maybe you were better left as an idea.” You laughed as you looked down at your lap, dropping your hands from his face. “Then I got dusted during the Blip, which is a whole other thing and then Sharon said that you were in Madripoor.” You shook your head then faced him, eyes locking with his red rimmed pair.

“I would love to fall in love with you. And right now, I want nothing more than to let the trust we have for each other grow into something more.” A wide smile spread across his face and he bared his teeth at you, scrunching his face at the nose.

“I want that too.” He leaned forward slapping a sloppy kiss onto your lips, which you returned with equal intensity. When Bucky pulled back from you to catch his breath, he left his forehead resting against your own. Your breaths synchronized and he patted his hand twice on your outer thigh, signalling you that he was going to get up. “We better get some sleep.” He stood in front of you, offering you his hand. You smiled as you entwined your fingers with his metal ones.

Luckily, Cas and AJ were kind enough to share a room tonight so you could sleep in the other. Bucky’s hand never left your side as he walked you up the stairs. Once you had reached the closed door, he wrapped his arm around you, twisting your body to face him, back pressed against the cold wood of the door. He pushed his whole body forward, molding your bodies together as his hands hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“I’m glad that we talked, Y/N.” He pecked your lips, pulling back afterwards to stare at your face.

“I’m glad we did too, but what are you doing?” A nervous laugh left your lips and Bucky’s eyes followed the movement.

“You’re just so pretty.” He leaned forward kissing your cheeks, “I’m happy,” A kiss to your chin. “that I’ll be able to,” one to your nose, “call you my doll soon.” His lips lingering on your forehead before bringing his chin up to the top of your head, pulling you into him for a hug. You brought your arms up to wrap around his waist, your face pressed into the spot where his neck and collarbone met.

“Am I not already your doll?” Your question was muffled against his skin, but he heard you.

“Not until I specifically ask you. You can be mine without being my doll, but I want to wine and dine you before I feast.” Your brows raised again and your lips rolled inwards.

“Before you feast?” You were holding back a laugh, so Bucky pulled back, his hands gripping your shoulders, face serious.

“Feast.” He reached behind you opening the door. He gave you a quick smooch before pushing you into the empty room, alone with your thoughts. You had a harder time falling asleep that night. Bucky, on the other hand, had no problem, sleeping like a rock with a smug smile on his face.

You woke up to the sound of eggshells being cracked and forks hitting the sides of ceramic plates. Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen, you saw Sarah working over the stove while Cas was scrambling eggs. Sarah heard you coming down, ever the always aware mother.

“Hey, hope you’re hungry, ‘cause you aren’t leaving this kitchen without eating somethin’.” She watched as you peered into the living room, searching for Bucky’s imposing figure. “I think he’s down at the dock with Sam. They left real early this morning and girl, I swear to God if they’re messin’ with that water pump, I’m going to strangle the both of them.” You laughed, taking the plate of scrambled eggs that AJ was holding out to you.

“Did you tell them that the water pump wasn’t the issue?” She nodded as she stirred the eggs in her pan. “Then you know that they are, Sarah.” The two of you shared a laugh as Cas and AJ sat down to eat, as well.

“Y’all better hurry up before you’re late for the bus.” The boys quickly shoved their remaining food into their mouths, rushing out the door after kissing their mother goodbye.

“How do you do it?” Sarah’s head tilted, wondering what you were referring to. “Being a single mother and managing a business? Does it all get to be too much sometimes?” She could tell you were genuinely curious, so she sighed.

“It’s definitely challenging at times, but thankfully I have a good enough relationship with AJ and Cas that we’re able to get through pretty much anything. After we lost their Dad, I was all alone and scared. I’m still scared a lot of the time, scared that I’m going to mess them up, you know?” She paused a second to recollect her thoughts. “It’s just by chance that we live in this amazing community that helped me whenever I needed a little bit of assistance.” The conversation between the two of you fizzled after that, perhaps it was too heavy a topic for breakfast to handle. You followed her to meet a group of people at the marina, but the journey there wasn’t silent.

“So, I have a question, but you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. Although I feel like if you don’t answer it, you’re kind of answering it.” You encouraged her to ask whatever she wanted to. “You and Bucky are a thing, right?” You coughed, unsure of how to answer. “That’s all the confirmation I needed.” Sarah smiled at you as your mouth struggled to form words.

“We are, but we aren’t?” Sarah gave you a look making you roll your eyes. “I don’t know he said that he was excited to see where this was going and then we kissed, so yes?”

“Oh, he looks like a good kisser.”

“Right? Just like he’s got the bone structure and lip plumpness ratio down to a T.” There was a brief moment of silence before the two of you burst into a fit of laughter. The walk down the marina dock wasn’t a long one, so you were able to see Sam and Bucky hunched over a pile of scattered parts.

“Uh-huh. No. No.” Sarah’s head began shaking as Sam was arguing with Bucky, who wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, his eyes were roaming your figure, lingering on your face. His eyes darted to Sam before he greeted the two of you with a wave of his hand.

“I told you specifically that the water pump was not the problem, and yet, here you are.”

“Yep, Samuel.” Bucky teasingly berated, taking Sarah’s side.

“You’re in just as much trouble, you by-stander.” Your voice lilted into a playful tone as Bucky made a shocked face at you.

“In our defense, we were supposed to be done long before you woke up.”

“I don’t come up to the sky to tell you how to barrel roll, so don’t come down here and mess around with things you don’t understand.” Your fist came up to your mouth.

“Oh, that’s a-burn, Bird Brain.” You pointed a finger at Sam, clutching your stomach with your other hand as Sarah swatted the two boys away. Bucky stopped next to you, wrapping his metal arm around the front of your body, delivering a soft kiss to your temple. He left with Sam, arguing the whole way to the house while you stayed with Sarah, reassembling the water pump.

By the time you had gotten back to the Wilson house, Bucky was hauling his backpack strap onto his shoulder. You slowed your approach, holding your open palms in front of you, confused as to what Bucky was doing.

“Where are you going?” He turned to face you, a smile spreading over his face. His metal arm wrapped around your waist again, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m heading to New York, I’ve got some stuff to wrap up there. I want you to come with me.” You were taken aback, what about Karli and the GRC?

“We haven’t finished this whole thing with the Flag Smashers, or Walker. Bucky, we can’t just walk away from our responsibilities.” Bucky’s hands clasped around your shoulders.

“We aren’t, Y/N, I promise. Sam has Torres doing something with some signal do-dads and he’s going to call us the second he gets a lead.” He spoke calmly and you thought it over. At least he wasn’t trying to run away again, he was accepting that he had a real role in this. You could feel a shift coming, you weren’t quite sure what it meant, but you were hoping it was a good one.

“Okay, let’s go to New York.”

The two of you hadn’t even been in New York maybe twenty minutes when Sam texted Bucky that he had a line on where Karli was. Supposedly she was heading a takeover of the GRC meeting in Lower Manhattan. If being in New York as a wanted person was nerve wracking enough, now you were going to be surrounded by hundreds of government officials and some of New York’s finest. Bucky was on the phone with Sam, talking through the plan when your phone buzzed. Pulling the device out of your pocket, you saw Sharon’s name pop up.

“Heard you were having a bit of trouble with Karli again. Don’t worry, help is on the way, dear.” Your eyes rolled, still not over your argument before.

“You don’t need to be here for this Sharon.” You paused for a second, your left hand resting on your hip. “How did you even hear about this? Sam just now called Bucky, and I guarantee that he didn’t call you first.” Sharon chuckled on her end of the phone.

“You underestimate my reach, Y/N. I’ll meet you outside the building.” Your jaw clenched.

“Sharon, you said you didn’t want to help. What the hell changed that you’re so willing to put yourself in the middle of all this shit?” She was silent on her end.

“I figured you would want me there.” Well, shit what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

“Lower Manhattan, keep quiet.” You hung up the phone before she could say anything else. You hated not talking to her, and being mad at her was next to impossible. This was your way of saying ‘I forgive you,’ and you knew she would understand. Bucky didn’t say anything as he watched you push your phone into the pockets of your jeans. He could tell something was off, but he could also see that you definitely didn’t want to talk about it right now. Instead he jerked his head for you to follow him, leading you through the streets of Manhattan.

The two of you could see the red lights illuminating the streets, letting you know that you were here. Bucky turned to you, holding his hand out to you, a single earpiece laying in the middle of his palm. As you took it, his hand drifted to your jaw, lifting it to face him. He placed a sweet kiss to your lips before nodding for you to stay behind him. You pulled the brim down on the hat you wore as you stuck to Bucky like glue. He led you through the barricade, one of the soldiers addressing him accordingly.

“Sergeant Barnes.” You made a face beneath your cap, holding back a laugh as Bucky came to a stop in front of you.

“Oh, Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky looked at you over his shoulder as his skin twitched. Your eyes widened. “Does that turn you on, James?” He wasn’t able to answer because of an interruption by Sam’s voice in your ears.

“By the way, I called in some backup.” An agent approached the two of you while Sam kept speaking. “Also, please remember that I can hear everything you say, Y/N. And I don’t need to know what makes the Tin Man tick.” You laughed at Sam’s statement as a twinge of pink ran up the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you supposed to be here?” The agent’s hand came up to his hairline. A click sounded as the agent’s face began to glitch. “It’s me.”

“Sharon, what the hell are you doing here?” Sharon pointed an accusatory finger at you.

“Why didn’t you say that to her? The same people who want me in the Raft, want her there too. Or did you forget that?”

“Do I hear Sharon?” Sam asked as he listened in on your conversation.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky grumbled back.

“Hey Sam. I thought I’d get the band back together.” She threw a wink at you as she stepped closer to Bucky. Sam said something else to her, but you had zoned out to watch Sharon. “I hear pardons aren’t all they’re cracked up to be anyway.”

“Depends on the therapist.” Bucky said as he backed away from Sharon and closer to you.

“They’re going to move on the building soon. Be ready.” Sam brought you all back to the task at hand, switching into Captain mode. Bucky nodded to you and Sharon.

“Go with her.” You made a face at him, about to protest when he cut you off. “I don’t care. Stick with her, Y/N. Don’t get arrested though. We’ve got a date.” He wrapped his arm around the front of your waist, like he did at the Wilson house. He pressed a kiss to your temple, staying a little longer than necessary and giving your hip a squeeze before he released you. You heard glass break above your head as Sam crashed through one of the windows upstairs.

“You guys are going to have to do something. Don’t let ‘em out of the building.” You walked behind Bucky to enter the building, the metal detector going off for both you and Sharon. You shared a look with the woman.

“Oops.” Bucky pointed at a guard in tactical gear while he stepped forward.

“He’s one of them. I’ll get the evac.” He left before you could stop him, leaving you and Sharon to deal with the man he pointed at. The both of you followed him to the parking garage, where he was standing post next to two black armored vehicles. The two of you were waiting behind a pillar as you debated what to do.

“We need to stop him.”

“If we take him down now, they’re going to be suspicious and we are going to get arrested. Cool your jets, Y/N.” Your nostrils flared at her tone, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why didn’t you tell Sam you were already coming?”

“What?” Sharon seemed startled by the question as if you didn’t catch the slip Sam said earlier.

“Sam said that he called in backup. I’m assuming he meant you because we’re the only four people he knows. So why didn’t you tell him you were already coming, or already here or whatever?”

“I didn’t think it was important.” She said dismissively, you could tell she wanted you to drop the subject, but you wanted the truth. Throwing a glance up to the guard, you saw him helping the GRC officials into the vans.

“Damn it Bucky, you had one job.” Bucky ran past you, grumbling a response as he loaded his weight onto a motorbike.

“We aren’t done with this, Sharon.” You pointed at her before she walked away from you. You watched as she ran into the guard then apologized profusely to him. When you caught up to her, she clicked a button in her hand, releasing a noxious gas in the guard’s face. You saw his skin being bubbling and sizzling.

“How’d you do that?” Your eyes hadn’t left the man in the car.

“Mercury vapor, amongst other things.” The two of you continued walking out of the garage, a helicopter started taking off from the helipad on the top of the building.

“Sam, that chopper’s about to take off.”

“Bucky!”

“I don’t fly, man. That’s your thing.” Sam groaned in the earpiece and then you saw him shoot out the window again, chasing after the helicopter. You walked alongside Sharon, following Bucky’s path after the NYPD vans. You got to the barricade just in time to see Scruff holding one of the cars back from falling off a ledge. You were too far away to be able to get to him in time to help, though. You stood next to Sharon as he was ripped away from the back of the car. Your heart dropped as your gaze went to Bucky, who was standing directly underneath the car that was about to crush him.

The crowd around you was holding their phones in front of their faces, at an angle that all they could see was the back of the NYPD van full of GRC officials screaming for help. As the car slipped farther and farther down the platform, your stomach churned more and more. Suddenly, the car stopped, hovering over the opening in the ground. You could make out Sam’s new wings on either side of the car. He pushed forward, lifting the car back to a safe position and then moving away, allowing the crowd to see him fully. The star on his suit glinted proudly as he stood still for a second. The crowd erupted in cheers for the savior. A man to your left cheered for ‘Black Falcon,’ but the man beside him corrected him before you had the chance to.

“No. That’s Captain America.” Red Wing left Sam’s suit to undo the locking mechanism on the back of the van and the GRC officials evacuated the vehicle quickly. Sam turned in the air, removing his shield from his back and throwing it at the Flag Smashers below, knocking them off their feet. At some point, you began moving toward the edge of the platform, ready to help and away from Sharon.

An explosion went off to your right, causing you to search for the source. Puffs of smoke were being thrown in the pit where Sam and Bucky stood and you could see Karli getting away in the confusion. Bucky’s voice rang through your ear.

“Hey. We’re underground. We entered the tunnel on William. Heading south.” You searched for Sharon so you could join up again, but you couldn’t find her. You could hear Sam telling Bucky that the Smashers had split up, and you knew that Bucky would’ve gone with Scruff to keep an eye on him, the unstable bastard. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sharon crouched behind a stack of pallets, and your brows furrowed. She began whistling and then you heard Karli’s voice.

“Dovich? Is that you?” Sharon emerged from behind the stack, holding her gun in front of her.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Karli brought her gun up as well, speaking to Sharon as an old friend.

“That’s what I was gonna say.” Sharon brought her hands up in surrender, and your head tilted, what the fuck is going on? “You know, when you first came to Madripoor, you reminded me of a young me. I took you in, gave you an opportunity, and you betrayed me.” Oh hell no.

“Because you wanted to control a world that hurt you.” Karli lowered her gun but all her senses remained in overdrive. “But I wanted to change it. I’m not interested in power or an empire. I have bigger dreams.” Sharon scoffed, looking around, her eyes darting over where you were hidden behind a stack of boxes. Could it really be? Was Sharon really the person that you thought you knew?

“What, like this?” She stepped closer to Karli. “Come back and work for me again. All of you. We can make a difference together.” Sharon was trying really hard to convince Karli, but she wasn’t having it.

“You just want me because you need your muscle back. Without us Super Soldiers, how much power does the Power Broker really have?” Motherfucker. You zoned out a bit, trying to decide what to do. A male voice began speaking in French causing you to refocus.

“Four times, or--” You could see Batroc’s gun pointed at Karli and Sharon’s face was indifferent.

“I don’t do blackmail.” Sharon gripped her gun tighter, raising it quickly to shoot Batroc. Karli panicked and shot Sharon in the process. The gunshots were loud enough to give Sam an idea of where you were all located. You came out from your position, gun gripped in your hand as you stood closer to Sharon. Maybe you could salvage this situation before Sam got here.

“Karli, calm down.” You kept a tight hold on your pistol as you talked. “Look, I get it. You’re scared, but I’m going to need you to put the gun down.”

“I’ll put mine down when you do.” You could hear a slight shake in her voice. You tilted your head at her apologetically.

“You know I can’t do that.” You cast a glance at Sharon who was clutching her stomach, attempting to stop the blood flow. Karli gulped as she raised her gun again.

“Well, I can’t have any loose ends now, can I? You taught me that, Power Broker.” She sneered at a groaning Sharon. A blinding pain began radiating from your shoulder and your hand immediately when to the area. The force of the bullet knocked you off your feet, slamming your head into the ground.

“Shit, what the fuck Karli!” You could make out Sam’s figure coming up from behind Karli. You saw him process Karli standing over one dead body and two injured ones. The wheels began turning and he started speaking.

“So, what’s next, huh? You kill ten this time, then, what, a hundred? Where does it end?” He stepped closer to an agitated Karli. “Please, let me help you.” He kept his voice calm.

“Don’t try and manipulate me.” Karli approached Sam ready to attack. Their fight continued as she pushed Sam backwards.

“I’m not gonna fight you!” She knocked Sam down to the ground, with the swing of a metal bar.

“Stay down!” She shouted at him. You pushed yourself to your knees, adrenaline pumping allowing you to get to Sharon to help hold pressure on her stomach. You watched from over Sharon as Sam rose to his feet, holding his body in a fighting stance.

“I can do this all day.” She launched herself at Sam, throwing his body back into a bunch of cinder blocks. Sam held his shield in front of him, protecting from her punches.

“Fight back!” She shouted as she delivered blow after blow. Sam ducked low, grabbing onto her torso, using his thrusters to send the both of them flying. Karli used the momentum to push off the ground, to bring Sam up to the ceiling. You sat back on your knees, worry lacing your features.

Sam held one of her hands to his chest as she continued throwing the other into his shield. She gripped the top edge of the shield, using it to gain leverage. She pulled her hand away from his chest, tossing his body forward. The shield slipped from Sam’s arm and he laid on the ground, recovering from her attacks. Karli leant down to pick up her gun and you pushed yourself to your feet, ready to tackle her.

She raised her gun, aiming it at a now shieldless Sam. Karli hesitated, staring at Sam before committing to her cause, ready to kill Captain America. You were steadily creeping forward as she debated, but you could see the moment she decided to pull the trigger. Just before she could, a gunshot sounded from behind you. A gasp left your lips as Sam ran to hold Karli.

Your head whipped around to see Sharon leaning against the stack behind her, gun still smoking. Sharon shook her head at you as she holstered her weapon. Sam lifted Karli into his arms and carried her away from the both of you. You stood a good three feet away from Sharon, hand on your gun in the waistband of your jeans.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re the Power Broker.”

“What the hell are you on about now, Y/N.” Your brows raised and your mouth opened in shock.

“I was fucking here when Karli was talking to you, dumbass. Is that why you shot her? ‘Can’t have any loose ends,’ she said you taught her that, Sharon. What the fuck?” Sharon laughed at you.

“You’re imagining things, Y/N.” She rose to her feet and began walking away from you.

“Sharon, don’t fuck with me right now. How long have you been the fucking Power Broker?” You followed her up the tunnel and out to where you could see Sam lecturing a Senator. Sneaking around to a medical bag, you grabbed two pieces of gauze.

“I’m not the Power Broker.” Sharon rolled her eyes at you, leaning against a car behind the ambulances. You were about to say something else when you saw Bucky and Sam approach the two of you. They took in the two of you, an angry look on your face and an annoyed one on hers.

“You’re blocking my light.” Sharon bit out to Sam.

“We got to get you to a hospital.” Sam told Sharon as Bucky walked up to you, pulling your gauze away from your shoulder, checking your bullet wound.

“It’s through and through and you know they aren’t going to listen to you.”

“It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me all week.” Your eyes glared at Sharon as you spoke. How long has she been doing this behind your back? Someone called for Sam’s attention.

“I think he’s talking to you.” Sharon said, turning away from the newcomer’s view. “Look, I’m sorry for how things ended down there.” Your jaw clenched but you remained silent. “For what it’s worth, the suit looks good on you.” She played a good victim, that’s for sure.

“Alright, can we get out of here, please?” Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, leading you away from the ambulances and news cameras.

“I didn’t forget my promise either, guys.” Sam nodded at the two of you before turning to do his Cap duties. Bucky remained silent beside you, content with just being in your presence again.

He led you to his apartment, bringing you to the bathroom where he pulled out a first aid kit. He placed it on the countertop, placing his hands on your hips and lifting you onto the granite.

“You’re gonna need to take your shirt off.” He flipped the top of the kit open, searching for what he needed.

“Trying to get me naked already? At least take me to dinner first, Sergeant.” You winked as you peeled your shirt off. Bucky glared at you then quickly looked at your shoulder.

“This is going to hurt, just so you know.” He didn’t give you time to say anything else before starting to clean the hole in your shoulder. You hissed as stings radiated from the wound, cursing under your breath as he blew on it. “Alright, here we go.”  Bucky began stitching, returning your body to its former glory in his eyes. “How’d you managed to get shot?”

“I was attempting to get Karli to drop her gun.” You debated on telling Bucky what you learned about Sharon. “Who do you think the Power Broker is?” You asked gauging his reaction. His attention never wavered from his task. He soon finished with the front side of your shoulder, backing away and telling you to face the mirror. Bucky leaned forward, his hips pressing against your ass as he set to work on the exit wound.

“I have my theories. What about you?” You looked at the granite below, tracing the different lines, not answering for a few minutes.

“Mm, not really.” Was it naive to keep the knowledge to yourself? Probably, but this way you could deal with Sharon on your own and not have to involve Captain America.

“Y/N. You lived there for years, you’re telling me that you never encountered the Power Broker? Never worked for him before, procuring a particular art piece?” You shook your head as you felt him start to wrap your shoulder.

“No, I made sure that all my dealings were as clean as the illegal art trade could be.” Bucky nodded, closing the first aid kit and placing it back under the sink. He walked out of the bathroom and into his kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Advil. He shook two tablets into his metal hand and gave them to you along with a water bottle from the fridge.

“Take these and then go lay down. You need to sleep so your body can heal.” You could tell something was bothering him. You reached out to grasp his metal wrist.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Hmm?”

“Nothing. I’ve just got something to do.” You nodded.

“Do you want me to come with you?” His head shook back and forth in denial.

“No, I need to do this alone. I’ll be back soon. Whenever I get back you better be asleep in that bed.” He pointed at the door to his room. He walked up next to you, wrapping his arm around the front of your waist and giving you a kiss on your temple. “I’ll be back, doll. I’ve just got a few things to wrap up.”

He left soon after, leaving you alone in his barren apartment. It was easy to see that he hadn’t made it his home. Probably feeling like he had no reason to, no ties to anyone here. Makes it easier when you have to bug out in a pinch. You walked into his room, searching for a shirt to wear to bed. Finding one of his shirts hanging in his closet, you pulled it over your head after removing your bra. You took off your jeans, trading them for your sleep shorts from your bag.

You climbed into his bed, waiting for his scent to envelope you, but it never came. Has he ever actually slept in this bed? So you laid there, unable to fall asleep, too many thoughts swirling in your brain. How long has Sharon been the Power Broker? Did it start when you first got to Madripoor? Or was it after you were dusted and she was there alone for five years? None of this changed the fact that she needed to be stopped. The amount of influence she had was too great. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand next to the bed, so you rolled over to pick it up.

Court hearing with the Senators tomorrow at 8 A.M. for you. -Sam

You thought about the possibility of being welcome back into your own country and not being treated like a criminal. Thought of the possibility of going to work for the government again. Of working with Bucky and Sam. Of being with Bucky without having to look over your shoulder all the time, and it made you smile. Your phone buzzing brought you out of your trance.

Also, you and Bucky need to come to my house tomorrow. Sarah’s throwing a party, they got the boat finished so we’re celebrating.

That made your smile grow, you were happy for the first time in a long time. The lock of the front door clicked and you jumped out of the bed, grabbing your knife, ready for an attack. You waited behind the door to Bucky’s bedroom, then swung it open. Your hand came up to the intruder's throat and your mind switched out of attack dog mode when you saw Bucky’s raised brow.

“Is there a reason for this?” His eyes were red and he had tear stains on his cheeks. You flipped your knife back down and placed it on top of your jeans.

“Sorry. Are you okay, James?” He shook his head and you opened your arms to him. He walked into your embrace, before exhaling harshly into your uninjured shoulder.

“No, but I will be.” He backed away for a second, taking in your form. “Didn’t I tell you that you were supposed to be asleep when I got back? Also, is that my shirt?”

“Yes, you did and yes, it is. Do you have an issue with that, Sergeant?” He quickly shook his head back and forth, leaning down to pick you up by your thighs and tossing you onto his bed.

“Not at all, doll. You look better in it than I do.” He smiled at you as he stripped down to his boxers before climbing into bed with you. Bucky tossed his arm over your waist, pulling your body into his. He sighed contentedly, basking in the way you smelled.

“Sam got me a hearing for a pardon.”

“Oh yeah? When’s that?” Bucky’s voice was muffled because he had buried his face in your neck, peppering small pecks there.

“Tomorrow morning at nine. Are you going to come?” Bucky thought on it for a moment, before shaking his head.

“I have one more thing to take care of.” You nodded.

“They got the boat fixed and Sarah invited us to the party. Sam says we have to go, it’s tomorrow too. I don’t actually know what time though he didn’t say.”

“Alright, I’ll pick something up to bring after I finish my thing.” You turned to face him, a smirk plastered on your face.

“So, Sergeant does it for you?” You giggled as he groaned and removed his arm from your waist. His hand came up to run through his hair, scratching his head

“Are we doing this right now, Y/N?” You released a cackle of a laugh, nodding in response. “Oh that’s how you’re gonna play this?” He attacked your sides, beginning to tickle you causing you to react accordingly. Somehow, he managed to end up on top of you, in between your thighs. He stopped suddenly to watch as you writhed and giggled.

“What?” You started getting self-conscious, afraid that there was something on your face. Your hands came up to hide your face from him, but Bucky wasn’t having it. He took your hands away from your face by trapping your wrists beside your head. “What? Why are you doing that?” You questioned, only halfway serious.

“You’re just so pretty.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss that soon turned into something else. His hands traveled back down to your sides, resting on the bare skin showing from your shirt having ridden up. The temperature difference shocked you enough to make you gasp, giving Bucky the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, escalating the situation.

Your hands came up to the back of his head, holding him in the kiss, guaranteeing that he wasn’t going anywhere. They made their way down his body to rest on his shirtless back. He pushed forward with his hips, the fabric separating the two of you becoming increasingly annoying. Bucky pulled back slightly, nudging you to open your eyes. There was a silent interaction between the two of you in that moment, neither of you was ready for anything intense, so the momentum slowed, but the energy level remained.

Bucky’s hands never left your body that night. Exploring and memorizing every ridge, every stretch mark, every piece of you that made you, you. You drifted your fingers over the scarred skin next to his arm, tiny feather touches that made him hum. Falling asleep in his arms was the easiest thing you ever had to do. And for Bucky, being able to hold you as you flutter asleep was beautiful. He watched as your face relaxed and all the tension left your body, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. Bucky didn’t like to admit it, but he was a touch starved human being. All those years in and out of cryo and isolation gave his body plenty of reason to crave genuine human touch. And to have a human as charming and annoying as you was a dream come true, his doll.

You woke up before Bucky the next morning. You looked over at his face, tranquility lacing his features, unburdened with no glorious purposes. He was just your James. The two of you had separated sometime during the night, so you scooted closer to his frame. His metal arm is thrown across the pillow behind your head, giving you perfect access to his neck and chest. You glanced at the clock across the room, the hands telling you that it was seven thirty in the morning. If you wake him now, you could have at least thirty-five minutes of bliss, plus some heavy petting if you both were feeling cheeky.

You leaned forward towards his neck, placing tiny kisses from the base of his ear to the puckered skin of his shoulder. You were so focused on your task that you didn’t recognize the change in his breathing pattern.

“Good morning, doll.” If you could melt into the mattress, that would’ve done it. His fucking rasp grated you into a fine powder of a human. You hummed at him, not stopping your kisses, instead climbing up to his jaw and then to his lips. He turned his head and playfully laughed. “Nuh-uh, we’ve got morning breath, ya nasty.” You groaned, retreating from his figure completely.

“Fine, we will brush our teeth together and then come right back to this bed and you will love me, damn it.” Bucky laughed at you as you drug yourself into his bathroom. This was the type of bliss you wanted, and you only wanted to share it with a particular metal armed super soldier. It didn’t take long to brush your teeth, and you pushed on Bucky’s back to get him into the bed quicker. When he did get back into the bed, he was grumbling.

“I don’t know why we’re getting back in bed, we’re already up now.” He smiled as you glared at him. Bucky’s back was leaned against his headboard, so you swung your leg over his thighs, straddling his lower half. His hands rested on your waist as you brought yours up to the sides of his face.

“You frustrate me.” You said with a loving smile and tone before pecking his lips softly as he laughed. “What time do you have to leave for your thing?” You played with the strings of your sleep shorts as he answered you.

“Around eight-thirty, it takes me about thirty minutes to get there and it doesn’t open until nine.”

“I’m gonna be leaving around then, too. What do you wear when you’re going in front of senators to be pardoned for stealing a metal frisbee?” Bucky huffed a laugh, pulling you closer to him wrapping his arms around your back. “I’m thinking a crop top that says “Fuck You,” would that be too obvious?”

“Yeah, that one might be a little on the nose.” Bucky checked your shoulder as he spoke. “Your shoulder looks good, no infection, thanks to me.” He plastered a wide smile on his face afterwards. “Do you know what time Sharon’s hearing is?” You stiffened slightly at the mention of Sharon.

“Uh, no. Sam just told me my time and I haven’t talked to Sharon.” Bucky’s head tilted.

“Everything okay on that front?”

“Not really?” You went back and forth on what to tell him. You didn’t want to give him the extra burden of knowing what Sharon was. “We had a fight a few days ago and neither one of us has cooled off about it, so that’s a bit rocky.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head, so Bucky just held you tighter. “Okay, you don’t have to.” He held you for a few more minutes, before backing away. “Alright we need to get ready.” You groaned, slackening your body, making everything about you dead weight.

“No. I don’t wanna.” You sounded like a child.

“You sound like a child.” Oh you whore, get out of my head, butt munch. Bucky said, pushing your body off his. He walked to his closet as you laid spread out like a starfish on his bed. Bucky had already picked out a shirt and put on pants whenever he walked back in and you were still laid on his bed.

“You’re gonna be late.” He leaned over your head, appearing to you upside down. His arms were resting on either side of your face, dropping down he pressed a kiss to your lips. “You’ve got to get up, Y/N.” He went to the other end of the bed, where your feet dangled off the edge. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you, you slid off the bed, taking the comforter with you. “Oh my god, this is pitiful, Y/N. You’re a grown woman!” Bucky shouted at you as he left the room.

The two of you parted ways after you got dressed, but not before Bucky wrapped his arm around the front of your waist and placed a kiss on your temple. You wondered why he did that so much, but you weren’t going to argue with the attention because you loved it. You walked up to the extravagant building that was bustling with people. Everything was white, you always wondered why that was. White represented innocence and America was anything but innocence. You ended up wearing your casual clothes for two reasons. One, you were being pardoned, why couldn’t you be comfortable for that? And two, you had somewhere to go after this and that was just as important as this court meeting to you. Walking into the courtroom, you took in all the faces in the seats. Your name was called immediately, so you approached the podium.

“Ms. Y/L/N, on behalf of the United States Intelligence Community, I’d like to offer you and your family our sincerest apologies.” You wanted to scoff, but you bit your tongue. “You’ve always been an incredible asset to our country. Today, we begin to set things right. We begin to repay some of the debt that is owed to you.” You bowed your head.

“Thank you, Senator. It’s been a long time coming.” You could see the Senator’s jaw clench, not used to being brushed off.

“And we’d like to offer you a full pardon. There might be an opening in your old division. Is that something that you’d be interested in?”

“Actually, Senator. I would like to thank you for that opportunity, but no. I’ll be working with Captain America.” The man’s whole body seemed to twitch.

“You aren’t authorized to make that kind of decision, Ms. Y/L/N.” This time you did scoff.

“Yeah, okay. Well thanks for the pardon.” You tapped the podium twice, leaning to walk away. “This has been great, I really feel like we’ve both said our peace. See ya later, Senator.” You walked out as you heard him calling your name. You pulled your phone out, dialing Bucky’s number.

“Hey doll! How’d court go?” You started walking to where you and Bucky had planned to meet after you got done with your respective tasks.

“Oh great! I’m working with Cap now.” You could almost see Bucky’s face.

“Wow, how’d you manage that?” You smirked.

“I can be very persuasive when I want to be, James.”

“Oh is that so, Y/N?” You could hear his smirk as he spoke. “Maybe you’ll have to be persuasive with me one day.” You laughed.

“James, I don’t have to be persuasive with you.” You caught sight of Bucky walking down the street with a store-bought cake in his hand. You held up your pinky finger wiggling it for emphasis, “I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.”

By the time you got to the marina that docked Paul & Darlene, you were buzzing with excitement. Bucky was giggling at your antics, you were practically bouncing in the passenger seat. As soon as Bucky got out of the car, Cas and AJ latched onto him. He went along with them, playing as if he was going to slam the cake into their faces. You walked past Bucky, hugging everyone who greeted you. Once you reached Sarah, you sat down on the picnic table for a second before taking off again. You stood to the side as you watched Sam take picture after picture with pretty much everyone from town.

Bucky stood next to you, chuckling about everyone’s reaction to Cap being from their hometown. One woman almost knocked Sam flat on his ass when she hugged him, a huge smile stretched over her face. You went back to the table Sarah was at, taking a seat next to her. Suddenly Bucky climbed on top of the table, holding his vibranium arm out with two children dangling off it. He was talking animatedly with his other as he told a story about Sam. You had zoned out just staring at him with the kids.

“You know, this could be you.” Sarah said as she leaned next to your ear.

“What could be?” You made a face at her.

“The kids, the community.” She looked over at Bucky, “That hunk of a man over there.” You slapped her shoulder softly before humming.

“I’ve thought about it, but that’s a two person decision and I don’t think either of us are at a point in our lives to raise another tiny human.” Sarah nodded, her features disbelieving.

“Just don’t let that one get away.” Her finger was pointed at Bucky who was playing with the kids at the edge of the dock. Bucky must’ve felt your gaze on him because he looked up, removing his dark sunglasses to lock eyes with you.

“Oh I don’t plan on it.” You smiled at her. You joined Bucky and Sam as they stood in front of Paul & Darlene, taking in the sunset reflecting on the water. Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. You definitely don’t plan on it, you thought to yourself as you leaned into his embrace.

**********************

@londonalozzy @marvelofwitch @dramaticwittch @hellmoonsin @jn-wolf @youcancallmeishita @iabrokengirl @veroxloki @liveloudwriteloud @lainternettuale @angelofthetrenchcoats @rosiahills22 @peachymichu @sj-ficrecs @learisa @itsyagirl01 @simply-me-xoxo @ghoststudyy @taina-eny @japanrecs @sinfulhun-collapsedheart @isaordora @shutupstevie @sprsoldierfics @beachbabe925 @afuckingshituniverse @distinguishedgardenroadbonk @littlewhiterose @bcadc42 @tcc-gizmachine @imagines78643258 @mia-j-333

[earthlyyan]

Little Trainee (Platonic(?)Yan! Childe x Reader)

For @bye-bye-sunbird (thanks again for your help) Warnings: Abuse, Graphic descriptions of violence, Implied Torture, Eye Trauma, Unhealthy Sibling relationships, Childe being a sadist, Kidnapping? If you squint? Imprisonment? Betrayal 

Word Count: 3084

________________________________________________________________

He was gone.

Tartaglia held his younger brother’s fur-lined cap in his calloused hands, bringing it close to his chest. He’d taken off without it, wanting to be as far away from the killer that was his big brother so badly, he’d neglected to dress for the cold.

Despite his best efforts, Tartaglia had been unable to find him, and though tempted, he had refused to get the Fatui involved. It would further remind Teucer that his brother’s job was a terrifying one, too dark for the mind of a child to fully grasp. A child’s mind would never truly grasp why he had to kill, only that he had taken the life of another. And how that was an unforgivable sin.

He’d requested a day off work to prevent him from making any rash decisions on duty. He’d spent the day wandering aimlessly, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. He’d found himself in the familiar shambles of Dunyu Ruins. Perhaps he’d take out his frustrations on some ruin guards, or at least he’d considered it, until he saw you.

*

In and out and in and out.

Your sword found its way into the ruin guards eye again and again. It had been dead after the first thirteen stabs, but you didn’t care.

Your thrusts were becoming harder to maintain, your shallow breaths and sore arms halting your rage filled pursuit. Your legs straddled its large, heavy body, thick vines restrained its arms and legs.

It killed him. It killed your brother. The laser sliced his body while simultaneously cauterizing the wound, leaving him in two, unable to bleed. His face still frozen in that of agonizing pain.

It was going to kill you as well until a blinding green light appeared before you; a dendro vision.

You didn’t know how you did it, but now it was dead, and the gift of the archons laid on the ground before you. You hated it.

A gift of the gods, what a fucking joke.

You choked back the urge to vomit at the rancid scent before removing your sword from the gaping glass wound.

You kicked the hunk of metal as hard as you could before losing your balance and falling back onto the ground.

A man stood there; a couple years older than you. You’d fallen right at his feet.

He wordlessly helped you up off the ground before clearing his throat, as if to clear the air with it.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone receive a vision before.” His voice was light and airy. “I had been walking when it’s light blinded me. I regret not showing up sooner.”

You refused to look at the strange man, his words not registering. Your mind was too busy trying to process what had just happened.

“Hey,” His voice was louder, shaking you from your stunned stupor. He held out a handkerchief from his pocket. “You should probably get out of—”

“He’s dead.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“That thing killed him. He’s dead.” Your words were empty. You contemplated if you should be feeling anything else other than thinly veiled anger and disgust. You should’ve been sadder. The only thing you had felt at the time of you mindlessly stabbing the guard was desperation for your own survival, and fear that it would get up again. You were revolted at the sight of the corpse before you, but you weren’t terribly torn up about the death in itself. And that disgusted you.

Anyone else would’ve been. Anyone would’ve been devastated if they had watched their own kin get cut in two. But no, you were more worried about what you’d tell your mother.

You walked over to the remains of your brother and poked it with your foot, your blatant disrespect for the dead caught the man off guard. Your gut did flips in your stomach at the gruesome sight.

“You don’t seem too upset about it.” He seemed to lack the same feeling of fear at the sight of a corpse. You didn’t quite know how to feel about that. “Though, you don’t seem like you’ve got the guts to orchestrate it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed. “The way you kept stabbing the poor ruin guard made me think it was self-defense, and that the death was an accident. But the fact that you’re not devastated at his death made me wonder that you did it intentionally.”

“And if it was?” “Then I think I’d applaud your ambition.”

*

The man introduced himself as Childe, a member of the Snezhnayan organization called the Fatui. He claimed to be a warrior of sorts, and that he had gone to Dunyu Ruins to take out some frustrations he had one some ruin guards. He then had stumbled across you stabbing a lifeless robot corpse.

He had treated you to lunch in Liyue, saying that leaving you to stew in your thoughts after witnessing something of that caliber was ill-advised.

“What were you doing in Dunyu Ruins?”

“My brother wanted to do something there. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.” You mumbled.

“And the sword?”

“The sword I have with me was the one he was carrying, but when his torso disconnected from his legs, his scabbard landed close to me. So I thought I might as well use it.” You stirred your soup with your spoon, not having much of an appetite.

“So why did he have the sword?”

“Archons know.” You sighed. “If I’m being frank, I think he was going to kill me.”

Childe lowered his tigerfish from his mouth. A light laugh left his lips, startling you. “What makes you think that?”

“I was father’s favorite, though I am the younger of the two of us. So when he found out he had left the inheritance to me instead of his eldest son, he thought it unfair.” You reluctantly brought the spoon to your lips and swallowed. “We had never gotten along; I was like a punching bag than his younger sibling.”

“And I suppose that’s why you’re not crying and mourning the loss?” His voice was mocking.

“Well, would you?”

Childe hummed. “I’m not sure, family is family, but…” his voice lowered into an inaudible mumble, pondering.

He was silent for a moment. He took a few bites of his grilled tigerfish. His eyes wandered to the scabbard at your hip. “You don’t know how to fight.”

“What? Where did this come from?” He hadn’t even finished his thought from before.

“The way you were holding the sword as you used it to kill the ruin guard was way off. Had you kept going, you could’ve gotten hurt. If you had held it properly you could still be stabbing it now. If you didn’t get that vision when you did, it could’ve killed you with how poorly you were handling yourself.”

“That’s the whole point of getting bestowed a vision. Saving you when you’re on the brink of death or something like that.” You shoved your spoon in your mouth again.

“Yes, true.” He sighed and set down the now empty skewer. “But if you hadn’t gotten it you would’ve ended up like—” “Okay jeez I get it!” You grumbled around the metal in your mouth. “What are you getting at?”

“Luckily for you, I’m quite skilled at the sword.” His chest puffed in pride. “And it’s not like you’re going to go home with half a brother in tow, yes?”

“So you want to train me? What good does that do you?” “I’ve always wanted to train someone in a weapon.” He smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness in his voice. Like he was looking forward to it before the invitation presented itself. “And now, I can.”

*

You were on the ground again, some shallow, superficial cuts littered your body, Childe’s blade inches from your throat.

“You left yourself open again. I told you this weeks ago and yet you can’t get it.” A disappointed sigh escaped his lips as he pinged the bridge of his nose. “Hunch, keep your legs apart, again.”

Some part of you wondered if Childe got off on hearing your groans and hisses when he slashed you. Something about the way he bounced on his legs and the way his grin seemed more genuine had you worried.

You slowly got yourself off the ground, your bones and muscles creaking in protest as you readied your brother’s blade again.

“If you’re sore it means its working.” His laugh echoed as he lunged himself at you again, leaving you a moment notice to swerve out of the way. “If you weren’t sore before it means you were doing it wrong.” He dodged an oncoming attack from your sword and swept your legs, leaving you on the floor again. Yup, he was definitely getting off on this.

*

Three months under Childe’s tutelage toned your body significantly. He seemed to be more eager to fight you these days. Saying that you were finally getting fun to fight or something like that.

“Despite your form issues in the beginning, you’re practically a natural.” He beamed as he extended a hand to you. “Fighting you is actually fun these days, and less boring.”

“It was boring before?” You were borderline insulted.

“Fighting against you was boring. Seeing you grow and mature as a fighter was interesting.”

“Uh huh.” You wiped the sweat from your brow. “Sure.”

He’d been gracious enough to let you room at his house. And for someone of his age, it was quite impressive for him to have one of this stature. You had your own room across the hall from his. He only had two rules when staying with him.

One: The lower levels were off limits. No matter what. He said that it had to do with his work, and that it would be unprofessional of him to allow someone to interfere.

Two: Don’t ask about his work.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about it. Sometimes he’d leave for days on end and come back beat up, other times you’d hear noises from the lower levels.

They sounded like screams.

You wondered what he’d have to do for a living to hear such noises from below. Sometimes he’d go down for hours and come up itching for a fight with you, other times he’d leave satisfied and covered in blood. You’d wondered if it was his own.

Something about it didn’t sit right with you, but a fight with Childe was not one you wanted to engage in. He’d know all your moves, considering he’d been the one to teach them to you. Whenever you’d try to bring it up, you’d be shut down with an uncharacteristic coldness from him. One that barely used, only when he was talking about his work, that is.

But tonight the screams were louder. They reached your room in the depths of the night, even with the door closed and pillows blocking your ears. You had to know.

You were sick of being left in the dark here, you were sick of hearing those screams from downstairs. You had to know.

Were you training under a serial killer? Childe didn’t seem like the type, or was he?

The strange amount of pleasure he’d get when watching you get hurt by his hand. The ruthless way he’d slaughter hillichurls and treasure hoarders alike. No matter who or what it was, its death was no different to Childe. It seemed to light him ablaze, having him itching for a fight with anything that moved, and when it stopped moving, he’d be disappointed.

 The screams had died down after a few hours. You had to wait until you heard his boots go back upstairs and into the room across the hall.

You had to be more quiet if you were going to get in and out of there before he noticed you.

After these escapades he would take a shower, the running water would be enough to cover your footsteps going down the hall, truly.

A minute after the shower started running you made your move. It was easy to pick out what door led to the basement, due to the sheer amount of deadbolts and locks keeping it closed. He’d left the key in the door, probably to stop whoever was in the basement from looking through the keyhole. Smart move for him when it came to living alone, but with company, it was practically begging to be used.

And use it you did. Deadbolt after deadbolt, you finally turned the key.

The basement was warm and sweet smelling. But not in the pleasant way sweets were supposed to smell.

It made your stomach ache and twist as you descended the staircase, closing the door behind you.

The clinking of chains got your attention before the sight of blood had. The lights had flickered on, illuminating the sight before you. You couldn’t hold back your vomit anymore.

Your suspicions were right, or so it seemed, with the sheer amount of bodies below. One was still living, trembling, and hunching away from you. “Did Childe do this?” You knew the answer but had to be sure. Perhaps it was an associate he worked with, or some weird fetish.

The man nodded, “I didn’t have enough money.”

“What?”

“To pay back the Northland Bank.” He stammered. “I couldn’t pay them back, so they sent him.”

“He’s a debt collector?”

The man shook his head. “No. He doesn’t care about collecting the debt, not like the others.”

There were others?

“He gets sent in after the warning deadlines are up. You pay with your—”

The man abruptly stopped, looking past you and onto the stairwell. Then he couldn’t see at all.

An arrow flew past you, barely grazing your ear before finding itself in the mans eye socket. He slumped to the ground, lifeless. You whizzed around to meet the source, only to find Childe, an arrow drawn taught in the bow you’d barely see leave his side.

“Well that’s disappointing.” He sighed. “I was hoping to make him last another day.” He grimaced. “That was a warning shot, by the way.” He walked down the stairs slowly, still aiming at you. “Put your back to the wall.”

He almost sounded sad. You were too shocked to move.

An arrow landed at your feet, standing straight up against the ground. “I said ­put your back to the wall. That wasn’t a suggestion.”

You tripped over the man’s corpse while making it to the wall. “Childe I—” “Nope, too late for that. Hands up.” He slowly lowered his weapon and made a show of putting it away. He wanted you to know he still had it. He leaned in close to your face. “Now that’s a look I haven’t seen in quite some time.” His voice was low, husky. “Betrayal looks so good on you.”

You could feel his hot breath on your neck. You growled and threw your head forward, colliding with his. He took a step back.

Blood ran down from his forehead, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. “Oh hoh~ Now that’s what I’m talking about. A real fight from you.” He drew hydro blades from his sides and threw one at you. “I’m expecting improvement from you, my little trainee.”

You picked up the cool blade from your feet, never breaking eye-contact with him. “I’ll kill you.”

“You better hope you do. For your sake, at least.” You lunged at him, swiftly finding your way behind him, ready to strike.

“Your stance has gotten better.” He smiled. “But I’m afraid it still leaves you open” He kicked off from the ground and into the air, his foot collided with your chin sending you reeling.

“You bastard.” You hissed, picking yourself off from the ground with the steadiness of a newborn deer. “Why not be more quiet about your escapades down here? If you’d had your victims quiet down, I would’ve never found about what you were doing.”

“I never said I never wanted you to find out what I was doing.” He ran at you again, slicing your shirt and your left shoulder along with it. “I was hoping you’d have enough faith in your teacher to follow my rules.” He sighed. “I didn’t take you for the curious type.”

“I’m not.” You said, you swept at his leg, but he narrowly escaped, jumping just high enough to miss it. “But I enjoy liking to sleep in peace knowing my upperclassmen isn’t a serial killer.”

“I’m no serial killer!” He laughed, landing a cut to your lower back, then stepping hard on it. You fell to the ground trapped under his heel. “I’m simply following orders. I have nothing against these people.” He pressed harder.

You suppressed a scream.

“I do have a problem with those who interfere. You were going to help him, weren’t you?”

You’d be lying if you said you were going to leave him to die.

“Weren’t you?” His voice was closer to your ear this go round.

“Yes! Yes, I was!” You sobbed. “I just wanted to—”

“I’ve heard this before. Suddenly you have the moral upright to save a dying stranger? But you sat back and kicked your brother’s corpse?”

“That was different!” “Sure it was. A man is a man is a man, yeah?” His foot lifted from your back and turned you onto your stomach. “See the difference between me and a serial killer, is that if I was a serial killer, I probably would kill you right now.” He sighed. “But see, I like you. So I think I’ll let you live. Though don’t expect things to go back to normal. I can’t expect you to stay quiet and continue your training in the open alongside me.” He leaned you up against the wall, easily fighting against your protests. He took your wrists and cuffed them to the wall.

The restraints were still warm.

You shuddered.

“See, here’s the thing.” He said. He cupped your cheek with his spare hand. “I don’t want to leave you the way you are, half trained. I do enjoy fighting you.” He finished tying you upright and smiled, admiring his handiwork. “I’ll let you go under one condition.”

For the first time since you’d met him, his smile finally reached his eyes.

“You’re free if you can kill me.”

[munsnz]

TRICKS OF LIFE — STEVE HARRINGTON

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢𝐢. — 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠?

Tags: @itsnottilly

Summary : after the troubling interrogation, Y/N sets back off, possibly created contact with an ex-friend, a bully, a douche bag. Learning the conflict and grudges, tension is brought to them.

Navigation — Mixtape

“Y/N, Y/N. Y/N!” A shout flickered the girl back to the futile, cold office, accompanied by the principal, chief, and the officer, who seemed slightly worried about the girl who seemed to have dozed off into the abundance of memories and thoughts overflowing her own emotions, a sense of guilt welling up on her, “Are you listening?”

Her eyes blinked, watching the concerned adults, who were looking back at her. She shakes her head, her brittle hair moving from side to side, trying her best to hold back tears, not wanting to know of the possibilities of Will not being safe. Remembering a bit of the event that carried on last night, she spoke forward, “I-I only remember leaving early, since I had to be home by six. Will was with the party, so I don’t know much from there.”

Callahan cleared his throat, taking the seat next to her, “Do you know what street he usually takes to go home?”

”Mirkwood,” Y/N fixes her jacket, watching her dad rolls his eyes, remembering the fuss the party made while they interrogated them about a few hours ago. She looks around, the diplomas displayed on the back, tears slightly welled up in her E/C eyes, feeling a pit in her stomach, “I-I’m sorry. Is there any way I could help?”

She snapped.

Heavy streams of tears dropped onto her pale cheeks, now one of her responsibilities of whom she had promised to take care of was gone. If she should’ve stayed a little longer, just an hour more, she could’ve prevented it. It’s all her fault, all her fault. No wonder she was a failure, maybe those dorks from years ago were right. It was all her fault her mom ever divorced Hopper. It’s everything, all her fault-

“Y/N,” A large hand rubbed her back up and down, making her try to feel better, the girl that had her hands buried into her face, looked up to see her dad, sitting beside her, “You just have to keep a brave face, and no investigating okay?”

Her heavy eyes drift towards the bearded man, watching her sternly beside her, she frantically nods. Later then, she provided a bit more information about Will and his family, now that she’s been with them for five years now. Ever since that broad decision was made, it would become one of the most treasured moments in her life, the strong bond brought them together.

Excused from the staff, she strolled back to the hallway, barging through her cluttered backpack to try to find a fresh pack of cigarettes, but none were to be found. She sighed loudly, to swing her backpack to its default position and pacing along the hallway. The realization kept hitting her, her eyes burned, while she quivered, biting her lip. That same feeling inside the principal’s office, the guilt. What was there to be guilty about anyways?

“Oh, won’t you look who it is!” A cocky tone appeared from afar, Y/N gave no shit to turn to the voice but instead continue watching the shiny floor, reflecting the lights above, “I guess Hopper is weeping for her mommy. Oh right, she doesn’t have one.”

Furious at the remark, her eyes darted across to find a brunette, with ‘perfect’ hair, leaning against the metal lockers. Steve fucking Harrington. This boy had it all against the girl, ever since those harsh words being repeated over and over, like a broken cassette, threw her into the lowest state. Y/N’s expressions turned bitter, her nose wrinkled, and pursed her lips, “Stop acting like you’re ten, Steve.”

”I see you’ve been listening,” He raises his eyebrows, snarlingly commenting, shifting his hands to his pockets in his khaki jeans.

“So?” Y/N spoke back, slowing her pace down to be able to talk to him although feeling like the need to ignore back again. Why was she going to bother her time with him?

Oh right.

Steve, her old friend. Accidental friends after he was helping his mom bringing in the groceries on a cool December day, back in her elementary school years. After the kind offering Y/N gave during a small ride around town, it evolved to an odd friendship, one to which Y/N had been too attached. Steve might have found it odd that a girl, a girl, like Y/N Hopper would be around him so much. Clingy, was the word he gave her, was it offensive?

Maybe.

But due to stereotypical construct, you would’ve guessed everyone calling them annoying names, couple names, like two romantics although they were only like, twelve. From “When are you going to marry her?” and the “Where’s your girlfriend?” Honestly, no one else was surprised by Y/N’s small reoccurring crush on him. Stuck like glue, Steve didn’t like this bubbly, excited Y/N anymore, she was pushy. Sick of the repetitive comments to him and meeting new friends, who were dickheads in the girl’s eyes, he wanted to push her away, she was annoying, bratty, and clingy. He listened to those kids, these kids that Steve considered ‘friends’ were total assholes, persuading him to become sort of like them. Only the beginning of the 6th grade. They were stupid, naive, reckless, are what other parents claimed to be, couldn’t they move on.

To this day, she still reckons why she ever told Steve, why was she so dependent on someone with who she’d only been friends for months? Why Steve? Why out of all the friends she supposedly had, why him? It seemed like an utter dependency she had for him, she even knows she must’ve scared him off for being well..... her. Y/N was young, it was one mistake to tell a secret to someone you somewhat knew would tell everyone, right?

”Can I tell you a secret Steve?” Y/N crossed her legs in front of him, playing with her fingers nervously. Awaiting for a bit of truth to be let out. As everyone has supposedly known, Y/N had a supposed mother and sister who were alive, and together. Everyone believed that the Hopper’s were the happy family, her sister was alive along with her mom that was still with them. Truth was, Sarah was dead, Diane divorced Jim when the girl was eleven years old. A broken family, from papers to fighting for custody, it was all crumbled to pieces, unlike close and tight-knit families.

Steve looked up from the ground to meet the girl’s eyes. He slowly shuffled closer to her, “Yeah okay tell me.”

Y/N breathed in and out, before leaning into his left ear, “I don’t have a sister nor a mommy.”

”What?” His chocolate eyes widened, scooting away from her, getting up rapidly to avoid contact, “That’s weird! Everybody has a mom! You’re a freak!”

Frazzled, Y/N sat still, watching him running away, feeling a bit hurt due to his reaction. She thought maybe she trusted him with her life although he didn’t feel the same, she thought that he could’ve been more supportive. What if he was right? Anyways, it was ok, it was his first reaction, it’s normal, right?

Nope, it wasn’t. After finding such intimate information about this girl he wanted to get rid of due to popularity, he set off to tell every single kid at school. Maybe this was for the best, he would get her out of the way to focus on his supposed friends. Creating such influence in the school, he somehow got ahold of everyone to turn their backs on Y/N. Oh, what entirety of hurtful words that they targeted poor Y/N with. Everyone excluded her, the freak, weirdo, dumb girl that didn’t have parents and a dead sister. Everybody no longer liked the lonely Y/N, just a bit of trust would be one to ruin a life. It consequently grew worse, it wasn’t even verbal teasing, it became physical. Steve being stupid and reckless had ruined her life, and for what? Just getting rid of her. Realize, how the effect of one's words to make a benefit can create a rumble over people, they were young and stupid..... can’t that be a proper excuse to move on?

Everyone knows Y/N. Y/N Hopper, the stubborn, tired and selfless girl who held grudges against everyone. They all knew she wasn’t going to move on anytime soon. Subtle changes to herself and her personality, she became quiet, reserved yet so outspoken about her opinions. Everyone seemed to have moved on, back into high school, more mature and old enough to hold responsibilities, but Y/N. A slow hatred burned inside her, even though it was years back, everyone liked Steve. That stayed the same for sure, he was more prissy and above it all, unlike Y/N. It may have seemed like........ they never knew each other. Strange, maybe it was better that they stayed apart.

Gallantly watching her feet stay still under her, she looked back at him cheekily smiling as if nothing had happened. Why did he forget everything? “Shouldn’t you be in class, since when has the Y/N Hopper been so rebellious?”

”I was called to the office,” Y/N mumbled, shrugging her shoulders, trying to drift off into the narrow hallway, “What about you?”

”Thought I could skip, Mrs. Wyatt doesn’t do shit.”

Without spatting anything back, the annoyance of the school bell rang for the third period, students piled out of the classrooms in the crowded hallway. Girls and boys trudged along the place, like birds migrating to their destinations automatically, it may seem like a normal fall day in town, but it would be a life changing experience for some. No one knew Will Byers, why would they care anyways?

Before Steve could look back at the girl, she disappeared into thin air, never to be seen for now, back to the boring classes, but with a small change of Will’s disappearance. One disappearance that could change the whole fate of small-town Hawkins, Indiana.

[lokislastlove]

Best Laid Plans (Fluffy Bucky x Reader) p3

Summary: Bucky is determined to woo you properly, no matter how rusty he is at dating these days.

Warnings: Some smut at the end, oral (fr), Bucky has bad luck, but we love him anyway. 18+ only please.

This is my first attempt at Fluff, it is not my strength, to say the least, so by all means ignore this. @saiyanprincessswanie I wrote this for you, I hope you like it and with any luck maybe it brings a tiny smile to your face when you need it. 💕 Also remember this is fiction, I know Bucky’s arm is fancy as hell and has no flaws.

Chapter 3 -

🌹 The Third Date 🌹

The office is abuzz with rumors of your new romance. For obvious reasons Pepper never shuns coworkers dating, but does caution that she expects everyone to remain professional regardless of the outcome. Bucky is one of the most sought after bachelors in the building so naturally people notice when he fixes his attention on you. For the two days following your fruit-filled frolic in the hills Bucky is constantly around. He brings you coffee, flowers by the dozen every day, saves you a seat during the meetings, cooks you lunch and even brings Kal in to see you.

“Okay, I can’t wait any longer. You willing to give me that second chance, tomorrow?” Bucky bursts into your office an hour before you leave Friday evening.

You gasp as the door slams against the wall and he cringes, “uh, sure. I’m free tomorrow. Should I just go ahead and wear my yoga pants?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. And no. I let Steve pick the date idea this time. Just don’t wear anything that you don’t want getting a little dirty,” he winks.

You let out a sigh, “wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me what we’re doing?”

“That’s no fun, Angel.”

——

The next morning you wake up to a text from Bucky, just like you have every morning since your first date.

Good Morning, Beautiful! Can’t wait to see you today. I’ll pick you up at 11am. 😀

Bucky has managed to make waking up a highlight of your day, something you never thought possible. Plus you got him to start using emojis, which Steve claims he will never forgive you for.

You choose some dark wash jeans and a V-neck t-shirt with a jacket and boots. Stylish but casual, you feel good, excited to find out what adventure Bucky will be dragging you into this time.

Your phone dings as you race out the front door and gulp when you see the bike again. God he looks good with it though, his light brown leather jacket highlights his olive skin and his dimpled smile has you swooning as you reach him. Determined to get a hang of this motorcycle thing you jump on back and cling to Bucky with a bit more confidence today.

Bucky reigns in his speed this time, and you find yourself enjoying the rush of the wind on your face and the warmth of him in your arms. To your shock Bucky leads you to a ceramic shop not far from Avengers tower, specifically for couples pottery class.

“Steve assures me that this is supposed to be fun and romantic,” Bucky says as you find yourself sitting next to him on a dirty stool with a spinning round table in front of you.

“Steve hasn’t been watching old romance movies again, has he?”

Bucky squints at you, “Actually, yeah but he said it had ghosts in it, and I got enough of those.”

You grab his hand and give it a squeeze before taking a deep breath, “Ok, let’s do this!”

It takes about a minute to realize what a terrible idea this is as Bucky curses under his breath and his arm starts making strange whirling noises.

“Oh shit, uh is clay good for your arm?” You ask, nodding at the way the plates of his metal arm seems to twitch and groan as the wet clay slide and congeal between them as they shift.

“Fuck,” Bucky curses as he shakes out his metal arm and you grimace at the worrisome noise it makes before it stops moving all together.

“Do you want to take it off?” you offer.

Bucky looks frustrated with a hint of panic as he sits there contemplating the best move. He still isn’t very comfortable going without his arm in public.

“Or we could just decide not to take Steve’s dating advice anymore and go back to the tower and get cleaned up?” You laugh and bump him with your elbow.

He scoffs out a laugh, “yeah. You know I used to be the one that was good at this stuff, I was the charming one who helped get Steve a date.”

“Oh is that so? Well I think you’re doing better than you think you are,” you smirk.

“Yeah?” He asks hopefully.

“Yeah, now come on Casanova,” you stand and wipe your hands on the towel nearby.

You can’t help but laugh as you follow him out the door, looking at the light gleam off the metal that isn’t covered in clay.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just… gonna be hard to convince me you’re not a complete mess after this one.”

——

You could tell Bucky’s confidence had taken a major hit, well three major hits to be honest. And while he constantly berated himself for everything that went wrong, you couldn’t help but love him even more with each blunder. And when he doesn’t insist you give him another shot after that disastrous pottery date, you seek out Steve’s advice.

“Do you think I should try to make a move? Ask him on a date maybe? Or is that insulting to … men from your era,” you finish awkwardly.

Steve laughs softly, “I think Bucky could use a sign that you aren’t willing to give up yet. You should give it a shot, as long as it’s what you want and not just out of pity.”

“Of course it’s not out of pity, you really think I’d do that?” you ask, trying not to get too offended.

“No, doll, of course I don’t. But that’s likely what he’s going to think.” He placates and gives you a knowing look before walking out of your office.

You push back your shoulders and pull out your phone to text Bucky.

Hey if you’re free tonight you should come over to my place. Maybe around 8pm? No dress code. 😘

🌹 The Fourth Date 🌹

Bucky arrives at 7:50pm that evening and you push the buzzer to let him in. You leave the door cracked for him and finish the final touches.

“Angel?” He calls as he knocks and you hear the door creak open. “Uh, hello?” His voice falters as he closes the door behind him and takes in the candles neatly arranged along a path of rose petals.

You hear him remove his heavy boots and call your name as he follows the path further into your apartment and closer to where you’re waiting for him. You shift nervously on your feet as you wait with baited breath for him to appear around the corner.

“Angel, what’s going..” His voice gets caught in his throat as he stands in your doorway and sees you waiting for him.

You’re wearing a simple nightgown, a silky robe and stockings. The thin straps and sleek material drape softly over your curves, enticing enough to make him pause but not overly revealing to be considered scandalous. You didn’t want to be too bold and scare him off too fast, or make yourself appear too desperate.

“Hi, Bucky,” you smile as you watch his pupils dilate and his chest strain against his shirt as his breathing gets heavier.

He clears his throat and his cheeks glow pink as his eyes flick up to meet yours, “uh hey, Angel. Am I dreaming?”

You laugh as you take a few steps toward him and he mirrors you, “I just thought that maybe I’d surprise you with a date, this time. If you’re up for it.”

“Well, I will admit that my interest is quite peaked already.” He jokes, his eyes roving down your body once more as he gently takes your hands and holds them out to get a better look at you.

You giggle and rolls your eyes, “Nothing crazy, just a simple movie date, and I have the perfect set up. Follow me.”

You pull him over to your bedroom window and climb out onto the fire escape, he follows closely, his curiosity climbing with each creaky step.

“You sure this is safe?” He asks as the stairs rattle under his weight.

“No,” you say simply as you reach the top, “but it’s worth it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he takes in the rooftop space that you’ve meticulously decorated for him. Strings of lights hang on the low rooftop walls. A large air mattress is tucked between the pipes and vents, facing a large projector screen. You made sure to add mountains of fluffy pillows and soft blankets to keep you cozy under the stars.

“This is amazing,” he mutters as he eyes the plate of snacks and bottle of wine waiting on the bed.

“I know, isn’t the view amazing? I’ve always loved it up here, but I didn’t know it had this much potential until now,” you remark as you look out onto the glimmering view of the city skyline.

Bucky’s fingers slip between yours and curl sweetly as he guides you over to the soft bed. He flops down and settles in before opening his arm for you to join him. You grab the remote and the wine and curl up next to him. Drawing up your legs and letting them rest against his muscular thigh.

“I don’t deserve all this,” he utters sadly as he watches you pour the wine.

“Steve said you’d say something stupid like that,” you laugh as he looks stunned for a moment. “So let me just settle this right now.” You take deep breath and let it out with a quiet huff.

“I have been the happiest I’ve ever been since you asked me out on that first date. I look forward to waking up every morning knowing I’ll get to see you and possibly, maybe, do more than just ogle you from afar. Oh don’t look at me like that!” You laugh and smack Bucky’s shoulder when he smirks at you and wiggles his brow.

“I know you think you blew it after our first three dates but all I remember is seeing a passionate man willing to chase down a dog through the mud, even if it meant embarrassing himself. I remember you saving me from a potentially fatal injury, and I remember a man so desperate to impress me that he took advice from Steve Rogers,” you bite your lip as you watch Bucky choke out a laugh at your jab at his best friend.

“You may think all of these moments are flaws, but honestly I wouldn’t want to change a single thing. So let’s just –” Your speech is cut off when Bucky’s hands are suddenly on the side of your face and pull you in for a blazing kiss.

It’s as though you’ve unlocked something in him as he devours you, his tongue trailing across your lip and delving into your mouth when you open for him. You moan as his hands slip down to your neck, his thumbs pressing ever so slightly on your pressure points before he pulls away just enough to kiss and nibble along your jaw. The pleasure and passion is dizzying and you feel your body bend to his will. Your hands grasp at his shirt as he nuzzles and sucks along your neck now, making his way to your clavicle.

The feather pillow braces your head as Bucky lays you down and hovers above you, his body heat warming you as the cool night breeze tickles over each spot he kisses.

“God, Angel, you have no idea how badly I want you right now. How badly I’ve wanted you for so long.” He groans against your chest, dragging his nose over the thin material between your breasts.

“Me too,” you breathe.

You push at the lapel of his jacket, trying to urge him to take it off. He sits up, fixing his eyes on you as he slowly strips off his coat and tosses it away, followed by his shirt immediately after. Your breath hitches as you let your fingers lightly glide down his stomach, feeling every ripple of firm muscle under his heated skin.

“Wow, the girls at work would be so jealous right now,” you kid.

“I’m almost offended that you think this is my best feature,” he scoffs gesturing to his stomach, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“By all means, show me more. I did come up here for a show after all,” you tease, tilting your head and biting your lip as you eye the growing bulge in his pants.

“Oh, I think I know how to keep you entertained,” he smirks and lowers himself over you, his hot breath leaving goosebumps on your skin as he dips lower down your body.

You look down as he pauses over your quivering center and lifts the hem of your dress up to reveal your lace panties. He growls lowly and hooks his finger under them, pulling them quickly to the side. You twitch as he blows lightly over your lips, the cool air hitting the slick arousal already pooling between your thighs. He chuckles as you grip the blankets tightly and he pushes his long thick tongue between your folds, circling your bud at the top. You let out a long moan as his fervor increases, the feeling of his rough tongue dipping into your dripping hole and then back up to flick over your clit is driving you closer and closer to the edge.

After the past two weeks of the most intense sexual tension you’ve ever experienced it doesn’t take much for him to have you squirming under his touch. Your toes curl and a broken scream echoes over the rooftops as you come on his hungry lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he coos as your eyes flutter open and see him hovering over your face once more.

Your jaw slackens, pupils blown as you take in his debauched state, his tousled hair, lips and beard glistening with your come. You reach up and pull him down to you, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel his metal arm fumble with his jeans between you as he pulls out his aching cock. Your eyes flick down in curiosity and you can’t help but gasp as you gaze at his veiny, thick length.

“You see how hard you make me?” He moans, fisting the base of his leaking cock.

You bite your lip, feeling an overwhelming desire to let him use you in any way he wants. Your body arching into him and your hips rolling desperately. Your submissive side blooming under his dominant tone.

You whimper and meet his eye, “fuck me, Bucky. Please.”

Your voice is soft and timid, nothing like the typical commanding confidence you have in your daily life, and it sends a thrill through Bucky. He latches onto your thighs and pushes them up toward your chest, exposing your cunt to him and he guides himself inside, moaning freely as your walls stretch to fit him.

“I’m never letting you go. My perfect, Angel.”

[reactionimagesdaily]

I dont understand bionicles at all, so maybe a crash course into like. 1) what a bionicle is 2) general plot of the bionicle story? happy 5k btw <3 love ur page!

OH BOY OH BOY, this is a question I've been waiting for. Thank you so much for asking, and I’m glad you like my page!! <333

A couple of disclaimers, before I start: I'm going to focus mostly on the mainline plot, but let it be known that there WERE a bunch of serial stories and comics and games that added to the story overall. Bionicle was, I think, one of the first big instances of a plot that was consumed through a bunch of different mediums.

I'm also going to try and do a lot of streamlining - it's not that I DON'T want to talk about bionicle, but there's 10+ years of story to cover, so... yeah. :P

Also! Sorry in advance to anyone whose 'read more' function doesn't work, because this is gonna be a doozy

So, what is a bionicle? From a meta perspective, Bionicle is a Lego theme that ran from 2001-2010, and was briefly rebooted from 2015-2016. It's name is a mashup of biological chronicle, and it was hugely successful in its time, essentially helping to save the Lego company from bankruptcy. The idea is that you use finnicky technical pieces to build humanoid figures (and sometimes their vehicles!) and then. play with them

From a textual/lore perspective, I'm not sure Bionicle is an in-universe term lol. But the characters that we recognise as 'bionicles' are grouped into a bunch of different classifications - 'Toa', 'Matoran', 'Makuta', 'Glatorian', and so on. The characters are kinda like inverse cyborgs, where there's metal on the outside and flesh and muscle on the inside. They often function like robots (e.g. have removable and replaceable masks that they constantly wear over their faces) but are still essentially living creatures.

So, what's the general plot of the story?

...[inhales deeply] Okay

In the time before time, there's an island called Mata Nui that sits in the middle of the ocean. It's populated by these dinky lil' guys called 'Matoran' that live in six villages organised by elements - fire, water, ice, air, earth, and stone. They eke out a life as best they can, facing dangerous wild animals (collectively called 'Rahi') and worshipping the Great Spirit, who is confusingly also called Mata Nui. (They named the island after him.) The great spirit, they say, once watched over them all, but was long ago forced into an enchanted sleep by his evil brother.

(These are the matoran. Look at these cute little guys :3)

One day, six canisters wash ashore, on the island's golden beaches. And out of these canisters step six strange figures called Toa. Tall, strong, and heavily armed, there is one of these 'Toa' for each of the villages, and each of these guys have control over an element. They are the main 'heroes' of this story.

(These are the six Toa. Here's a fun game - spot the girl!)

Each of the six Toa are named characters - from left to right we have Onua (wise and grounded), Lewa (fun-loving and mischievous), Pohatu (friendly and confident), Tahu (hot-headed and impulsive), Kopaka (cold and quiet), and Gali (intelligent and compromising). Some of the Matoran are also named characters - there's Jaller, the captain of the guard at the fire village, Hahli, a sports player from the water village, Matoro, a translator from the ice village, and Takua, who's technically from the fire village but is also an 'outsider' who tends to wander the island. Takua is especially important because he becomes the Toa's 'chronicler', following them around on their adventures and writing everything down for posterity.

Without getting into too much detail, the Toa spend two real-life years getting into wacky highjinks. They hunt for masks (as aforementioned, the masks they wear can be removed and replaced) that grant them special powers, fight the Rahi, and also face up against a terrifying race of creatures with mind-control powers called the Bohrok that are determined to strip the island of all life. They also fight against a being called Makuta, a mysterious shadowy figure who claims to be the brother that forced Mata Nui into his slumber. When they first meet him, Makuta takes the form of a Matoran to throw them off, before turning into a nebulous black void and doing his best to murder them all to death.

(Makuta as he appears in 2001's 'Mata Nui Online Game'. As far as villain introductions go, marching out to meet all the heroes and then telling them "I bore you, for I am nothing. It is from nothing that you came, and it is into nothing you will go. The people of this world are builders, but look into their hearts, and you will find they also have the power to destroy. I am that power. I am destruction. And I will destroy you." is pretty fucking solid though I say so myself.)

There’s a lot of cool worldbuilding and mysterious details about the island. At one point, the earth Matoran note that they can only dig so far into the dirt before they come across some hard material - some type of metal - that they just can’t break through. Also, amidst the stars in the sky, there’s an ominous blood-red star that’s appropriately known as the Red Star. What’s it doing there? Nobody knows

Also at one point, the Toa also get mutated into new forms after falling into a liquid that's called 'energized protodermis' but should really be called 'McGuffin Sauce'. There's a lot of changing forms and characters being mutated in this series in general, which I'm sure has nothing to do with the fact that Lego always needed new figures to make into toys.

(This is how the Toa look after being mutated. In these forms, they're referred to as the Toa Nuva -and let me assure you that that distinction will soon become necessary. :P)

So, in 2003 in our world (I’m not sure about the timeline within the lore), Takua the chronicler finds a mysterious mask and brings it back to the Turaga, who are the wise old rulers of the Matoran (The most promiment of the Turaga is the Turaga of fire, who’s called Vakama. He’s an even-tempered and wise old man who’s not above hitting villains with his walking stick if they threaten his village.). It turns out that the mask is special - it’s the mask of Light, and it’s part of a prophecy that involves the arrival of a seventh Toa who’s destined to defeat Makuta. So Takua and Jaller go on an adventure to try and find the seventh Toa.

Meanwhile, Makuta isn’t just going to sit around and wait for the Toa who’s destined to defeat him to rock up: he unleashes his secret weapons, the Rahkshi, who are, in lore, suits of armour driven by slugs. Sounds corny - in practice, they’re hella intimidating.

(Look at these bad boys)

Some more adventures happen and, to make a long story short, the Rahkshi kill Jaller and Takua the chronicler puts the mask of light onto his own face, transforming into Takanuva, the Toa of Light. The audience surrogate and ‘weird’ character was the secret hero all along!! I love that honestly.

(Takua and Takanuva - before and after)

As someone with light powers, Takanuva is essentially the perfect counter to the big bad Makuta, who has shadow powers, so he finds Makuta’s lair intent on beating him. Makuta challenges him to a game that’s called ‘Kohlii’ but is basically this universe’s version of lacrosse - Takanuva accepts and proceeds to wipe the floor with him. During their fight, they fall into another conveniently-placed pool of energized protodermis and become merged, forming a new being called ‘Takutanuva’. Takutanuva doesn’t stick around very long, because he’s this weird contradictory being of both light and shadow, but before he fractures he opens a gate underneath Mata Nui and lets the Toa, the Turaga, and some named Matoran get through. Inside, they find a hidden city - a whole other world.

Takutanuva then manages to use his powers to hack the universe and bring Jaller back to life. Hooray! After that, he dies, and Takanuva is back. Makuta is nowhere to be found. [eyes emoji]

So now the Toa, the old Turaga, and a couple of Matoran are inside this whole new location, and they’re all wondering what the heck is going on. Well, not all of them are wondering. Vakama, the head Turaga, steps forward and admits that actually, the six (seven) Toa heros that we’ve come to know and love... aren’t actually the first Toa. Gasp!

The next two years of sets and story are essentially one giant flashback, as Vakama tells the current heroes about adventures past. It turns out that the hidden city they’ve found is called Metru Nui, and once upon a time, Vakama and the other Turaga were Toa themselves, fighting to keep the city and the matoran safe.

(New (old) Toa! The flying green one is Matau, who was a stunt-driving excitable madman, and then on the ground from left to right we have Whenua (nerdy chronicler), Nokama (schoolteacher-turned-superhero), Vakama (anxiety-ridden leader), Nuju (absent-minded stargazer), and Onewa (racist prick who needs (and gets) a character arc). To differentiate themselves from the Toa that we’ve come to know and love, these Toa are the Toa Metru)

They had a bunch of adventures of their own. They fought the Vahki (capture robots upholding an authoritarian police state) and the Morbuzakh (evil sentient vines), and they also had ‘arch enemies’ in the form of the Dark Hunters, who were mercenaries that hunted Toa.

Also, that story about Makuta putting Mata Nui to sleep? Not a story so much as a history lesson! Ultimately, the reason that the city of Metru Nui was abandoned was because Mata Nui WAS awake, watching over them all, but then Makuta forced him into slumber and essentially caused a cataclysm. The Matoran were rounded up and forced to sleep as well, and the Toa Metru had to flee the city. When they came back, it had been overrun with Visorak (basically giant spiders), and they had to fight hard to defeat the horde and its leaders and escape with all of the sleeping Matoran.

Once they left Metru Nui (and arrived on the island that would become Mata Nui), the Toa Metru sacrificed their powers to wake up all the Matoran - which is how they transformed into the wise old Turaga. Also, the Matoran woke up with no memories, which is how they’d never known about Metru Nui up until this point.

Anyways, after exploring Metru Nui and making plans to move back in, everyone does some digging around and discover something about Mata Nui: his spirit is fading. Whatever Makuta did to him, it not only put him to sleep, but it’s also slowly killing him. After presumably having an existential crisis, the gang come up with a solution: there’s another legendary mask, the Mask of Life, that should be able to resuscitate Mata Nui, or at the very least, keep him from kicking the bucket while he’s sleeping.

(The Mask of Life! If you look closely, you can see that the faceplate is shaped like a humanoid figure (because, yaknow, life) and if you think that’s not the tightest shit ever you can get out of my face)

So, the modern-day Toa (the Toa Nuva, if you guys remember the name) are like ‘okay, give us the location of the mask, we’ll go and find it’. So they get sent to another island, this one called Voya Nui, and they arrive and... get their asses handed to them? What?

A quick backtrack: a gang of thugs called the Piraka had already arrived on Voya Nui in search of the Mask of Life, wanting it so they can use its power to blackmail powerful organisations and generally get ahead in the criminal world. (From a Meta perspective, they’re,,, really interesting. Up until this point, the villains in Bionicle had either been wild animals, or villains with grand overarching plans. These guys are basically overpowered street thugs, complete with their own theme song - the ‘Piraka Rap’. Look it up on YouTube; it’s fucking hilarious, because the rest of Bionicle is generally timeless, but the Piraka Rap was basically dated as soon as it came out. I love it.)

(The Piraka themselves! Fun fact; in Bionicle lore, ‘Piraka’ is a slang term for ‘thief’ and ‘murderer’, and was also considered so vulgar that if a Matoran called another Matoran ‘Piraka’, war would be declared over it. These guys are really just going around calling themselves slurs. I have to respect that.)

So, yeah. The Piraka defeat and imprison the Toa Nuva when they get to the island. Now what?

Well, now it’s time for the Matoran to get involved! A group of named and previously-established Matoran set out to see if they can rescue the Toa. There’s Jaller, Hahli, and Matoro, who I’ve already mentioned, and then there’s Kongu, Nuparu, and Hewkii. And I need to take a break to say that all these characters have been with the story since 2001 (it’s now 2006), and they’ve all contributed to the plot before!! Kongu is a prominent Matoran from the air village who led a flight of giant bird-riders to save the day one time, and Nuparu is an engineer from the earth village who basically invented mechs to help the Matoran defend themselves against the Bohrok. These guys are BADASSES and I want to bring up how a really strong initial 3 years of storytelling laid a great foundation for so many small characters. It’s just neat! :D

Anyways, these Matoran travel to the island of Voya Nui in canisters (like how the original Toa landed on Mata Nui) and while they’re sailing the ocean blue, their canisters are struck by lighting from the mysterious Red Star. And that lighting, say it with me now, TRANSFORMS them! Specifically it transforms them into Toa. They end up calling themselves the Toa Inika, because they’re searching for the mask of life, which is also called the ‘Ignika’.

(The Toa Inika. Being transformed by a bolt of lighting means that in addition to their regular elemental powers, they also have electric/lighting abilities.)

Souped-up and ready for action, the Toa Inika manage to defeat the Piraka and rescue the Toa Nuva. However, through plot shenanagins, the Mask of Life ends up being sent to the bottom of the ocean around Voya Nui, and the Toa Inika learn that under the waves is a hidden city - Mahri Nui. As they descend, the Mask of Life does something odd; it sends out a wave of energy, transforming the Toa Inika so that they can breath underwater. So now, they’re the Toa Mahri. (Because they’re headed to Mahri Nui. You get me?)

Mahri Nui is ruled by the Barraki - ancient warlords who were imprisoned under the sea many thousands of years ago after they became powerful enough to threaten Mata Nui himself. They were put in a prison called The Pit, but during the cataclysm caused by Makuta putting Mata Nui to sleep, the city of Mahri Nui sunk into the water and slammed into the Pit. Many prisoners and Matoran died, but the Barraki were freed. Uh-oh, spaghetti-ohs.

Speaking of Makuta - guess who’s back! Thought dead after no-one could find him after Takutanuva died, it turns out that his spirit is possessing a robot body that had previously been a prison guard. He spends some time hanging out with one of the Toa Mahri, Matoro, basically playing mind games with him and trying to get him to turn to the dark side. Eventually, three different characters and factions smack the shit out of him, and he slips out of the robot body to go do... something else (watch this space). 

This year of story was REALLY plot-heavy and I kinda can’t do it justice here. The important developments are that the Toa Mahri eventually manage to reclaim the Mask of Life, and Matoro yoinks it. While his teammates act as a big distraction, he swims away and puts on the mask. It basically grants him ultimate power, but it also fuckin’ kills him. His final acts are to teleport his friends to safety, and then release a massive burst of energy that burns him up and saves Mata Nui’s life. The Mask of Life, with no-one left to wear it, sinks into the ocean.

(“In his last moments, Matoro feels no fear. He know he has succeeded--the Toa Mahri are safe, able to resume their lives in Metru Nui. The Turaga and Matoran will know that they became true heroes. Matoro does not see himself as a hero. As a Matoran, a Toa Inika, and a Toa Mahri, all he ever tried to do was his duty. Now that duty has led him to his destiny.”- Bionicle Ignition 11: Death of a Hero)

[dries tears] Anyways, now that Mata Nui’s life has been saved, the only thing left to do is wake him back up. To do that, the Toa Nuva (the Toa that showed up at the very beginning of this story, if you recall) need to journey to the core of the universe, and a civilisation called Karda Nui. Three of the Toa Nuva - Lewa, Pohatu, and Kopaka - are sent to a village in the clouds, where they protect the local matoran and battle the forces of Makuta. Because, as it turns out, the big bad Makuta that we know? Makuta is actually the name of his species. The guy just wanted to feel special, apparently. The Makuta that the Toa have been fighting for over half a decade is technically called Makuta Teridax (or just Teridax), while the other Makuta have other names that I can’t remember off the top of my head.

Anyways, while those three Toa are figuring that out, the other three - Tahu, Gali, and Onua - journey to a place called the Swamp of Secrets in order to find a set of keystones that supposedly contain instructions on how to awaken Mata Nui. And it’s there that they find an unlikely ally: the Mask of Life itself.

See, the Mask of Life has always been a weird one - if you recall, it released an energy pulse for no reason that transformed the Toa Mahri and let them breath underwater. (It’s also done some other fucky stuff that I haven’t been able to mention - there’s a short story about how one time, a guy touched it, and it gave him the ability to involuntarily bring everything around him to life, which ultimately drove him mad. So. You know. That’s fun.) Well, it turns out that when the mask sank into the ocean after Matoro’s death, it ultimately ended up in the swamps of Karda Nui, and it senses the battles raging about it. More than that, but it remembers Matoro’s bravery as he donned the mask knowing it would kill him, and remembers how his final wish was to save his friends. Wanting to know what it means to be a hero, the Mask of Life creates a body for itself, and ventures out into the swamp to discover its destiny.

(The Mask of Life has a body now!! Good for him! Good for him.)

There’s some more shenanigans that I’m skipping over - at one point, Takanuva (Toa of light, remember him?) rocks up to help. Long story short, our eight heroes - Tahu, Gali, Onua, Lewa, Kopaka, Pohatu, Takanuva, and the Mask of Life - fight their way through the Makuta and into the very core of the universe - the Codrex. Inside, after yet more shenanigans, the Mask of Life figures that in order to wake Mata Nui up, it will have to sacrifice the body it’s built for itself. The moment is sad, but the mask remembers Matoro’s sacrifice, and is inspired to act. He sacrifices his dreams of becoming a hero, and in doing so, becomes a hero... ;_;

The mask flies deep into the Codrex, its body dissolving; when it reaches the bottom, it creates a massive energy storm that the other characters have to escape. (Our heroes make it out - most of the villains end up getting vaporized, big RIP.)

And just like that, the journey is over. After years of battle, the Toa Nuva have completed their purpose, and awakened the great spirit, thus bringing peace back to the land. Everyone meets back up in Metru Nui - the Toa Nuva, the Toa Mahri, the Turaga, the remaining Matoran. It’s a glorious day. And as they gather, something happens.

Deep, deep beneath the ocean, energy pulses through rock, and machines that have been dormant for millennia begin to whirr and move. The island of Mata Nui - long abandoned as the Matoran moved back down into Metru Nui - cracks open like a wallnut, each half sliding into the sea. From underneath where the island had been, a tremendous head rises out of the ocean, countless galleons of water pouring off of it. Titanic shoulders follow. Then the chest, and the limbs, and slowly, surely, Mata Nui rises.

Meta context: for years, the nature of Mata Nui has been a mystery. Is he a metaphysical being? Is he a real person? No-one was sure... but they know now. That solid material that the earth Matoran couldn’t mine through, all the way back in 2001? That was his skin. The mysterious red star that created the Toa Inika? That was a failsafe machine orbiting Mata Nui, poised to create new Toa as necessary. The island of Mata Nui was atop his head, Metru Nui was his brain, Karda Nui was deep in his guts. The Matoran were workers to keep him functioning, the Toa were basically his immune system (the canisters they arrive in are literally shaped like pills)... All this time, all these stories, all these characters, this entire world - they have all been inside a robot the size of continents.

(Fucking hell. Look at this. The clouds come up to his ankles.)

Celebrations ripple through Metru Nui as everyone realises what has happened. The great spirit is awake again! The Toa have won! But as the Turaga raise their voices to try and congratulate the Toa, a chill spreads over the spectators as the air grows cold. Everyone stops and looks around. What’s happening now? And then, from everywhere and nowhere, a voice rumbles. It’s a familiar voice. An unwelcome voice. A voice that most of the gathered heroes thought they’d never hear again.

It’s the voice of Makuta - the original Makuta. Makuta Teridax.

And what does he say?

“I AM EVERYWHERE. I AM EVERYTHING YOU SEE.”

Matoro’s sacrifice had ensured that Mata Nui’s body did not die, but before the great spirit’s consciousness could return, Makuta supplanted it with his own. After that, all he had to do was wait for the Toa Nuva to achieve their objective. And as they finished the fight and won the day, they handed victory to him on a silver platter. No longer does he need to strive to rule the universe - he is the universe.

(Meta perspective again but like: FUCK, man. I can’t emphasise enough how mind-breaking this was for the kids who were invested in the series. Think Thanos snapping his fingers in Infinity War, except probably more devastating, because there wasn’t a direct sequel lined up to give the heroes another chance, and there wasn’t a way to ‘undo’ it. This was a plot development that we all had to live with T_T)

(You can tell things are bad because his eyes changed from green to red.)

And what of Mata Nui? What about the spirit that the Toa were actually trying to wake up?

Oh, Makuta stuffed Mata Nui’s consciousness into the Mask of Life - and then blasted the Mask into space.

[inhales deeply]

man...

Okay, in all honesty, part of me wanted to end it there. But you know what? We’ve come this far. And there is more to the story. So I’m going to ignore my concern I won’t be able to do it justice and blunder on.

 Bionicle’s last chapter (2009-2010) follows Mata Nui himself - no longer an abstract spiritual concept, but rather a concrete character. A god felled from his pedestal, struggling to find a way to save his people. And it’s AWESOME. Armed with only the Mask of Life and a sentient shield named Click, he wanders the shithole deserts of the planet he crash-lands on, bringing the disparate tribes together, uncovering secrets about who made him and what his ultimate purpose is, and learning what it means to be a regular person. Also, at one point, in a move very reminiscent of the god that he once was, he turns a guy into a snake. You know. As a ‘fuck you’.

(There’s something really cool to me about a main character being someone who essentially lost all the power of the cosmos. Mata Nui might just be my fave character in this whole story honestly.)

Eventually, Mata Nui discovers some crucial pieces of information. Firstly: the planet that he’s landed on, Bara Magna, is his ‘homeworld’ in that it’s where his giant god body was built. Secondly: the two moons orbiting Bara Magna (the jungle moon of Bota Magna and the ocean moon of Aqua Magna) were once part of the planet itself, and split off during a planet-destroying cataclysm, leaving behind a desert wasteland in their wake. Third: the function he was ultimately built for (his ‘destiny’) was to reunite the three celestial bodies into one planet, bringing life back to Bara Magna’s harsh desert environments. He was on his way to complete this task when Makuta crashed his systems with a computer virus - which was what forced him into the ‘slumber’ that he was in for most of the mainline story.

His fourth, and probably most important discovery, is that he’s essentially his makers’ second attempt at a world-fixing giant robot. Before creating him, his makers (the ‘Great Builders’) constructed a giant robot that malfunctioned and exploded. Long-deactivated, the pieces of it are still scattered through the deserts of Bara Magna - in fact, many of the villages on the planet are set up in or around these giant robot pieces. Mata Nui figures that if he can reconstruct this old robot, he can use it to complete his destiny, and maybe even save his people.

It isn’t easy. He has to convince the villagers he’s come to befriend (the Agori) to give up their homes and their safety, and he has to find an experimental power source that’ll actually get the giant metal body moving again. But eventually, he figures it all out. Powered by the experimental source, the Mask of Life, and probably also friendship, he inhabits this enormous form and rises once again. Without missing a beat, he reaches out and begins to pull the moons towards the main planet. As far as he’s concerned, he’s going to fix everything, or die trying.

(The power of skybeams)

However, it won’t be that simple. Makuta senses that Mata Nui’s spirit has inhabited a new form (and I don’t mean that in a metaphysical way, I mean that in a computer/technology way), and he quickly jets over to Bara Magna. Obviously, flinging the fucker into space wasn’t good enough. It’s time for him to destroy Mata Nui, mano y mano. Giant robot y giant robot.

(Makuta and Mata Nui, facing off. God I love this picture.)

It’s the final battle - for real this time. The two giant robots begin to punch each other, and Mata Nui is up against some obvious disadvantages. For one thing, he can’t risk attacking Makuta with all his might, because he doesn’t want to hurt his people, who are still inside the giant robot. (Inside, they’re fairing... poorly. It’s like facism, but if facism was being actively enforced by God.)

In the fight, a hole gets blasted in Makuta’s body, and out pour a whole LOAD of Rahkshi. (Remember those guys?) However, Tahu and Takanuva also manage to escape, and join a ground battle that’s breaking out between the Agori (and their protectors, the Glatorians), the Skrall (a tribe of warriors native to Bara Magna who are absolute dicks - I’ve had to gloss over them, unfortunately, but believe me when I say that they’ve been major antagonists for as long as the narrative has focused on Bara Magna), and a bunch of guys who are called ‘Piraka’ but aren’t the gang of thugs from Voya Nui. (I think they’re the same... species?) Long story short: large-scale shitfight is happening at the feet of the two robots that are slugging it out. Makuta, being a dick, decides to try and literally stamp on all of Mata Nui’s friends down below, and Mata Nui has to desperately hold him off.

Around this point, the Mask of Life (which is really the MVP of this whole story) uses its convenient energy bursts to imbue Tahu with a set of golden armour that allows him to release energy blasts of its own. (Why it singles out Tahu, I’m not sure, but I’m presuming it’s because Tahu was the first face of the series and it just makes thematic sense for him to be a major player in the final battle.) Tahu uses his new golden armour to disintegrate ALL of the Rahkshi - and there were a lot of them on the field of battle, let me assure you. Makuta feels the loss of so many creations at once, and falters, and Mata Nui seizes his chance. He’d done his work well before Makuta had arrived, and the jungle moon is now in low orbit above the planet. Pouring every last ounce of his strength into one more push, he surges forward and up, pushing Makuta up and making sure that his head is right in the path of the falling planet.

Crunch.

(Kudos to Makuta Teridax for being such a persistent antagonist that the only way to get rid of him for good was to drop an entire damn planet on his head.)

Mata Nui guides the falling body carefully to the ground, letting it open and freeing his people. The remaining Skrall and Piraka surrender. The Matoran and Toa meet and mingle with the Agori and Glatorian. Mata Nui raises his hands, and completes his purpose; aided one last time by the Mask of Life, as well as his body’s innate systems, he enacts a synthesis on the now-united celestial bodies. Lush forests and large bodies of water appear in the desert. Life flourishes. Birds probably start to sing. Mata Nui has completed his purpose, and vindicated all of the heroes who fought for him for so long.

He feels himself fading. He lets his spirit withdraw into the Mask of Life. A new slumber - this one, earned, and of his own volition.

Perhaps one day, he will return.

(“We will honour Mata Nui, and all those who fought for him, in our memories. But the time has come to move on. His destiny is fulfilled, and for many of us, it has yet to be written. My friends, it is time to go.”- Tahu, The Mata Nui Saga, chapter 34.)

And there we go! Very, VERY long, but that’s the general plot of bionicle. There are an absolute tone of details I’ve missed out or skipped over, and I encourage you to search them out for yourself if you’re interested. But them’s the basics! :D

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: I - Injuries

Summary: When an offhand comment gets made about who receives the most injuries a big debate takes place to discuss this. Unable to agree on anything, the Bats decide to keep score of who gets the most injuries over the next 12 months. The results may surprise you. 

Enjoy! :D

The blissful silence within his apartment is rudely interrupted by the shrill of his phone suddenly ringing inside his pocket. Jason groans. Five minutes. Why couldn’t he just get five minutes of peace? Was that so much to ask for?

Cursing every god imaginable, Jason digs through his pocket until he finds and receives the device before scowling upon seeing the caller ID. Answering the call, he brings it up to his ear and doesn’t hesitate to snap a greeting, making it clear he isn’t pleased about being disturbed. “What do you want?”

“So there’s been a situation…” a hesitant voice speaks up on the other side of the phone.

Jason reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. That sentence alone is enough to start giving him a headache.

“How the fuck is there a situation? I left you guys not even fifteen minutes ago! I thought you were heading back to the cave?”

“Yeah, we were, but on the way back we heard gun shots and we found a gang fight happening. We intervened but while fighting Nightwing unfortunately got stabbed.”

Being told his brother has been stabbed makes Jason pause. There’s a remark on the end of his tongue that desperately wants to slip out but he doesn’t know if this is the right time for it. The tone of voice on the other side of the line makes it difficult to determine how serious the situation is.

“How bad is it?”

“Oh not that bad!” Tim chirps, Jason could now hear the amusement lacing his tone. “It’s just a stab wound on the thigh, more of a scratch than anything. Won’t need stitches or nothing. I figured I’d ring you to let you know because this now changes the board.”

Jason breathes out a long sigh and feels the tension leave his body. At least it’s not life threatening. This fucking family, he swears to God, if he hadn’t already been sent to an early grave he certainly would be now.

“So it’s enough to warrant a mark on the board?” Jason questions eagerly, already knowing what impact the answer will have. Now he knows it’s not serious he can think about other things.

“Oh yeah definitely.” Tim claims and Jason could easily hear the smile in his voice. “Even when it happened he muttered a curse and mentioned how it’s unfair because that now puts you ahead of him.”

At that Jason cackles. He bids his brother a goodbye before hanging up. Still laughing Jason moves through his apartment to his kitchen, digging through one of the draws he pulls out a large whiteboard and makes the needed changes to it.

This is something they all came up with at the start of the year from an offhand comment about who gets the most/least injuries out of their family. The comment triggered off a big debate and the result of it was to keep score of who gets the most injuries in the next 12 months.

They do not count life threatening injuries, because believe it or not they are not assholes and it wouldn’t be fair or even funny. Any minor injury can count (or at least minor for them). Any injuries done outside of the costume also count.

There are only a couple months left of the year but it’s currently pretty tight between most of them. Surprisingly Steph is winning with the least number of injuries so far. Following her, again surprisingly, is Damian. After him is Harper, Duke, Tim and then Jason. With his new injury today that puts Dick in last place, officially making Jason second to last. They hadn’t included Cass because firstly she didn’t want to be involved and secondly anytime she does get injured, which is extremely rare, it’s usually serious, so they collectively decided to not have Cass participate. Babs wasn’t interested and made it very clear on what her opinions of the competition was.

Before the new injury, Jason and Dick were in joint last place. His older brother now sustaining a new non-life-threatening injury changes the board. Jason couldn’t be happier, now he just has to make sure to not get injured at all in the next couple of months.

That in itself will be a challenge, but one not to be beaten easily Jason is up for it. He doesn’t care where he comes on the board, just as long as he beats Dick that’s all that matters.

---------

Like most of the year, the last few months fly by and before Jason knows it, it’s New Year’s Eve and he’s attending a party with all of his friends and family.

While the party is being hosted at Wayne Manor, so somewhere familiar, there’s tension in the air which can be felt no matter where you go. To most it’s probably the anticipation of midnight approaching, that excitement that comes along with the clock striking twelve and the supposedly start of something new.

To Jason, however, it’s a count down until the results are revealed.

Jason has a vague idea of what the final results are going to be, after all he kept track of everything himself. Then again, it’s vague because he’s been away on a mission for the last three weeks only having gotten back two days ago. He hasn’t yet had a chance to catch up with everything that may have happened in those weeks he had been gone. For all he knows the board may have changed significantly and he wouldn’t have a clue.

Not long before midnight, Jason soon finds himself in the library with his siblings and friends. They’re scattered around the room sitting on the sofas and the floor with the news on in the background.

Cass stands front and center with a white board in hand ready to announce the results of who has sustained the least and the greatest number of injuries in the past year. They asked Cass to announce it as she hadn’t taken part, that way it’s fair and not biased.

Looking around the room Jason could see a variety of facial expression on his siblings faces. Some wearing smirks, like they know exactly what the results are, while other’s wear an expression of anticipation, clearly unsure on where they’ve come on the board.

Cass announces the names in ascending order, starting with last place first. To Jason’s absolute delight, Dick is in last place. He’s so happy to hear that he had beaten his brother in getting less injuries than him in a year. Dick simply sends Cass a tight smile and nod, obviously knowing he had lost before anything was declared.

After Dick is Jason. If he’s being honest, Jason is actually happier about that than the principle of being second to last, he beat Dick and that’s all that mattered. He certainly made sure Dick was aware of his delight.

After Jason is Duke, followed by Steph which was a surprise considering she had been in first for a really long time. Apparently she had a bad couple of months, reckless behaviour and stupid mistakes eventually added to her total therefore dropping her down the leader board.

Taking third place is Damian. Jason looks over at where he’s sat and he finds the kid fuming, clearly unhappy with his final position. In second place is Tim, which seems to surprise almost everyone, including Tim himself. The teenager sits on the sofa looking completely baffled but thrilled at the news. That finally leaves Harper taking first place as the person to have the least number of injuries in the past year. She jumps up to her feet yelling with joy and dancing around the room excitedly.

After the scores are announced Cass gives out little awards just as something extra which makes it all the more entertaining.

The most out-of-costume injuries award goes to Tim, who instantly claims that most of his injuries are because his best friends are meta’s and because he skateboards. No one believes the excuses however they don’t call him out on it.

The most ridiculous injury goes to Dick, who then explains how he got said injury. Apparently he miscalculated a jump when chasing someone and ended up scraping his side on a metal bin. Everyone stares at him after that story, wondering how such an experienced vigilante and acrobat even does that.

The most badass injury goes to Steph. She had gotten into a fist fight in the middle of the mall after some guys started shouting out vulgar language. Not taking any of their shit Steph beat them all to a pulp but not without taking some collateral damage herself. That award felt well deserved though it could have gone to someone else.

After wrapping up their competition they all decide to stay in the library and chill. They cheer for the new year when the clock strikes twelve and all exchange “happy new year’s.” They don’t go adventuring out to the party again which inevitably leads to Bruce hunting for them, out of worry or suspicion Jason’s not sure but when his adoptive father eventually walks into the library he’s met with a loud chorus of greetings

Bruce studies the group with narrowed eyes in suspicion. He meets each of their gazes before straightening up and leveling them all a glare.

“What’s going on? I haven’t seen any of you in a few hours only to find you all gathered in here, not fighting may I add. What have you done?”

Dick’s the first to respond. Being the oldest of the group he probably feels inclined to, especially when no one else offers up an explanation. “Wow Bruce, give us a benefit of the doubt would you, we’re simply enjoying being with one another for a change. New year and all that. Who knows, this may the start of something new.”

Bruce’s disbelieving expression conveys perfectly what he thinks of that explanation.

The room falls silent as they all stare at one another. Gestures and nods are shared between them as they try to get someone else to speak up but everyone stays silent, no one saying a peep. They never told Bruce about the competition; they really don’t know how the man would take the news but they’re all certain it wouldn’t be taken well. He definitely wouldn’t see the funny side of the whole thing, even if they explain the rules to it and how they’re not actually assholes and wouldn’t include life threatening wounds to the count.

In the end it doesn’t matter because eventually Bruce puts his hands up and shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Whatever it is just keep it to yourselves and if you make a mess, clean it up. The less I know the better.”

With no more words Bruce turns around and leaves the room. For several moments after the man’s sudden departure they each exchange baffled looks, silently questioning what just happened. It stays like that for a while until several members of the family simultaneously shrug. The action causes an eruption of laughter and all of them end up cackling until they couldn’t breathe and had tears running down their faces.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Civil War (Chapter Six)

Summary: Bucky’s suspicious escape from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre and the fallout surrounding it makes (Y/N) reevaluate her opinion of the Accords.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Last week’s chapter was really angsty and it kinda took a toll on me so here’s a sort of short filler chapter with slightly less angst! Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Six (Previous Chapter)

While she couldn’t claim to be a spy or secret agent, (Y/N) had picked up a thing or two from hanging around so many of them over the past couple of years; she knew that Bucky would eventually need an exit once he was finished tearing through everyone in the building, and it was a safe bet to assume that the skilled assassin would choose to fly himself out of there instead of travel on foot at the risk of being apprehended. She was quick to locate the building’s stairwell, hurrying up the steps as the emergency lights and alarms continued to blare; when she reached the top floor, she flung open the door and stepped out into the dark and deserted hallway.

“God, I hope this thing works…” Mumbling under her breath, (Y/N) fiddled with the dials of the walkie talkie until she could hear the indistinct chatter of voices, only letting out a sigh of relief when she finally heard the one she needed to speak to. “Agent Ross, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I need backup on the-”

“(Y/L/N), what the hell are you doing?!”

“Your job, it would seem! I’m on the top floor and have reason to believe that-!”

Just then, a metallic hand came out of nowhere and ripped the walkie talkie from her hands, crushing it to pieces before tossing it aside. (Y/N) acted on instinct, rolling underneath Bucky’s outstretched arm and pulling a stun disc out of her pocket; landing upright, she chucked the stun disc at his metallic arm and took advantage of the assassin’s distraction to sweep his legs out from underneath him with one of her own.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, and you were a Sergeant in the U.S. Army during World War II!” She shouted, keenly aware that the distraction would only last a few more seconds. “You were Steve Rogers’ best friend and a Howling Commando!” Hastily backing out of the way, she watched with widened eyes as he ripped the electrified stun disc off his arm and leapt to his feet. “Bucky, I don’t believe that you bombed the U.N. but you need to stop and remember who you are!”

Bucky’s face was blank and devoid of any emotion, a far cry from the frightened man in the containment cell. He stalked towards her and while she had just enough time to duck the first punch he threw her way, she couldn’t dodge the second; the force of his fist’s impact on her jaw sent her flying back and crashing to the ground, her wrist screaming in protest as she tried and failed to break her fall. While he strode down the hallway to where she was sprawled on the floor, she hurriedly ripped all the stun discs out of her pocket and began throwing them as she crawled backwards. He avoided each and every stun disc she threw, but it bought her enough time to pick herself up off the ground and side-step his next attack; before she could land a kick or punch, though, his metal hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her easily into the air and slamming her hard against the wall.

(Y/N)’s hands came up to uselessly clutch at the metal fingers that were digging into her skin and her legs kicked out in desperation as she struggled for air; just as her vision was beginning to darken her eyes focused on the small tear in the sleeve of his shirt and the corner of a red star it barely revealed, and in desperation she cried out, “Sol…Soldat!”

The assassin froze, and (Y/N) watched as his hardened expression shifted into confusion. His metallic hand quickly loosened and she instantly crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping for air, unable to move or even defend herself. Bucky’s heavy footsteps faded away and with a wheezing breath, she lifted her head in time to see Steve burst through the same stairwell door she’d come through moments before.

“(Y/N)!?” He hurried to her side and dropped down, his grease-smudged face filled with pure panic as he tugged her into his arms. “Oh God, you’re bleeding…!”

Steve’s free hand came up to touch her scratched jaw but she grabbed his wrist to halt his movement, ignoring how his brow furrowed in confusion as she whispered, “G-go, Steve…Bucky’s heading for…for the helipad…”

He firmly shook his head, blue eyes already set in determination. “No, baby, I’m not leaving you.”

“Bucky needs you!” (Y/N) insisted, suppressing her wince of pain as she stared up at him with a fiery resolve; sensing the conflict within the super-soldier, she released his wrist and gently rested her hand against his cheek with a sad smile. “Go.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Steve nodded and carefully eased her back onto the ground, giving her one final look before running down the hallway after the assassin; right before he turned the corner, she closed her eyes, unwilling to watch as the love of her life chased after the deadly assassin by himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the second time in two days, (Y/N) quietly sat and allowed herself to be patched up by a kindly paramedic. Not only did she still have a ruptured eardrum, she also had a large laceration along her jaw that required five stitches, a sprained wrist that was secured in a sturdy brace and a smattering of darkening finger-shaped bruises around her neck. Others weren’t as lucky as you were, she reminded herself, sadness washing over her as she thought of all the critically injured and dead CIA agents who’d also encountered the dangerous Winter Soldier during his rampage.

Once the paramedics finished treating her wounds, she made her way back to the control room and was immediately met by a sympathetic Natasha. “Here, I got you some tea with honey; it’ll help your throat feel better.” The spy handed her a warm to-go cup before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her into the glass-walled conference room, where Tony was already seated and resting his bruised head in his hand. “Secretary Ross’s gonna be here in a few minutes, hot-shot, so please try to be on your best behavior no matter what he says to rile you up.”

(Y/N) merely nodded and took a sip of her tea, wincing in pain as she swallowed. The injuries to her throat didn’t stop her from speaking but her own conscious did; she was beginning to realize that no matter what she could say or do to convince them that Bucky was innocent, they’d never listen and even if they did, there was nothing they could do about it under the Sokovia Accords. So, she made the decision to bide her time and wait until the right moment to bring up her theory.

The three of them sat together in weary silence, the turmoil of the past two days seeming to catch up to them, until Secretary Ross barged into the conference room with his trademark sneer on his face. “You two wanna fill me in on what happened and why a civilian’s still sitting in the middle of a covert CIA control room?”

As if sensing (Y/N)’s simmering irritation, Natasha stood and moved to lean against the back of her chair, placing a calming hand on her shoulder as she replied, “Barnes escaped custody with the aid of the U.N. psychiatrist sent to evaluate him; they knocked out the power grid to the city and used it as a distraction, and (Y/N) here was already in the building for questioning. She’s one of the many who tried and failed to stop Barnes from leaving the building.”

“After taking (Y/L/N) out of commission, Barnes tried leaving in a chopper but ended up crashing it on the helipad; he, Rogers and Wilson are all missing in action.” Tony glanced over at (Y/N) before returning his gaze to the Secretary of State. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea where they are?”

“We will, GSG-9’s got the borders covered, and Recon’s flying 24/7. They’ll get a hit; we’ll handle it.”

Secretary Ross scoffed at the billionaire. “You don’t get it, Stark, it’s not yours to handle. It’s clear you can’t be objective, so I’m putting Special Ops on this.”

The spy’s hand on her shoulder flexed. “What happens when the shooting starts? What, do you kill Steve Rogers?”

“If we’re provoked,” (Y/N)’s eyes widened in horror and in her shock, she almost missed what Ross said next. “Barnes would’ve been eliminated in Romania if it wasn’t for Rogers; there are dead people who would be alive now. Feel free to check my math.”

Tony’s eyes flicked over to meet theirs, an uncomfortable look filling his gaze as he turned back to Ross. “All due respect, you’re not going to solve this with boys and bullets, Ross. You gotta let us bring them in.”

“How would that end any differently from the last time?” The Secretary of State demanded.

The billionaire’s expression hardened at Ross’ silent implications. “Because this time, I won’t be wearing loafers and a silk shirt. Seventy-two hours, guaranteed.”

“Thirty-six hours,” Ross corrected, giving them all a pointed look before turning and walking out of the conference room, calling out over his shoulder, “Barnes…Rogers…Wilson…”

“Thank you, sir!” The glass door closed and Tony slumped in his seat with an exhausted sigh as he clutched his left arm. “My left arm is numb, is that normal?”

Moving around the table, Natasha patted the billionaire on his shoulder. “You all right?”

The two Avengers continued to talk in low tones but (Y/N) couldn’t focus on what they were saying; all she could think of were Secretary Ross’ cold-blooded words and the way he’d said them without so much as a hint of remorse. What horrified her more, though, was the fact that Tony and Natasha didn’t appear to be bothered by the threat against the lives of their former teammates. This is all wrong, she thought as her vision began to blur with unshed tears, her heart sinking into her stomach while she realized that Steve’s worst fears about the Accords were materializing right before her very eyes; blinking away her tears, she looked down at her now-bare ring finger and the longer she stared, the more her anger with the two Avengers grew.

“…head downstairs to talk to T’Challa. I’ll bring (Y/N) with me, since he seems to tolerate her more than the rest of us.”

“Before you do, though, she’s gonna need to sign the Accords; I don’t want Ross looking for any excuses to arrest her so we need to do this by the books.” She looked back up as Tony and Natasha turned to her, the billionaire’s brow raised in expectation while he continued. “That okay with you, Austen?”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment and when she finally spoke, it was with a forced calmness and a clenched jaw. “Did I ever tell you two what my new novel Bring A Folding Chair is about? It chronicles the rise and fall of second-wave feminism in America as told through the eyes of a young investigative journalist.” Getting up from her seat, she crossed her arms over her chest and began pacing. “I focus on the successes of the movement while also highlighting its failures and shortcomings, because even the most well-intended things can inadvertently end up hurting others.” (Y/N) shook her head in agitation and glanced over at the two confused Avengers. “When it came to the Accords, I knew from the moment Secretary Ross told us about them that they were wrong, but I turned a willful blind eye to the truth because I was selfish and only cared about saving my relationship with Steve. But now…now my eyes are wide open.”

“(Y/N), take it easy-”

“Do not tell me to take it easy when you just sat there and listened to Ross practically order a hit on three people – two of which are your friends – who haven’t been legally convicted of any wrongdoing!” She yelled as her sore throat ached in protest but she ignored it, all the frustration and pain that had been building up inside of her finally boiling over. “Steve was right when he said I was too idealistic; I thought the world was made up of enough good people who would keep the Accords from becoming too authoritative but unfortunately, it’s made up of cowards like us who are only looking out for our own self-interests.” Her gaze shifted from Tony’s stunned expression to Natasha, whose face remained neutral but whose eyes conveyed the pain her words had caused; she swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded before continuing. “Well, I don’t know about you two but I can’t do it anymore.”

Without another word, (Y/N) stormed out into the control room and down one of the hallways to Agent Ross’ office, her uninjured hand curled into a fist at her side as she walked; the door of the agent’s office was open and he was in deep conversation with Sharon Carter, who was tapping away on a tablet while they talked. They both looked over at her as she entered the office, and Agent Ross’ brow furrowed in concern while he took in her injuries and stony expression. “Miss (Y/L/N). Agent 13 told me that you got roughed up pretty badly earlier; are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Agent Ross. Am I free to go?” The agent raised his brow, looking more amused that surprised by her demanding question, and she gritted her teeth before continuing. “In the past forty-eight hours I’ve attended a friend’s funeral, was nearly blown up in a suspected terrorist attack, was unjustly interrogated for several continuous hours, broke off my engagement to the love of my life and was nearly killed again by a brainwashed assassin. I’m filthy, I’m injured, I’m exhausted, and I’m just one more incident away from completely losing my shit so can I please leave now?”

Sharon cast her a fleeting glance and took a step forward. “Sir, she’s already given multiple statements to our agents and…well, to be frank, the Joint Terrorism Task Force is already facing scrutiny for not stopping Barnes’ escape. The criticism will only intensify when the news outlets catch wind that we’re holding an injured, world-famous author without probable cause.” Agent Ross considered her words, and Sharon shot her a warning glance before continuing. “I’ll drive her to a nearby hotel and keep an eye on her in case Rogers tries getting into contact; based on the events of the last few hours, though, I’m not so sure that he will.”

“All right,” He finally answered, his expression softening a little as he looked back at her. “But for the time being, Miss (Y/L/N), consider yourself on the no-fly list.”

Nodding in thanks, (Y/N) glanced back at Sharon and the agent gave her a brief smile. “I’ve got a few things to wrap up here so I’ll meet you down in the parking garage in ten.” She reached into her pockets and withdrew her car keys, pressing them into her open palm with another fleeting smile. “My car’s the grey Audi parked by the stairwell.”

(Y/N) walked out of the office and down the hallway but since the mechanics were still working on fixing the elevators after the power-outage, she was forced to take the stairs all the way down to the underground parking garage. She quickly located the agent’s car and unlocked it, climbing into the passenger seat and buckling her seat-belt; now that she was finally alone, she couldn’t stop herself as she lowered her head into her hands and cried, allowing all the pent-up emotions inside of her to finally be set free. In that moment, all she wanted to do was go back to when everything was normal, back before Lagos and her constant fighting with Steve and the goddamn Accords; it wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was a hundred times better than what they were all currently going through. “I’m so sorry, Steve…”

As her sobs finally began to subside, the stairwell door opened and Sharon walked through the doorway; she took a steadying breath and wiped the last of her tears away just as the agent opened the driver-side door and got it. Sharon reached over and opened the glove-box to reveal a package of tissues, flashing her a brief and sympathetic smile as she pulled one out and blew her nose. “I tend to start feeling better after I’ve had a good cry. How ‘bout you?”

“Not really, I still feel like shit except now my eyes itch and my nose is running,” (Y/N) half-heartedly quipped, dabbing at the corners of her eyes and sighing. “So, you know any good hotels around here?”

“The Kurhotel Strӧszek’s nice and it’s not too far from here, so that’ll make Agent Ross happy. On our way, we’ll stop at a pharmacy and pick you up some first aid sup-” The ringing of Sharon’s cell phone interrupted her words and she was quick to answer it. “Agent 13 here…Steve?” (Y/N) instantly perked up and with a brief gesture for her to stay quiet, the agent switched to speakerphone. “Okay, I’m alone. What’s up?”

“We’ve figured out what’s going on,” Steve’s voice answered through the phone’s speaker and (Y/N) bit her lip to keep from making a sound at the comforting timbre. “The doctor framed Bucky for the U.N. bombing in order to find out where Hydra kept him. They created five other Winter Soldiers back in the 90’s and had them cryogenically frozen; he’s planning on waking them, says he’s doing it to see an empire fall.”

“So, you three need your gear before you can go after him.”

The super-soldier sighed. “I know that it’s a lot to ask, Sharon-”

“You’re trying to stop a squad of murderous super-soldiers from taking over the world, Rogers; if this is how I can help stop that from happening, then I’m in. I’ll send you a message when I’ve got the gear and we’ll arrange a meeting.”

“Thank you, Sharon, I owe you one. How…how’s (Y/N) doing?”

“She’s okay; lacerated jaw, sprained wrist and a whole lot of bruising, but she’s fine.” Steve breathed a deep sigh of relief that made (Y/N)’s heart warm and the agent gave her a sideways glance before continuing. “You should know that she’s refused to sign the Accords. I’ve been assigned to escort her to a hotel, where she’ll stay until she’s taken off the CIA’s no-fly list and can go back home…”

There was silence over the line and just as she began wondering if they’d somehow been disconnected, Steve quietly spoke, “I’ve already asked you for one favor but can I bother you for another?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“If I write a letter, can you make sure that it gets to (Y/N)? There’s a lot that I need to tell her and since I don’t know what’ll happen where we’re going…well, she deserves answers one way or another.”

Sharon’s eyes flicked between (Y/N)’s saddened expression and the cell phone in her hand as she nodded. “Of course, I’ll pick it up when I hand over your gear. Talk to you later, Rogers.”

Hanging up, the agent tucked the phone into her pocket and quickly started the engine, buckling up and driving at a steady speed through the parking garage and out onto the street; (Y/N) fiddled with the hem of her wrinkled shirt for a thought-filled moment before stating, “You’ve already got a plan.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve been prepared to follow through on a favor like this one for a while now,” Sharon spared her a sideways glance and focused back on the road. “But I won’t say anything else about it on the off-chance the CIA decides to question you somewhere down the line; the last thing I want is for you to be charged with aiding and abetting in the theft of government property.”

(Y/N) glanced down at her bare ring finger and thought back on Steve’s words during his phone call; she was desperate to find out what was in the letter but at the same time, she knew in her heart that she needed to hear whatever it was directly from him. The thought reminded her of their conversation about the problems within their relationship in the London hotel’s bar, the last truly calm moment they’d shared before everything went sideways…

“Whatever it is, we can work through it together. We make a damn good team, after all.”

“Of course we do, sunshine.”

There’s something I have to do before Steve and the others go after those super-soldiers, (Y/N) thought to herself, her shoulders squared in determination as she turned to glance at Sharon beside her and pondered the best way to ask the spy for a third and final favor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Russian Translation: Soldat-Soldier

A/N: Next chapter will have even less angst so yay! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist:  https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4TsJ2TY1F2HDXhEYOfzCjY?si=b1abdaeccc4c4d21

Chapter Seven

Civil War Masterlist

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