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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 months ago

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Amor Fati: Remodelling (Epilogue)

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

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“I hope you like the color pink.”

Paul can’t say he’s given much thought to the color. But now that he’s watching Maelyn twirl in the mirror, in the soft baby pink color, he thinks he might actually love the color. He’d bathe in it if asked. Hell, he’d switch over his entire wardrobe, work clothes included if it means he can watch her in the color for just a few seconds longer.

Maelyn’s graduation is in three weeks and then just after that in August is the wedding for Sam and Emily--a lengthy hiatus on the planning until it was clear whether or not Paul and Maelyn would rekindle their relationship or not. Not something Paul knew was purposefully happening, as when he asked Sam said that they were just waiting for the right time, to make sure all those from the Bella drama fully settled. And it sounded reasonable at the time. Yet, Emily couldn’t bear to keep the secret any longer and confessed to Paul around Christmas that the wait was very much intentional, but not because of vampires.

“I love the color pink,” Paul returns, watching Maelyn turn around again in the dress. They both agreed that she’d get one dress--for both graduation and the wedding and he’d make sure that his suit matched for the wedding and then he’d at least have one coordinating item for her pictures at graduation too. Which is an easy task. He could get a pink handkerchief at any bridal shop though the graduation task would be trickier. The hard part is to make sure that Paul doesn't follow her back behind the curtain and drop to his knees to prove just how much he loves the color pink. “I really love the color pink.”

His ascent back up to Maelyn’s face is slow, taking the curve of her ass, the lace detailing that lays just above the slit over her right thigh, the fabric in the left side of the dress is longer than right just a little, but it gives Maelyn legs for day--which she already has--and Paul’s not going to complain in the slightest.

“We’re buying that. Even if you don’t wear it but once. We’re getting that. Today, right now,” Paul states.

Maelyn raises her brow. “You haven’t even looked at my tits yet. How do you know if it’s a real winner?”

He snorts, but can’t help but drop his gaze to her chest. The straps are thin--good for the Texas heat, and workable for the Washington weather too. August will be warm, but the rain might be slightly less predictable than usual. In front, there’s a small keyhole, just enough space for Paul to see through it, but not enough to make out exact details of her sternum. The fabric brings her boobs together, creates plenty of volume at the top of the flesh and he groans, already feeling the crotch of his pants tightening.

“It’s a winner, baby. It’s a fucking winner.” Paul covers eyes with one and shoos her back into the dressing room. “Change now before I lose every ounce of what little self control I have left.”

Maelyn bursts of laughter is sharp and loud, but it’s followed up by the slide of the curtain over the rod. It’s only been a year--and not even a full year at that. But Paul’s rounding up because he wants every second with her that he can get. But the past seven months are a whirlwind--he’d heard most of the stories--from Aaron, which upon hearing Paul immediately took several laps around his apartment complex, trying to convince himself not to find where the guy had landed and to crack his skull open on the asphalt, all the way to her ventures to lesbian bars, even catching more information on how Leah and Brenda met that Leah hadn’t supplied when she returned back to Washington-- and he’d watched Maelyn chase relentlessly after her goals, working to help pay for her bills, catching up on a few requirement changes that came right as she switched into the Biomedical engineering program all just so she could graduate on time with the hopes of starting as a quality engineering after visiting a job fair and having a nice chat with one of the supervisors of the medical company. The summer before Paul’s arrival as Maelyn tells it was rocky, but in the end, worth it.

But seeing her be able to finish school, watching her realize that she can have exactly what she wanted, is the kind of thing Paul knows he wants to stick around for. And if it means watching her try on dresses that show off her body as tastefully as that one does, then by all means Paul would do that too. Though the passing time does mean returning home. Sam had only reached out once about Paul’s father--an update seemingly proved Sam right rather than wrong. News that Paul in return asked he only got if it was either dire--death--or good--sober. That kind of news had yet to come. But it seemed like it was all shaping up to be just what Paul predicted.

The caress to his jaw is soft--a touch he knows is Maelyn. Beyond the smell, he notices her presence more now than he’s ever had before. Not like seeking warmth, and definitely not like the feeling of being watched, but the awareness that he’s not alone. He doesn’t have to be alone anymore. He keeps his eyes closed, taking in the ghost of Maelyn’s exhale. Her lips are soft against his forehead. “Where’d you go just now? Hmm?”

“No where I can’t come back to you from,” Paul answers, his blink slow to reveal her face. He knows that look, the quiet assessment of her gaze.

“Worried about going back?”

“A little,” Paul answers because he can’t lie to Maelyn. He could. But he’d choose not to.

“I get that. But I’ll be there with you. Won’t have to go alone.”

Even Maelyn says it, offering Paul a kind and very much needed lifeline, he sees the worry pulling at her eyes. “The rez can’t hurt you. Neither can Bella, or Edward, or whatever other bullshit they get into. I won’t let it hurt you, baby.” Because Paul can’t promise to not let Maelyn hurt herself, but he can for damn sure keep her sane, help her keep that promise to her father.

“Thanks.” Her smile is small in return, but she presses in closer, lips sealing his in a kiss so soft that Paul’s got to tell himself that it did actually happen.

Because it’s always happening--them together, always happening, a new kind of love blossoming. When he cheers at the graduation, standing in the crowd as the lonesome figure for Maelyn, his clap louder than everyone else, it’s happening then too. It’s happening on the flight back to Washington, their fingers interlaced together. It’s happening when she gets his tie right, laughing when he fake chokes as the feeling. It’s happening as they watch, from the crowd, as Sam and Emily commit to each other, a picture of sappy happiness with tears and smiles all meant to convey the same thing: relief and elation, commitment and readiness. It’s happening when Paul holds Maelyn a little closer after he picks up on Maelyn’s tense body at the sight of Rachel and her fiancé, Luca, approaching at the wedding reception.

“These are some of my friends I was telling you about,” Rachel starts after introducing Luca, “Paul and Maelyn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Paul offers first, taking his hand in a swift shake.

Fiancé is just enough to start to thaw Maelyn and after an exchange of handshakes, Rachel and Luca carry on, to congratulate Sam and Emily. And just as quick as the tug pulls in Paul, it releases when Paul presses a kiss to Maelyn’s cheek. Because cosmos be damned. Fate be damned. “Told you you’d survive,” he whispers against her ear. “Don’t have anywhere else I want to be.”

“You did,” Maelyn agrees. She squeezes at their interlaced fingers before shifting, slotting herself against his chest. Paul hums into the hug, tracing every so gently at the lines in her exposed back at the top of the dress. He peeled her out of it once--the night after her graduation-- and he’s looking forward to taking it off again. But the thoughts are easily shattered when Maelyn speaks again against his ear, “Now it’s your turn to survive next.”

It’s all instinctual--when Paul pulls away from her embrace, he starts to question what she means. But her eyes aren’t on him, so Paul turns. And there--his father stands on the outskirts of the reception. The suit’s not been pressed, but it assembled correctly and still holds his father’s frame too big. He gives a small wave and Paul can tell his father is not sober in the way he’d hoped. But he certainly looks better.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll talk to him,” Maelyn offers, her hands wrapped around Paul’s.

“If I need you, I’ll call,” Paul answers and then starts towards his dad. Paul’s not alone, which is great news in and of itself, but he wants to do this himself, with the ever watchful eye of Maelyn behind him, ready to interject, ready to help Paul, simply because she loves him, when asked. And at times, even when not.

Definitely not sober, Paul deduces, catching the smell wafting off him. But not as drunk as before. He looks like he’s finally eating again maybe.

“You look good,” his father offers now that the distance is closed.

Paul wishes he could say the same. “You look better.”

“I’m trying. Heard your back with Maelyn too.”

He nods. Because Paul hasn’t called, hasn’t written. Not because he hates his father. Not because he wants nothing to do with him. But because Paul was sure none of that would save his dad. But he might’ve been wrong about that. Maybe it could. “I am.”

“And the electrician stuff--you almost done with that?” The question falls with a small hiccup, a slight sway.

There is still a long way to go, Paul knows, for his father. But baby steps are still steps. So he steadies his father, hiding the attempt as if straightening out the collar on his father’s shirt. But Paul hears the click--the approach is steady in her heels towards them. “Another year and I’ll finish the apprenticeship,” Paul answers, wiping the rather invisible crumbs off the lapels of the suit jacket.

“Good, good.”

Maelyn’s touch melts his spine. She eases over her palm over his lower back and Paul realizes just how rigidly he’d been standing. He eases away, back into her waiting hold. His shoulders lower and Paul hopes grace works miracles. “Take care of yourself, Dad. Okay?”

“I will. I’m trying.”

Paul can’t ask for perfection. Can’t expect his father to make a total recovery without the effort, without a few hiccups. “Trying is better than not.”

#paul lahote #paul lahote x black oc #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fic #paul lahote series #h writes #paul lahote imagine #twilight #the twilight saga

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tj-crochets · 3 years ago

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New project! I’m going to make these fabrics into a tote bag (using this pattern). I’m thinking the stripey fabric will be the straps, the ghosts will be the middle fabric (because it’s the heaviest-duty fabric option and the one I have most of), and I have not decided on the other fabrics yet

#fabric #halloween tote bag attempt #this is because I want to make a copper moth themed bag #but i don’t have enough coordinating fabric for the strap #and I promised a friend a fish themed bag but I want to practice first (and also this is the wrong pattern for that)#but halloween fabric should work!#ah hell interfacing. I forgot the interfacing #I think I have some fusible interfacing left?#but I might use quilt batting instead #and just quilt it a bit #maybe I’ll take a break from the bag and finally finish the quilt top #who knows lol

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whatanoof · 4 years ago

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Battling Death Itself

Anon I am so sorry that this took so long. Stuff happens, but it's still frustrating to not know if someone is ignoring your ask, if tumblr ate it, or if(like in this case) requests are just taking abnormally long. But here we go, hope you're ready for the angsty angst:(

gif credit to @badbatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, swearing, death omen-like stuff, creepy dream, fluff

Summary: As a medic, you’re used to battling bleeds, cuts, burns, etc. You’re used to patients who are willing to heal, not one reckless Jedi Padawan who is ready to throw everything away to accomplish his mission.

A/N: A huge thank you to my friend @marvelassassin221b for the help with this prompt when I got stuck. You da best, and never forget it

One cannot go through a war and come out unchanged. You can pretend that the terror, violence, anger, anxiety, and selfish instinct didn’t affect you. You can gaslight and fool yourself until the bantha come home, but no one, not even the smallest civilian child, walks away without it burning into their minds like a brand of survival that will cost some of your humanity.

When you dream, you dream of a pile of lightsabers. There must be hundreds, maybe thousands, piled high enough that you cannot make out the ground from your position at the peak of the mountain. They clink and jangle under your feet, like a death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

You want to leave. You have to leave, you can feel the spirits of the fallen Jedi Order hovering over your head, gazing down at you in disapproval everytime you disrespect their revered weapons. You take a step off of the peak.

A rending screech echoes into the death filled air, and the metal handles collapse under your feet, sliding down the side of the mountain like an avalanche and taking you with it. The sabers pile over your head, blocking out the already dim light.

Have to leave. Have to fight. So you thrash furiously, clawing at the tomb encapsulating your living body among the dead. Somehow, you find the surface. You break through the pile with a gasp, inhaling air into your starved lungs, hands pawing at the moving surface to keep you afloat in the raw desperation of survival instinct.

A weathered lightsaber is clenched in your hand, double bladed and beaten up. With a shaking hand, you press the button to activate the blade. The blue blade slices through the air with a throaty thrum and through the reality of your dream, dropping you into the darkness. You hit the ground with a grunt, somehow not impaling yourself on the lightsaber even as you stare in awestruck horror. Because you recognize the blade and handle.

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you whirl with a gasp. A tall figure stands behind you, a Lasat male with kind eyes and clad in robes belonging to a Jedi. He holds a hand out to you, “That doesn’t belong to the living world.”

---

The crackle of the comm yanks you out of your fitful doze, but as you strain to listen from your position in the sitting area, no words come through the white noise. You sit up and look into the cockpit. Cere is typing furiously with eyes glued to frequency readings in front of her.

Seconds later the array in front of Greez begins to beep and the Latero leans forward to study the sensor map display. A tiny ship lit in red dances through the grid. Greez grabs the holo and enlarges it, examining the lines of the ship carefully.

“Cere--”

“Greez--”

The two stop and look at each other before Cere takes precedence, “I’ve only seen these kinds of frequencies from one kind of occupation.”

Greez nods, “I recognize the ship. It’s Haxion Brood.”

You stand and approach his chair, “Axiom what?”

Greez replies, arms darting across the controls with ease as he manipulates the energy to further analyze the readings from the environment. “The Haxion Brood, kid. Biggest smuggling and gambling ring in the Outer Rim.” He turns his head to address Cere. “I can decode their transmissions. Transfer the readings to my screen.”

Cere hits a few buttons and Greez pulls a headset over his ears. The air in the room is so thick that you could cut it with a vibroblade, until Greez speaks, “We have to go. Cere, set a course for these star coordinates.” Cere takes a single look at the symbols and nods before heading to the navigation map.

Your brow scrunches, “How do you understand their code?”

Greez waves your question off, “Not important. Point is, I can, and I know where we have to go.”

Everything is moving far too fast for you to understand. “And where is that?”

Greez barks out a sharp laugh, “Officially? Nowhere.” One arm distracts itself from the preflight check to dissolve the coordinates from the holo projector. “Unofficially? Ordo Eris.”

The Mantis lurches as it takes off and you stumble, “Wait, we have to wait for Cal to get back!”

Cere speaks from her position at the map, “He’s not coming back. We’re going to get him.”

‘Why would you need to go to Ord--’ You feel the blood drain from your face with the realization. What did the dream mean? A grim understanding filters into the processed air so that no words are needed.

“Get your kit ready. We’re going to need it.”

---

“Strap in, kid!”

Even with all of your preparation for the moment of contact, you’re still not ready for the awful screeching and rending of metal that echoes through the hull as it contacts the floor of the arena. Above the chaos and noise, you hear Greez curse. The harness digs painfully into your skin, but it keeps you in your seat long enough for the Mantis to jolt to a stop. The door opens, and Cal stumbles on board, lightsaber glowing in his hand while the other clutches his side. BD-1 clings to his shirt, beeping and chirping as it hangs on for dear life.

“Go go go!” Cal collapses against the wall, gasping for air. BD screeches and jumps onto the floor, gazing up at Cal and blipping while glancing at you periodically. You can’t tear your eyes away from the lightsaber, which has slipped to the ground in the frenzy. That doesn’t belong in the living world.

Greez hasn’t stopped swearing colorfully in at least five different languages excluding Basic, but it all fades to the background as you fumble to release your harness. “Cal!”

It’s not releasing, why isn’t it releasin--

The mechanism clicks and you’re out of your seat before the Mantis is fully off the ground. You reach Cal right as he begins to slip, “Whoa, careful there.”

Damn he’s heavy. You lower him to the ground, supporting his head on your lap. He chuckles breathlessly with eyes half-closed, “Why should I try to be careful when I have you?”

You laugh shakily, “I can’t be with you all of the time.” BD-1 bobs its head in agreement, dragging your med bag within reach with one foot.

Greez calls back, “Hang on, making the jump now!”

You grab a support bar and hunch over Cal. BD hops into your lap, and you wrap your other arm around the little droid to help hold it steady against you until the ship stops shaking around you and the peaceful quiet of hyperspace fills the hull. You allow yourself to breathe as the asteroid fades into the distance out the viewport. For now, the world will hold together.

---

By the time Cere comes back to check on you, you’ve maneuvered Cal into an upright position propped against the wall.

“Hey.” She sounds tired, stressed, strung tight like a bow string that’s about to snap. “Greez set course for Kashyyyk. We can lay low there, the Rebels have all but driven out the rest of the Imperials.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Cal is silent beside you. BD-1 boops its agreement.

She continues, “That rescue tore up the Mantis a bit. Overworked the thrusters and damaged internal regulating software, so Greez and I are going down to run diagnostics and see what we can repair en route. BD.” The little droid chirps. “Gonna need your help with the electrical portion.” BD-1 bobs its head and scampers over to her, and Cere puts a hand on the floor so that the droid can climb her shirt to her shoulder. She straightens, and regards the two of you, “All good here?”

You nod. “This guy needs a little patching up too.”

Cal gives a halfhearted wave and grin from his position on the floor, “Can confirm.”

Cere chuckles, “Alright then. Comm if you need anything. And be responsible.”

“I’m always responsible.” Cal protests. Cere doesn’t respond to him, opting instead to glance at you with an amused resignation in her eyes. She turns and leaves with BD, who chirps a goodbye as they vanish through the trapdoor that leads to the engine room.

You sigh and turn back to Cal, “I don’t even know where to start. Here.” You tug his poncho to get him to sit up.

“Careful. There’s acid.”

You yank your hand back with a hiss, shaking it off as you study the cloth. He’s right, there’s discoloration around his abdomen and the poncho is smoking, something that you missed in the chaos of landing and taking off from Ordo Eris. Upon closer examination, the acid had eaten through the poncho and soaked into the shirt below. Luckily, none touched your skin, but more unluckily, Cal has been wearing his shirt for far too long to be healthy.

“Take it off.” You lift the edge of his shirt to help him pull it over his head.

He grunts as the fabric lifts, revealing reddened and irritated skin that you begin to put healing balm on, “If you wanted me shirtless, all you had to do was ask.”

Blood rushes to your face even as you send an unimpressed look his way. He’s grinning, a smug and infuriating grin that lets you know that he knows that he got to you. You spread more of the medicine onto his skin, “You’re surprisingly chatty for someone who almost died.”

He stretches his arms, painfully attractive with how his chest and arms flex and his face scrunches and his hair--

You blink, abandoning the train of thought and finishing your work. You cap the medicine and return it to your bag. “Let me check your leg.” He sends you a look, a frustrated look that is so unique to Cal that it makes you chuckle. “I saw you limp in here, don’t give me that face.”

He groans, “I’m fine. It got me in the door, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “Take them off.”

“Is this a strip game or something?” He’s… flirting with you?

“Do it.”

You did not think that this is how you would be getting Cal Kestis pantless in front of you for the first time. You’d imagined that you would be more excited with every inch of skin exposed, that your heart would race and the blood would rush to your face and your… yeah.

But instead, your stomach drops with every bruise that is revealed, the lump in your throat grows when you hear him suck a breath through gritted teeth when the cloth rubs over sensitive skin. By the time he’s pulled the pants around his ankles, your jaw is clenched hard enough to hurt. There’s a gash the length of your hand slicing across his skin. Although it’s gratefully shallow and mostly clotted, it's ugly enough to garner a double take and a long stare as you consider your options. When you speak, it’s a barely breathed whisper.

“Damn it Cal.”

He laughs, but you can hear the pained grunt that he tries to hide when he shifts, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“When did you do this to your leg?” You yank a bacta bag out.

He hisses as you disinfect the area, “Uh, a little after I found BD. Right before I went into the arena.”

You stop cold and stare at him, “You fought on this?”

“Well what else was I supposed to do? Roll over and die?”

You sputter, “No, but I-- no.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, a single, infuriatingly sassy, red eyebrow and lays back to allow you to apply the bacta infusion.

“How’s it going in here?” Cere chooses that exact moment to walk in, and you suppose you should be grateful that she didn’t witness the petty argument.

You shoot a look at Cal, but he’s refusing to meet your eyes. So kriffing immature. You respond to Cere, “Good. Could be better.”

She nods once, “We received a transmission from the rebel. Tarfull is willing to meet you, Cal. There are contacts on Kashyyyk that will direct you to him.”

Cal’s face is drawn and serious, aging him ten years as he considers her words. “Tell them I’ll be there. How long until we reach Kashyyyk?”

“An hour. Enough time to finish the inflight electrical repairs, so BD will be available to go with you.”

“I’ll be ready.” What? Did you just hear him correctly?

You wait until Cere leaves the room before you whirl on Cal, “Are you crazy?”

“What?”

But you’re not listening anymore, “No, you’re definitely crazy, or I’m going crazy, because I just heard you tell Cere that you would be ready to plunge into the wilderness while you’re half dead.” A pile of lightsabers.

“It’s a cut, I’m hardly half de--”

“Okay, a cut. A cut that could get infected, or could start bleeding again, or could slow you down. It won’t be such an easy fix next time if you go out like this.”

He says your name sharply, “It’s my job to go and get that holocron.”

You cross your arms over your chest tightly, hugging close enough in hopes that you can calm your pounding heart, “And it’s my job to keep you alive.”

“The longer we wait, the more danger Tarfull is in. The Rebels can’t stay in one place forever.” He pushes off of the wall, aiming to propel himself off of the ground and stand, but you catch him with a firm hand in the center of his chest.

“You need rest. Bacta might be a miracle of modern medicine, but it can’t work in an hour.” A death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

He says your name, so seriously and rigidly that you stop and look at him, “Let me get up. I need to go.”

“No!” Your fingers twitch over the needle. “Cal Kestis. You stay right there, or I swear to the Maker I will sedate you!” Fallen Jedi hovering over you.

“This isn’t a matter of my own well being anymore, our mission is on the line!” He pushes your hand away and sits up. “This is for those children out there, so that the Sisters don’t get to them, so that they can have normal lives.”

“Don’t you fucking put that on me Cal, I know what is at risk. I know that you are the only stars forsaken Jedi in this Maker damned galaxy who can help those children, but what use are you to them if you’re dead?!” Lightsabers rattling over your head, trapping the living amongst the dea--

“It doesn’t matt--”

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!” You’re screaming, you know that you shouldn’t be screaming when he’s lying there injured and possibly dying, when you know that his heart is pure in intention, but why can’t he see how much you need him to be okay. Your fists are clenched, waving in the air above him and its only when his eyes widen and he puts his hands up defensively that you realize you had picked up the hypodermic needle.

Your eyes meet his and your body trembles, whether from rage or fear you can’t tell. Carefully, moving millimeter by millimeter, you lower your hand and drop the needle. It makes no sound as it hits the ground, which is remarkable considering how effectively it had silenced the situation.

“I--” Your voice cracks and in any other situation you would be embarrassed. But you clear your throat roughly, “I can’t lose you. I won’t let you go off and get yourself killed. You need to let your body heal, because you can keep going, keep pushing yourself to the limit and I have no doubt that you are strong enough to, but your body is going to fail you one day, and it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t just yet so please listen to me, I’ve never asked for you to stay before.” You’re rambling, you’re talking too much because you scraped just a little too close to the surface with that first sentence. “Please Cal, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go out there like this and yo--”

You’re cut off by Cal’s body contacting your firmly, arms curling around your body as he hugs you tight to his chest. And all of your worries and problems that you were ranting about seconds earlier fade away because his bare chest is right against the skin of your cheek and he’s so warm and smells so good and you’ve forgotten why you were--

“Breath. It’s okay.” He demonstrates with several deep breaths, chest rising and falling against your cheek. You hear the whoosh of air in his lungs, and you shakily try to imitate. You fail the first two times, your pounding heart and surging adrenaline forcing your breaths to come shallow and fast. But he stays close to you, radiating comfort and calm that soaks into you and gradually slows you down.

“You’re still not going out there on that leg.”

Cal shushes you, “I know. I need you to calm down before we get to Kashyyyk. I’m not going to leave until I know you’re okay, and those children still need saving.”

Annoyance sparks through you, “I told you not to put that on me.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. That was a cheap shot.” You wriggle to try and get out of his grip, but he only tightens his arms around you. “Stop fighting me.”

“Only if you stop fighting me.” Still, he’s too strong and you can’t deny that you’re exactly where you want to be.

“Oh I intend to. But I can’t stay forever. How long do you need me to rest?” His chin rests on the top of your head.

You hum thoughtfully, snuggling closer with your fingers drumming gently on his skin, “Bacta treatments optimize after five hours of immersion in the tissue.”

“I’ll give you two hours.”

“Three.” You counter. “I can accelerate the healing if you give me three hours.”

He hums deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin, “Deal.”

You stay like that for a few more minutes, peacefully breathing the filtered Mantis air that smells like antibiotic burn cream and metal. When you open your eyes, your gaze lands on the lightsaber, which has rolled into a corner since the hit and run on Ordo Eris.

“Cal.” Your voice is raspy from the lump in your throat. “The lightsaber.”

He hums, calling the handle to his hand with the Force, “Yeah. Should keep it safe.” He clips it to his belt with one hand, the other still crooked firmly to cradle you.

“Where did you get it?”

He pauses for a fraction of a second, then his arm returns to stroke the back of your head, “It was Master Tapal’s. The Purge. It’s all that I have left from before.”

“Your Master. Was he a Lasat?”

Cal chuckles, “Most intimidating one that I’ve ever met. Wisest one too, but he had a leg up on the competition, being a Jedi Master.” He pulls away slightly to catch your gaze. “How did you know that he was a Lasat?”

You hum, burrowing back into his chest, “I’ll explain later.” For now, the world would hold together.

Cal Taglist: @marvelassassin221b, @my-awakened-ghost

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #angst #fluff #jedi fallen order #my boyyy #who lacks any and all sense of self preservation

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 4 years ago

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General Hux x Female Reader/Kylo Ren x Female Reader

A/N: I have been in a world of writers block and my brain decided nothing I’ve been writing is any good 😬 but I’m hoping I’m over that now. I better be.

Warnings: mention of interrogation, RC is bound, some gore mention, imprisonment and a brief mention not many people would get unless they’ve read Bloodline or done some research into Leia.

Word Count: 4489

Masterlist

Read Chapter 18 here on AO3.

The white rushing lights did nothing to calm you, the pilot wouldn’t speak and you had no idea where you were going. Removing the helmet and dumping it at your feet, you sobbed silently, replaying the look on your husband's face over and over again. The way he stumbled, falling to the floor his eyes wide as the enormity of what he’d done came crashing down on him.

On one hand you wanted him to suffer, to feel the heartbreak of your loss and on the other you wanted to reassure him. But there had been no time, you had no idea Kylo was going to save you. He risked everything to send you to the ends of the Galaxy, to get you away from your sentence but you didn’t understand why? He just condoned the use of a new weapon on your home planet, in front of you taking and destroying everything you’d ever loved. To replace it with your freedom?

But you were alive, the shock of it numbed you knowing that you shouldn’t be here, you should be in the trash compactor instead of that poor trooper. You finally cried yourself into exhaustion dozing off in your seat but you had no idea for how long before the ship dropped out of hyperspace, jolting you back awake.

You could see a lush planet, the TIE glided into the atmosphere, all you could see were trees, massive trunks and wide leaves spanning the distance below you, but no buildings.

Proximity alarms exploded all round you, shattering the quiet and making your heart almost leap out of your chest. The gun controls lit up and you hesitantly put your hands on them, you had no idea how they worked or what you were even shooting at. You were terrified, the screaming whine of the alarms split your mind in two and you desperately wished you were anywhere else. The ship jolted, dragging a soft scream from your constricted chest and you gripped onto your seat as the TIE began to spin. You closed your eyes not wanting to see the flash of blue and green as the whole ship spiralled towards its doom, wishing this ride would end soon or you were going to be sick.

Panic wound its way through your body making you hold your breath in the hope the pilot would regain control of the ship. Another blast made the control panel in your face explode and you screamed in pure fear, trying to shield yourself from the sparks and heat that threatened to burn you.

The TIE crashed, ploughing into the soft ground and gauging the earth as it carved a path through the large trees until finally rolling to a stop. The chassis ticked loudly, the durasteel cooling after the intense heat it had endured, the viewport had shattered over you, earth and flora had made its way into the cockpit and you tried to turn and check on the pilot but the harness trapped you. Fighting against your straps you began to sweat, the humidity of the planet creeping up on you in the clumsy trooper armour, it was almost too much but you knew you had to get out as the heat increased. The sound of flames licking their way towards you made you renew your efforts to escape, finally releasing the catch on your harness you managed to start climbing out. A hand grabbed the collar of your armour, hauling you with strength and throwing you onto the spongy ground. You coughed, struggling to catch a breath, squinting against the bright light as it filtered through the green leaves. The TIE exploded behind your saviour, making him a silhouette against the flames, his outfit ruffling in the heated breeze that rushed over you both. The barrel of the blaster rested on your breastplate and you cried out in fear.

“Don’t shoot!!” You managed to choke out.

“Why shouldn’t I?” You’d heard that voice before. It would forever be ingrained in your memory.

“Because you’re Commander Poe Dameron.”

A noise dragged his attention behind him, the pilot had managed to free himself from the wreckage before it exploded and was stumbling through the undergrowth. Poe moved to aim with his blaster.

“No wait!” You shouted. The pilot was severely injured, half his helmet had been blown away revealing burned skin and a bloodshot gaze, he was holding his arm and it could have been broken or dislocated. His red eye fixed on you.

“Did we reach our coordinates?” He rasped. You didn’t want to answer, you knew what was coming.

“Hey pal, you look pretty banged up there. How about you put your blaster down and we can get you some help?” Poe called out, his brow furrowed with deep lines.

“Did we…?” He coughed, his body shaking from the effort.

“Yes!” You sobbed loudly and watched with horror as the pilot reached for his blaster.

“Buddy! That’s not a good idea!” Shouted Poe raising his arm but he wasn’t quick enough, the pilot pulled his blaster free and shot himself. You screamed loudly, knowing that image was going to be stuck in your mind for a long time. Your body went limp, letting Poe drag you roughly, hauling you away from the death and destruction that seemed to follow you. Is this what the Galaxy was like? All death and endings? This war was ripping the very fabric of everything, so many lives lost and you blamed the Resistance. Your hurt had stemmed from their actions, their disregard for anything except themselves and their need to stop the Galaxy falling under the rule of the First Order. Your thoughts faded away as your mind tried to close itself off, you were in enemy hands now and Kylo had put you here.

You turned to see the door open and Commander Dameron strode in, he was looking at a datapad and holding a piece of bread that he was chewing on. His foot kicked the door and it closed behind him with a loud hiss. He settled himself opposite you, still not acknowledging you even when you moved, making your shackles clank loudly against the chair. You waited expectantly for him to say something, instead he took a large bite of the bread tutting when the crumbs littered his shirt. You watched in disbelief as he brushed himself down before picking up the datapad again, the screen reflecting in his eyes.

“Are these really necessary?” You asked, wincing at the loudness of your voice and noise of the chain links as they fed through the chair.

“Yep.”

“Oh, you do speak then.” To your annoyance he shrugged and flicked through the pad some more. “Are you going to interrogate me?” When he refused to answer you sat back and crossed your arms with a sigh. You should have known he was going to be insufferable from the gleeful tone and glint in his eye you’d seen previously. That holo-image from the datastick will forever be imprinted in your memory and it made you dislike him intensely. You watched as he shoved the last bit of bread in his mouth, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in your stomach not remembering the last time you ate or drank anything. You thought back to your last meal, the prisoner rations weren’t exactly mouthwatering, but you’d eat some right now.

Your expression fell as you recalled the way Armitage had sagged against the wall, his expression one of shock and your heart pounded wildly. You had nearly broken the cover that Kylo had gone to great lengths to provide, the need to rush to Hux had been overpowering even though he had just uttered those devastating words in your cell, telling you your life was about to end. You had convinced yourself he had no choice, he had been backed into a corner as much as you had, forced to make these decisions he shouldn’t have been making. You frowned again at the noise of the chains when you went to blot your eyes, the noise alerting Poe to your change of emotion and he studied you with interest.

“Are you hungry?” You looked at your hands in your lap not wanting to let him know you were absolutely starving but also not sure how much longer you could keep yourself upright if you didn’t eat. “I’ll get you something.” It wasn’t until he disappeared that you realised he’d left his datapad on the table. You sat up slightly, seeing there were no cameras, no two way mirrors, no droids, nothing to say anyone was watching you. The chains clinked when you reached for it, your fingertips brushing the corner but not even enough to move it, a growl of frustration left you and you tried again. The pain of the chains cutting into your wrist did nothing to dissuade you, but the sound of the door reopening made you slump back in your seat.

“Ten out of ten for effort.” He stated calmly, sliding a tray of bread, fruit and water in front of you.

You grimaced to yourself, shaking your head.

“That was a test.”

“If you like,” he replied nonchalantly. You looked at the food, your mouth watering and your stomach heaved at the sight of it wanting you to eat it but your pride made you not reach for it. Poe wasn’t watching you, his gaze once more looking at the datapad with curiosity and you found yourself wondering what he was looking at. Information on you? Reports on the destruction of Arkanis? Maybe they had a whole file on you and Hux and he was flicking through your wedding holographs. Did you even have holographs? You honestly couldn’t remember. You frowned as you realised they hadn’t even asked your name, after the incident with the pilot you had been dragged back here and that was it.

“Why am I still alive?” You blurted out.

“I do the questions around here,” he mumbled. His brow dragged down at something on the screen and he huffed with annoyance.

“Maybe you should try asking me some?” No response. You fidgeted, hating the way he was making you feel. Awareness prickled down your arms knowing this must be a Resistance approved technique for interrogation and you hated it. You felt exposed, vulnerable, completely at this man’s mercy as he paid you no mind and yet, you felt yourself wanting to get his attention.

“What?” You jumped at his loud exclamation of surprise, dread pooling in your belly, what he was looking at was clearly not good news. “You’re such a cheat Finn!” He snarled, slamming the pad down and rubbing his face. You watched the curls bounce back to his forehead after his fingers had left them trying to figure out what was happening. “Are you going to eat that?” He asked, dragging your attention back to the food. ”Fresh food doesn’t come to us often. Don’t waste it.”

“What did you do? Steal it from a First Order supply ship?” You were trying to be sarcastic, but the look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. “Oh, of course. It’s what you people do.” He cocked an eyebrow and rested his chin on his upturned hand, finally paying you the attention you seemed to want.

“You people?” He inquired. You shook your head, suddenly wishing he would stop staring at you with those rich brown eyes. “You should eat.” He stated forcefully and you found yourself complying. Your bound hand reached for the bread, taking a chunk off and carefully putting it into your mouth. You tried to hold back the tears at the taste, it was glorious, so fresh and soft it reminded you of eating in Armitage’s quarters, sharing food on the Finalizer…you looked up at the ceiling trying to stem the flow of more tears knowing that you were now being watched closely. “You ok?” Poe asked softly.

“Oh sure. I’m perfect,” gripping the bread tightly you ground your teeth together in an effort to contain what was bubbling up inside you but it was useless. “I was sentenced to death, my homeworld was blown up, my husband…my husband…” you swallowed. Trying to force the emotion away but it just came back up your throat with more force. “That poor pilot didn’t even know what hit him!” You sobbed, remembering that awful scene that no doubt was laying forgotten on the jungle floor. “And Kylo risked everything to get me out, Armitage’s face…oh Armitage!” The sobs were heavy on your chest, forcing their way out between your words. “And now I’m here, with you.” You finished with venom. Poe looked at you with a stony expression clearly not wanting to stop your flow of words. “You! You started this whole thing! Placing that datastick in my chest I had no idea what it was? How dare you! I didn’t do this! I am no spy! My allegiance is to the First Order!” You were shouting, your bound hands pointing aggressively at him across the table as your face twisted with hatred. “I will not answer your stupid non questions, I won’t play this game.”

“That’s ok,” he said calmly, picking up the datapad and smirking. “You already gave me most of what I wanted.”

“I hate you!” You screamed loudly, ripping your throat as he sauntered past you. “Let me out! Just kill me! Don’t leave me here alone!” Fresh sobs spilled over and the chains settled loudly as you slumped in your seat. A fit of rage made you swipe the tray off the table with a loud cry, the cup bouncing loudly and spilling its contents, the bread was thrown with force and it exploded against the far wall. You screamed again, pulling heavily on your chains until your body decided that was enough. “Please don’t leave me here alone,” you whispered.

You had no idea how long you were imprisoned for, but everyday Poe would come and sit in your small room. You lay on the bed, your back to him every time, refusing to speak or move and yet whenever he left, the door hissing closed behind him you found yourself turning, wishing he’d come back. When you were alone the feelings that filled you were the worst, the hatred at yourself, the loss of your planet, the grief at the end of your marriage. You had searched your room for anything sharp to end your suffering, to quiet the thoughts that shouted loudly into the silence of your mind but there was nothing.

You had fallen asleep in the corner of your room, probably sobbed yourself to sleep like you normally did but you didn’t have time to crawl into your bed before Poe was entering your makeshift prison. He paused, seeing you in a different position had thrown him slightly even though he covered the surprise well.

“Is the bed not good enough anymore?” He asked with a hint of amusement, placing your usual tray of food down but you already felt the barriers slipping back into place and you refused to acknowledge he’d said anything at all. Your gaze grew fuzzy and your eyes lost focus, mentally drawing yourself inwards so you wouldn’t have to deal with his chatter or hesitant questions. You heard him sigh as he sat down in his usual seat. “You can’t ignore me forever.” I can. “Would you like to play a game?” No. “There’s a version of Sabacc I can access, you can help me against Finn and Rey. I swear they cheat.”

Rey.

That name made you stir from your reverie.

Rey.

That jedi, the one who had scarred Kylo, killed Snoke, helped destroy Starkiller, obliterated the First Order fleet.

That Rey.

“Rey.” Poe paused when you spat her name. “I hope she knows the…trouble she caused us.” It was the most you’d spoken since that stint in the interrogation room, your voice was raspy from disuse and you found yourself getting up for the water. You were lost in memories that all blended together, the voices and sounds trickling through your mind but the finer details were smudged. Poe’s mouth was open, no longer containing the surprise he felt at the change in you.

“You caused us trouble too,” he countered and you looked up to give him a scathing glance. “Anyway, I have someone who wants to meet you.”

“Is it Rey? Because I might scratch her eyes out,” you spat. “Don’t forget my chains,” you snapped sarcastically, holding up your hands up waving them slightly. He moved, gathering his datapad and leather jacket.

“It’s not Rey. I’ll be back later.” He said in a rush before leaving the room. You grabbed the bread, chewing it quickly knowing that you were going to need your strength. The only other person who would want to talk to you would be someone you’d never met in person before but someone you knew. Yes, you’d like to talk to her.

You paced in your small space until you were exhausted, your body not used to the increased movement meant you tired quickly and you found yourself eating everything on the tray before Poe returned.

The hours all bled into one another until he entered with another tray and you grabbed it off him, eating whatever hot food this was not caring at the bland taste. You eyed him when he leaned his arms on the back of the chair, facing you. His leg spread either side of the chair in a relaxed position as he leaned forward. You took him in, really studied him like you were seeing him for the first time. He was well built, tanned, his curls an unruly mess on top of his head. He wore a white shirt, the collar upturned and the buttons undone allowing a glimpse at his chest, his leather trousers were tight and tucked into his boots. A blaster was strapped to his thigh, the holster sat low on his hips, his knee jigged slightly and you sighed between mouthfuls.

“Got something to say, Dameron?”

“Well I was appreciating you seem to have your appetite back and didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Just spit it out.” He spread his hands.

“Well, she would like to talk to you today if you’re up for it.” You put your fork down and took a sip of water as you thought over what he’d said. Clearing your throat slightly before pushing your now empty tray away.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said, holding out your wrists ready to be cuffed.

“You promise to behave?” He asked dryly.

“I’m sure if I misbehave I’ll get shot,” you retorted. He approached, wrapping the cuffs around your wrists and checking they weren’t too tight before clipping them shut.

“We’re not the First Order,” he replied softly. “You could have a place here.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you mumbled.

“I’m sure you’ll feel differently soon enough.” You followed him obediently, his hand firmly gripping your cuffs as he led you out of the room and you got to see the base properly for the first time.

It wasn’t what you expected at all, a CR90 Corvette class ship was settled in a huge cave, providing a sheltered hideout for the Resistance. Large power lines were fed from the ship to consoles that dotted the clear space near the grounded ship. As you looked curiously around you could see makeshift beds, all placed haphazardly along the vast cave wall, sectioned off to offer some sort of privacy. Some had workbenches and storage crates with the small beds and it hit you that this was all the Resistance had. Then why could you not defeat them?

They had been beaten down, the New Republic was gone so they lost their backing and the main bulk of their fleet, half of the Resistance had been wiped out at the Battle of Crait and yet here they were. Surviving like the bottom feeders of the Galaxy they were. It astounded you, maybe even awed you that they were still having some sort of sway in this war. Your lip curled as you followed Poe over the uneven ground, how could these people offer the Galaxy something better than the First Order? Surely they couldn’t, they could barely feed themselves resorting to stealing and sneaky tactics, how could they offer the Galaxy stability and equal standing?

You were led aboard the Corvette, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed you from the cavern. If Kylo refused to end the Resistance then you would try and open eyes this side of the battle. All you knew was the Galaxy was ripping apart and it was time to stop.

You let Poe manoeuvre you into a chair, the room was white and pristine containing two chairs and a table, he took your bindings off and you rubbed your wrists out of habit. The door opened behind you but you kept your eyes trained on the surface of the table not wanting to look upon the woman who had entered the room. You heard her dismiss Poe before settling in the vacant chair opposite you, the silence that followed was mutual, her dark eyes studied you as she leaned on the table, her hands clasped together. You let her scrutinise you, did she know?

“Are you just going to sit there Princess?” You asked softly, breaking the silence. Her posture straightened giving you the reaction you desired.

“It’s been a while since anyone used my royal title, I go by General now,” her voice was calm and steady when she spoke.

“I apologise it’s force of habit,” you confessed softly, now letting your eyes rise to settle on her. She looked tired, her face lined, her dark hair greying in its delicate Alderaan style. Her eyes were dark and familiar, but softer in their appearance than what you were used to looking at and realisation trickled gently down your spine. “I know who you are, Princess Organa but do you know who I am?”

“Lady Hux, married to General Armitage Hux of the First Order.”

“He got promoted to Grand Marshal…” you corrected her with a frown.

“And demoted back to General, albeit recently.” The news shocked you, making you realise that Kylo had indeed taken everything from you both.

“He promoted Pryde,” you whispered, noting Leia bowed her head in acknowledgment. You sneered in disgust, your heart pounding at the idea of Armitage having to answer to such a foul man. A man who was capable of terrible things with his bare hands. You tried to bring yourself back to your situation, you couldn’t help Hux now, only yourself. “Kylo knows where you are,” you stated.

“He has other battles to fight at the moment,” she commented like the news didn’t shock her.

“With your Jedi,” you spat. Leia’s dark eyes pierced you, her posture never faltering for a moment.

“I feel you don’t like me very much,” she observed and you wished you didn’t have to spell it out for her. You sucked in a breath, it was slightly exhilarating knowing something the great leader of the Resistance did not.

“Our families have history, but you probably paid no heed to the ripples your actions would have caused.”

“I am well aware of…”

“Are you?” You demanded cutting her words short. “My aunt was Carise Sindian.” You took a moment to enjoy the micro expressions that flew across Leia’s face, the realisation as she worked out the finer details of your statement. “You stripped her of her royal standing and so her family was ostracised, I was lucky to land the husband I did but, his father did know my father. Favour for a favour,” you looked back down at your hands. In your mind's eye you replayed the moment Arkanis was destroyed, the red light forever tormenting your nightmares. “None of that matters now,” you said softly.

“You are still a part of Arkanis. The part that lives.”

“I don’t want to be all that’s left.” This wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to go, you came into this with confidence but here you were fighting back tears, the thought of Arkanis was still raw and painful, a loss you were sure you’d never recover from. Leia leaned forward like she wanted to reach for you in comfort.

“I was there, watching when Alderaan was destroyed. I know the strength of the hurt you feel.”

“That is where our similarities end, Your Highness.” She withdrew, a blank mask falling across her face. “Do you think you can do it?” You asked, trying to distract yourself.

“Do what?” You smirked hoping it would cover the shine of tears in your eyes.

“Win. I saw your setup out there, hoping a few criminals and relics of the old days are enough to go against the might of the First Order.” She regarded you with a firm look as though you were a petulant child and it aggravated you.

”We are doing our best,” she replied.

“And what happens when you win? If you blow the First Order from the Galaxy what happens next?” You leaned forward, catching a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes. You took her silence as her answer and continued. “So you don’t have a plan? The First Order has a plan, to offer aid, to control the crime and chaos that spreads across the Galaxy. To stop children starving in the streets, can you offer the Galaxy that, Leia?” Now she leaned forward an almost triumphant look on her face when she replied.

“What do these people get in return for such selfless acts? Military occupation. Enlisted into mining camps, the children pulled off the streets away from families to become stormtroopers…”

“Troopers with full bellies!” You shot back and she shook her head.

“How can you be so blind?” She snapped.

“I am not the one who’s blind! You refuse to see that the First Order wishes to bring equality to the Galaxy. Killing the rotten bureaucracy and petty politics!”

“They seek control! And with control comes corruption!” She almost shouted. “I have seen what power does to people. The Empire made the same promises that the First Order are and Palpatine didn’t follow through on any of them! He ruled with an iron fist taking more lives than he saved…” you stood. Rage at her words making you go against your better judgement.

“Kylo is not Palpatine!” You shouted, slamming your hand onto the table. Leia sat back slowly, an unreadable expression on her face.

“How can you be so sure?” She asked quietly, her eyes boring into yours in almost a challenge as though she had already made up her mind about the Supreme Leader.

“Because he saved me.”

#general hux x female reader #general hux x reader #Star Wars #echoes of the heart #armitage hux x female reader #armitage hux x you #general hux fanfiction #kylo ren x female reader #leia organa #poe dameron #general hux x you #armitage hux x reader #my writing #mylifeisactuallyamess #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

Text

Family Dinner - Dyn Jarren (The Mandalorian)

You’re working the late shift at the cantina when you saw the oddest thing. When was the last time that anyone had seen a Mandalorian on your planet? When was the last time that anyone saw a Mandalorian with a baby?

AN: based on two requests I got about The Child and Mando bonding.

It started whimpering. He heard it first in the cockpit, the moment he activated hyperspace. When he looked over to the cradle, the Child’s little green face was screwed up in a face of total discomfort. First, he thought that it was the pressure and the speed of hyperspace travel. He walker the cradle back into the haul of the ship so it could rest easy.

The moment he sat back down in the pilot’s chair, he heard a whining cry from behind him. He turned and saw the Child waddling towards him, small, three-fingered hands outstretched. The little creature was reaching out for him, with big eyes full of pain. He felt his face warm from inside his mask and he reached a hand down towards the Child.

“What is it?” The Child grabbed his hand with its own. The little pointed nails of its fingers dug into the glove. “What are you doing?”

The Child cooed in response and pulled one of the gloved fingers into its mouth. Before he could pull his hand away from the small creature, it bit down hard. Whatever teeth it had were strong and he pulled his hand away in a flash. The Child whimpered again, staring up with wide eyes that twinkled under the lights of the cockpit.

“Hungry?”

The Child whimpered loudly, even waved its hands up in the air as if stress its hunger. He sighed and turned back towards the ship’s display. Another whimper and he pulled the cruiser out of hyperspace. Once they had a stable position, the Mandalorian punched in the coordinates for the nearest planet.

“I hope you like cantina food,” he sighed. He glanced back and saw that the Child had perched itself in one of the crew chairs. He got out of his seat and pulled the fastening strap along the green creature’s body. “We’ll be there soon.”

You ran the washcloth over the glass until it was sparkling. Well, as much as an aged, slightly cracked cantina glass could sparkle. You set the cup on the counter behind the bar and leaned back. The bottom of your spine dug into the countertop and you looked out over the cantina. Music was swirling through the air, although it was barely audible above the chatter.

“Another,” the Ishi Tib at the end of the bar snapped. You snuck a glance at his drink so you could replicate the order and turned around. As you worked, you heard the hiss of the cantina doors open and shut. The din of conversation died out and you fought the urge to turn around. Moons of working a bartender had taught you to remain collected.

When you turned around, you saw the source of shock. The Mandalorian’s armor shone like a newly born star as he stalked over to the bar. It took all you had to tear your eyes from the sight of him and give the Ishi Tib his drink. Although, he too was enraptured by the newcomer’s eerily silent arrival. Finally, you let your eyes trace the path the Mandalorian had taken, only to find him seated at the bar, slightly hunched over.

“Can I get you anything?” You asked the man, at least, you thought it was a man. Under a mangled cloak, there were broad shoulders and a coldness that felt overwhelmingly male. Even at your kind question, the person, the man under the helmet merely looked up at you in silence. You blinked in waiting for a reply that never came.

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” the bartender said softly. He watched as the worker was called over to another bar patron. Something about you made him feel...secure. Your smile was the soft, almost careful upturning of lips that if he had blinked, he would have missed. Had it not been for the little claws digging into the side of his thigh, he would have ordered something. The Child let out a whimper and the Mandalorian shifted in his seat.

“Wait.”

“What?”

The Mandalorian looked up and saw you. Your features were pointed towards him, your complete focus on his mask. For a moment, his mind went blank; as if under some spell meant to dull his senses. If it weren’t for the slight cry of the Child, he would have stayed silent.

“Was that you?”

“My stomach,” he said quickly. Too quickly to be a smooth cover. You raised your brow at the Mandalorian and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Okay then, what do you want?”

Karabast...he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He glanced down to the left and saw the big twinkling eyes of the Child glinting in the shadow of his cloak. What does it eat? Another whimper passed over its lips and its little green face screwed up with hunger pangs.

“You must be hungry.” You almost said it teasingly but knew better than to make fun of a Mandalorian. Stories of the strongest warriors, dressed in steel forged by the heat or Mandalore’s core swirled about your head. The last thing you needed in the cantina was an angry soldier reaching for his blaster.

“Scrimpi and stewed yot beans,” he said cooly. He hoped that the limited variety of cantina food would be enough. You only nodded and headed away, lost in the kitchen adjoining the bar. He watched you go until he felt a poking in the cloth material on his side.

Carefully, as to not reveal him too much, the Mandalorian pulled the edge of his cloak aside. The green face the Child greeted him with an almost comically small scowl. Behind his helmet, he bit back a smile. The sight was almost too much to keep from chuckling.

“What’s wit da Mando?” You took the steaming plate from the Artiodac chef. His bulbous, white eyes blinked. One focused on you, the other peering out into the main cantina.

“I don’t know,” you chimed and started towards where the armored figure sat.

“Don’t trust ‘em, ya know,” the Artiodac, Miltard, continued, not seeming to care that you were walking away. “Cold-blooded killers, dey are.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you called back.

You heard Miltard continue ranting but the dish of Scrimpi was beginning to burn your palm. Quickly, you ferried the meal over to the Mandalorian who, just as you left him, was hunched over the bar. How could it be that a helmeted man could look so anxious? What could a ‘cold-blooded killer’ be anxious about?

“Here you are,” you drawled as you set the platter in front of him. “Four credits.”

You held out your hand, waiting for the payment and the Mandalorian shifted in his seat. As he pulled the clacking pieces from his pocket, you got lost in a startling realization. He would have to take his helmet off to eat. You could see his face; the face of the warriors you had heard tales of as a child. A strange sort of glee tickled your chest as the credits fell into your palm.

“Enjoy,” you added, a comment you only meant some of the time. Most of the cantina patrons were not like the Mandalorian. You imagined that there weren’t many people like the Mandalorian in the galaxy; at least any people left. You had heard the rumors about the infighting and raging rebellions on Mandalore. A whole planet of people like him…

You shook your head and went back to cleaning dirty dishes. After every cup cleaned, you would sneak a glance at the Mandalorian. He still hadn’t touched the steaming food before him and his helmet was still on. You frowned at the sight and went back to the mess. When you checked again, you noticed a hunk of meat missing from the platter; but his helmet was still on.

Slightly annoyed, you turned your bank on the sink and leaned against the counter. You were openly watching him now. His helmet’s visor remained trained on the food on the bar before him until he reached a hand up to the tray. Then, when he scooped a small bite of food, he looked up and scanned around the cantina. You quickly let your gaze dart away when he looked in your direction. When you felt the coldness of his gaze flee, you looked back.

He held the spoon near his lap and, for a moment, you thought he was pouring the food into some nutrient pack. However, a small, three-fingered hand reached out in all of its little green glory and grabbed the spoon. Whatever creature that was bundled in the Mandalorian’s cloak, it was tiny and green.

You spent the rest of the night watching one of the most infamous warrior races in the galaxy slowly and carefully feeding the little beast living in its armor.

Spoonful by tiny spoonful, the plate full of food began to disappear. As their meal dwindled down to the last few bites, you wandered back to the kitchen. Miltard looked up to you, clouded eyes squinted.

“That Mando still dere?”

“Yeah,” you said in a breath, “he is...do we have any bread portions?”

“Ye, why you askin’?”

“Hungry,” you said cooly, crossing your arms over your chest. Miltard’s already pointed gaze narrowed further. “You can take it out of my credits.”

Miltard grumbled something under his breath and he reached up on one of the many clutter shelves in the kitchen. His mishappened hands held out four portions to you. Portions were normally given to slaves, but in these early days of the New Republic, there were no slaves to feed. Now, portions were a means to an end when it came to easy meals. They were virtually tasteless but filling for long stints of travel.

“There ya go,” Miltard said gruffly. You dipped your head at him and turned back towards the bar. You scanned over the dwindling patrons sat at the counter only to find the Mandalorian, and his hidden companion were nowhere in sight.

Without thinking or caring about the Mon Calamari asking for a refill, you rushed out the cantina doors. You snapped your head to the left and then the right. To the right, you saw the tattered fabric of a cloak filtering in the wind. You darted over and into the alley. Only, when you turned, you greeted with a dead-end; an empty dead end.

You let out a huff and frowned. It never failed. The day someone exciting, someone mysterious comes into your place of work, you miss the taste of adventure. With a sigh, you turned on your heels and nearly hit your face against a plate of metal.

“Why are you following me?”

The voice of the Mandalorian was cold, but you weren’t sure if it was the mask’s voice scrambler or the true tone of his words. Somehow, you mustered enough courage to speak.

“You mean ‘us’?” The Mandalorian cocked his head to the side and you frowned.

“You’re not so slick.”

“What are you-” You raised your hands and showed him the portions. He stopped talking and you felt the confusion seep out from under his helmet. You hoped that he was good at whatever he did, whether it was smuggling or bounty hunting because he sure was not good at reading human kindness. Slowly, you offered the portions to him.

“For the little friend in your cloak.”

He does not move or reach for the food you held out to him. The hesitation made you smile a bit. He was looking out for the creature’s safety.

“I won’t tell anyone. Just be careful next time you get dinner.” The Mandalorian took a threatening step towards you and you felt your courage waver. You would have tried to run if it weren’t for a small gurgle that cut through the tension. You let your eyes wander to the Mandalorian’s cloak and saw a little green hand reaching towards the portions.

The Mandalorian sighed and took the portions from your hand.

“Not a soul,” he said as he pressed the portion packs in the palm of the green hand. The portions disappeared behind the cloak and you swore that you caught the sight of two, large shining eyes staring out at you. A feeling of warmth spread from your chest to your fingertips and you were overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude. It felt like you had seen an old friend or met someone very important despite not knowing the little creature’s name.

“Not a soul,” you agreed.

“Thank you. How much-”

“No need,” you interrupted. “Just...keep it safe.” The Mandalorian nodded and started to walk out of the alley. You watched him go and smiled. You had just helped someone having their own little adventure and that was enough for now. Although, you hoped you would see the Mandalorian and the little green beast again; maybe on your own adventure.

#sw #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #the Mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the child #baby yoda #pedro pascal

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maandags · 4 years ago

Note

I don’t know if it was ever confirmed, but imagine being the one to find Sokka’s Meteor Sword (that he lost in the final battle) and returning it to him.

two more days.

two more days’ walking, and you’ll get to the Capital. two more days’ walking, and your weeks-long journey will finally come to an end.

you nibble on the piece of carefully wrapped bread that you purchased in the last village you passed through. it’s a sunny day, so you found a tree casting shade to sit and rest in. beside you sits your backpack, your bedroll, and tied to your pack the dark metal sword.

it was an insane idea, at first. after scouring the battlefield -- burned, then flooded -- for survivors, or corpses, or anything salvageable at all, you found the sword sticking up from ash-covered soil like it was a thing from legend. black blade against a blackened background, it gave you chills the first time you laid eyes upon it.

a rare sword, it is. not many weapons are that well-made, and made of this particular material. you took it home, cleaned it, polished it. never really knew what to do with it, to be honest -- you’re no swordsmaster. you’re a traveller. someone who knows people and places.

but you took it with you, wrapped in cloth and bound with twine. foolish, in hindsight; it could so easily have been stolen off of you. it still could be. but you did it anyway, not even knowing what to do with it, and by some sort of miracle you were still in possession of it when you ran into a few members of the White Lotus.

well-worn travellers like yourself know a lot of people in a lot of places. you’re no official member of the White Lotus -- though you’d say the relationship you have with them is one of understanding and respect. some well-known figures rank high amongst its members. you’ve had tea with General Iroh of the Fire Nation, as well as King Bumi of Omashu, and other such figures.

but that’s none of your business, of course. you’re merely a traveller.

however, you had to admit that the small Fire Nation village of Bluevalley is not where you’d expected a White Lotus headquarters to be.

“why, hello, Y/N. how nice that our paths cross again.” the General’s eyes twinkled.

you tipped your hat in respect -- a bow without bowing -- and smile. “an honour, as always.”

“tea?”

“that only seems appropriate, doesn’t it?”

Iroh smiled. “indeed it does.”

it was a cozy yet functional headquarters, with a low table and no windows. you didn’t waste time looking around. that was not what you were there for. you were there to have tea; a traveller enjoying old friends’ hospitality.

none of the men asked you what you were doing here, and you did the same. you talked about small things; your recent discoveries regarding various flora and their applications, spiritual talk; vague enough for there to be no real substance to the conversation, yet enough to keep it going nonetheless.

but your attention was focused on Master Piandao. known master of swordfighting, teacher only to those he deems worthy. you thought he might be interested in the blade you carried.

“master Piandao.”

he slowly took a sip of tea, then looked at you. “yes, Y/N?”

“I have something I’d like you to take a look at.”

Piandao raised an eyebrow. “do you, now?”

you nodded, gingerly setting your teacup on the table and turning to retrieve your bag, which sat against the wall, next to the door. sticking out of the flap was the sword, wrapped in fabric to conceal and protect the blade. you heaved it out, walking back to the men and laying it out across the table, working to untie the knots. you watched Piandao’s face carefully as the fabric fell away, trying to gauge his reaction.

but he was not a high-ranking member of the White Lotus for nothing, and his expression revealed nothing – until his lips curled into a faint smile. “yes. I know this blade.”

it surprised you, because in reality you hadn’t expected him to know this particular sword out of every sword he must have encountered in his life. but he apparently did, and you leaned forward, interest increased tenfold. “you – you do?”

Piandao lifted it, inspected corners and balance, before gently setting it back on its fabric encasing. “yes. and I’m sure you have heard of him too.” he smiled at you, eyes twinkling. “he is part of the Avatar’s closest friends, after all.”

you stare at him blankly. “you’re not serious.”

“I can assure you I am very much serious.” he cast another look at the sword.

on the other side of the table, Iroh nodded. “Sokka is very skilled with it. however, I was under the assumption he lost it during the Battle of Sozin’s Comet.”

you shrugged. “I think he did. I just found it, cleaned it. figured I’d try to find its owner.”

Piandao looked at you, estranged. “that is very noble of you, Y/N. not many people would have done the same thing.”

you winked at him. “I’m not like most people, Master Piandao.”

he laughed softly. “that, you aren’t.”

that had been weeks ago. you’d figured you’d just make for the Fire Nation Capital, since that’s where the Avatar and his posse reside at the moment. what to do when you get there – how to actually meet Sokka, actual war hero and probably bearer of a bunch of other titles by now – was a whole other problem, but you’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

two more days, and you’ll get to the wall.

you knock back the last of your water – you’ll have to find a pond or a spring soon to fill it – and stand, swinging your pack onto your back, heaving a sigh. two more days.

the walls of the Capital are even taller than you imagined them to be. inside, you can tell city life is buzzing, people bustling around, shouts and laughter drifting through the air; they’re celebrating still, despite the defeat of Ozai and the ascension of Fire Lord Zuko being a solid two months past already. you’ve heard that the Capital has never been this alive.

“halt.” four guards at the gates, stopping people, exchanging a few words with them, then sending them on their way. you tilt up your hat, putting on your least mysterious smile.

“what is your business in the city?”

“I’m merely a traveller, sir. just passing through. my cousin has a tea shop here.” the lie flows from your lips with ease.

the guard looks you up and down, not looking entirely convinced. “anything to declare?”

“no, sir.” you’d tried to conceal the sword as best you could. now, barely the tip of the blade was sticking out of your pack, and you’d managed to cover that up pretty well with your bedroll. they’d have to go rummaging through your stuff to find it.

the guard looks you over one more time, then shrugs and steps aside. “all right. enjoy your stay.”

you smile at him. “thank you. I will.”

it takes you another day to reach the inner Capital inside the Capital. hm. here was where you’d need to either be creative, or ask to meet Sokka. how successful of an endeavor that would be, you weren’t sure of. you’ll just have to… figure something out.

okay. attempt one. you leave your pack at the cheap inn you stayed at the previous night – it stings a little, but also, there’s nothing in there you can’t get in the city. life as a traveller taught you to not get too attached to your pack or its contents. except, of course, for the sword, which you strap across your back. it’s wrapped in one more layer of dark green cloth, to better conceal its shape.

a walk around the wall tells you it is… very well guarded. there are two points of entry, both gates watched by four guards. the shift change is well coordinated, so sneaking in during it is not feasible either. and even if you did manage to slip past the guards, the gates themselves are bolted shut from the inside.

there is simply no way for you to get in.

as you’re racking your brain, wondering if you’re really going to risk getting arrested for this sword and this man you don’t know and you’re being so dumb and such an idiot – the gates open, and there he is. just stepping out of the palace grounds, like it’s no big deal. like there aren’t countless youths stood outside the gates, just waiting for him to appear, maybe smile at them, give them even the tiniest bit of his attention.

you stare at him, because the coincidence is just too hysterical. he’s giving the people around him awkward waves and even awkwarder grins, clearly having no clue what to do with himself around all this attention. he’s flanked by two guards – not surprising – and slowly makes his way across the square. you follow him with one eye, frantically scribbling a note at the same time.

you can’t just walk up to him. hi, hello, you don’t know me, but I have a sword to give you. the guards would be mad to let you approach at all; they’ve probably been trained to shield him from any human interaction that isn’t with his trusted friends – all of them just as unreachable for someone like you.

but a note… you can slip him a note. he doesn’t look like someone who would shy away from a cryptic message asking him to meet you in the park an hour after sundown. does he?

so you get up and hurry after him, eyes latched onto the blue of his clothes, tracing the lines of his body and observing the spring in his step with a crooked grin on your face. he doesn’t look like a war hero, that’s for sure.

but you often found that looks can be deceiving, and that those who might not look like much have the most to offer.

you catch up with them in a busy street – even busier, after Sokka’s arrival – and manage to sidle up to them unnoticed.

one of the guards looks around, disapproval clear in his expression. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just take the carrier. someone of your status –”

“no, no, no. the carrier – are you serious? that’s, like, Zuko levels of pretentious. I already feel super awkward with all this – uh – attention –” you roll your eyes – “I mean, not that I don’t enjoy it, but, you know –”

his voice gets drowned out by the noise of the crowd, and you shake your head, shuffling forward, waiting for an opening that’ll allow you to slip the note in his pocket. you don’t have to wait that long; it’s easy enough to pretend you trip and fall, having to grab onto Sokka’s arm to keep yourself from crashing down. the guards raise their hands, alarm sparking in their expression; but Sokka ignores them, helping you up.

“you okay?”

you nod, tucking the folded piece of paper between the folds of his clothes. “yes, thank you. I’m sorry.”

“don’t worry about it,” he says airily, with a smile that makes you understand all of a sudden why so many people are fawning over him left and right.

he frowns, opens his mouth, and you duck your head down, grateful your hat conceals most of your face. someone calls Sokka’s name. he looks up, and you use the moment of confusion to slip away into the crowd.

you’re sat on wall surrounding the parks, watching the twinkling lights spreading far into the city, waiting for him. the sword is still strapped to your back. one knee is drawn up to your chest, and you keep an eye out on the park gates.

sure enough, after a while, a figure enters the park that can only be him. you grin, waiting until he’s passed by you before you drop to the ground and clearing your throat.

he whirls around, hands moving to grab the hilt at his side – a sword. you smile. “hello.”

“do I know you?”

“no, I suppose you wouldn’t.” you tip your hat. “you don’t have to be so nervous. I’m not going to fight you.”

“I don’t know that.”

“sure. I’ll be gone before you know it, anyway.”

Sokka scowls. “why did you ask me to meet you here?”

you reach behind your back, shooting him an irritated look when his grip on his sword tightens. “relax. I just have a present for you.”

“if you try anything –”

“what, your friends will jump out from hidden corners and murder me where I stand? come on, man,” you scoff, holding the package out to him.

Sokka looks at it suspiciously for a moment before he sheaths his sword, accepts the package, starts to unwrap it. when the cloth falls away and the sword is revealed, his eyes go wide as saucers, and his knuckles go white around the hilt of the blade. he looks at you, then at the sword, back at you, back at the sword.

“this is – this is my spa – I mean – my meteor sword,” he stammers. “I – I lost this. months ago.”

“and I found it. and got it back to you.” you shift your weight, cross your arms. “Master Piandao says hello, by the way.”

Sokka is looking more and more confused. “you know Piandao?”

“something like that.”

he exhales shakily, holds the blade to his chest. “who are you?”

you smile, already planning to make your mysterious exit and never see him again – or something like that. maybe you’ll stay a bit. Sokka intrigues you.

“a traveller.”

#request #atla request #sokka x reader #YOURE WELCOME SOKKA #pure !!!! he loves his sword sm

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what-the--curtains · 4 years ago

Text

Alliance

Chapter 7 – The Redemption

(Mando x reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Caged and alone you struggle to stay alive as the empire questions you about the child. With nothing left to lose you begin planning your final escape.

Tw: Swearing, torture, blood.

Notes: whoop its been a minute, but class started back up so chapters will take a bit longer to get out! Hope y’all enjoy it❤️

Words: 3.6k

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

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You're woken by yet another electrical shock coursing through your veins. They’d upped your security after your fourth escape attempt which meant you were only removed from your cell for intermittent questioning and various invasive tests. The sporadic visits left you with a distorted sense of time leaving you completely unaware at just how long you had been on the ship, a day? A week? A few hours? Your blood being drained wasn't helping the situation. You knew they would have figured out by now that its life elongating properties were nothing more than rumour, so what the hell did they need so much for? An all-inclusive spa?

After the shock finishes coursing through you, the two troopers cuff your limp limbs and walk you over to yet another cold, white, over-fluorescent room that smelled disconcertingly like bleach. They toss you roughly into a chair and restrain your wrists, abdomen and legs with thick metal straps that were sure to leave bruises. The troopers exit the room remaining at the door. Your multiple escape attempts paired with your ability to use the force had made them wary, watching your every move like a hawk. The door closes behind the troopers leaving you alone with only the faint murmur being emitted by the various machines casing the walls. You waited wondering who would be entering through the door. Another doctor or nurse with needles and vials which would be carted away for an unknown, but likely sinister purpose, or maybe another man in a grey uniform coming to beat you into submission. You’re not sure which you’d prefer. Whoever was coming for you today was taking their sweet time really keeping you in anticipation. Just as you’re dozing off the mechanical doors slide open. The imperial guard wastes no time in shocking you awake.

“Where is the child?” he says, lowering the cattleprod and removing his gloves.

“How the hell would I know that?” you ask your body clenched. Three men in lab coats enter the room drawing blood from you and exiting as quickly as they came.

“I will keep asking until your answer changes.” He says, this guard was particularly sadistic opting to burn you along your thigh when you once again refuse to answer.

“Well then start asking different questions.” you respond, eyes were brimming with tears that you had been holding back for too long.

“Where are they?” he demands, pressing the searing rod onto the bare flesh of your arm, you remain silent as a single tear rolls down your face.

“Even if I knew I’d never tell you” you say, as he slaps you across the face, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“You will if you value your life.” He snarls, grabbing you by the hollows of your cheeks.

“Well you’ve overestimated its value to me. Besides, my life is nothing compared to his.” You say, spitting blood back in his face

“Take her back. If she doesn’t speak soon, maybe she’ll finally get her wish.” He says, pulling out a white handkerchief. You watched as the white fabric slowly stains red as it drags across his face.

“Promise?” you ask smiling sweetly exposing your blood soaked teeth. It’s the last thing you remember before blacking out.

You wake up to a familiar scene, one you had bore witness to most nights. Your feet hit against the cold white marble tracing the same path you had walked a hundred times prior. Allowing yourself to flow through the motions, bringing your hands up to protect your face for the elements, fumbling around until you see the figure. Your hand reaches out your fist closing around nothing but the crisp air. This time, you don’t wake up. You swivel around looking back and scanning your dreamscape frantically, as the wind howls louder. A hand clasps around your mouth, you try to scream, but you can’t, you try to breath, but you can’t.

You jolt upright in the poor excuse for a bed gasping for air and pawing at your throat. You relax into a steady rhythm as your lungs refill with air, racking your hands through your hair. They’re just nightmares you repeat over and over to nobody but the four walls confining you.

They weren’t just anything and you knew that, especially not this one. This, this felt like a warning. It felt like something was calling to you, something evil. Something that was trying desperately to claw its way out. You shake your head, shifting to happier thoughts. You were still alive and that meant that the child was still safe, and Anya, and Din.

You figured you’d never see them again. You weren’t upset, or at least you wouldn’t be soon, one way or another. Hey at least you’d gotten an apology from the Mandalorian before the end, or you would have if you had let him finish his sentence. You knew it had to be this way. “This is the way” you say chuckling. Even a thousand light years away he was somehow still with you. Wherever they were they weren’t coming back, they couldn’t. You were on your own, and you had to plan your next escape to the T if it was going to work.

*************************************************

“I need your help, I can pay.” Din says to the ex-soldier.

“Mando, nice to see you again, and you found the precious bounty,” she says, lifting up the small green child who is happily held by her. “What do you need me for. “

“We need to get someone. Extraction mission. They were taken protecting this womp rat.” He says affectionately rubbing the kids head.

“Who took them?”

“The empire.” He deadpans.

“No way, not enough credits in the world.” She laughs, handing the child back to the Mandalorian and making her way over to her desk.

“Please.” he begs, hoping his desperation wasn’t as evident as it sounded under the helmet.

“Do they expect you to go back?”

“I don’t even know if they're alive.”

“Must be someone pretty special for you to risk going back there with him” she says stroking the kids ear.

“ I’m not taking the kid, I’m leaving him with a friend.”

“ Lots of friends these days hey Mando? Fine, I'll help, but I get my pick of the weapons after.”

“Deal. Not the spear though. Cara. Are you listening to me” he asks as she enters into the ship, not listening.

Corvus, Outer Rim

“So who are we looking for here?” Cara asks.

“Ashoka Tano, she's a Jedi, she can watch Grogu while we get the person out” he says, unsure why he kept referring to you as a person and not by name.

“Jedi, hey? They seem drawn to you maybe you're secretly one” she laughs

“You coming?” he asks

“Nope, I'll let you escort junior here to his babysitter, assuming you can handle it alone?”

Din exits the ship, child in arm, making his way through the trees that were beginning to bloom, now that the threat of war no longer loomed over them.

“Mando, welcome back!” The governor exclaims grasping the Mandalorians arm in his

“Is Ashoka here?”

“Yes, I’ll take you to her.”

“Hello again” she says, removing her eyes from the documents spread across her desk

“I need a favour.” He states bluntly “There are only a few people I trust to care for him, one is coming with me the other is being held captive”

“So that leaves me, I’m flattered and happy to take him for a short while” she takes the child gently rocking him back and forth.

“Thank you. Be good.” he says, pointing a stern finger at Grogu “You should watch your valuables and any food you're saving” Din finishes before striding back down the hallway.

“The person who you seek” Ashoka's voice rings out, stopping him dead in his tracks. “she is powerful”

“I know, she’s like you” He turns in time to see a notable look of seriousness spread across her face.

“In more ways than one, I offer you a word of warning. She is an asset no doubt, but she has suffered, and those who have known pain are often targeted by sinister forces especially when they are powerful. They have targeted her already, they will find her and try and claim her as their own.”

“How do I stop them”

“You can’t.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“I cannot tell you anything, you can hope in time she will reveal herself to you, but do not hold your breath, it may never happen and that may be for the best. I do not tell you this to frighten you but to make you aware of the situation you are now deeply entrenched in.” The Mandalorian nods before returning the way he came.

Deep Space, unknown coordinates

“So who exactly are we getting? Whose so special they deserve a saving from you?” Cara asks, slouching down in the passenger seat.

“She saved me twice, I can’t leave her with the empire.” Realises his mistake the second he says it.

“Oh so it’s a she,” Cara says, drawing out the last word. “ You know for a guy with no face you certainly get around”

“It’s not like that” he answers, only causing her to press for more information akin to a dog with a bone.

“Oh I’m sure, so who is it this time?”

“You remember that bounty we got months back?” he says fiddling with various gadgets. “Vryssa” he adds hoping he doesn’t have to expand.

“Oh” Cara says slightly taken aback “the hot one with the bow and arrow who spat in your face?”

“That’s the one,” he says smiling under the helmet.

She lets out a low whistle “Good for you, I mean I don’t know what you look like under there but she’s gotta be out of your league.”

“It’s not like that,” he says.

“What? Am I embarrassing you?” she laughs. “Fine, I'll stop. I’m happy for you Mando, better get an invite to the wedding. Can you even get married?” Seeing she may have pushed her limits she continued “Alright, aright just joking so what’s the plan.”Leading Cara down the ladder into the mainspace of the ship a door opens revealing a single storm trooper uniform.

“I land the ship here. There's a hatch that leads into a storage closet where you, in the uniform, will drop down. The prisons are located on the third floor,and my guess she’ll be kept in maximum security, so by the end of the hall, here, on the far left. I’ll get the doors open, you get her out.”

“You don’t want to be the one to swoop in and save her?” Cara replies “Just asking,” she finishes raising her hands up in the air.

Your eyes open upon hearing the ringing of blaster shots reverberating throughout the hollow walkways. More infighting you suppose, letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes hoping to get a moment's peace before your next, and quite possibly last, interrogation. Not a moment after you hear the familiar metallic screech as your cell doors open. You sit up shifting back into the wall and bringing your knees to your chest. Only one trooper? This was your chance, you could take a single trooper in your sleep, your eyes glance back to the trooper, as you formulate your next move. Move. Why hadn’t it moved? Where was the shocker? Why was the armour slightly malfitted. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Aren’t you a little tall for a stormtrooper?” You ask, as its hands go up to the helmets side.

“Cara Dune,” you exhale, not exactly who you were expecting, but who you were to complain “nice to not be on the receiving end of your force” you say as she frees your hands and pulls you up.

“Can you walk?” you nod “Heard you’re a mean shot” she says handing you a blaster and redonning the trooper helmet. You’re following her out the door when you feel your knees go.

“Shit” Cara mutters, hooking your armpits and stopping you from eating it.

“I’m fine just give me a sec.” you say slapping your thighs to try and get the blood rolling.

“Ya you sure seem fine am I gonna have to carry you out?”

“If I said maybe would that be convincing enough for you.” she shoots you a look “I'm only partially joking, alright feeling reinstated lets go before they give out again.” You follow behind her shooting down the few troopers in your path.

You're almost to the ship when a mechanical voice stops you both.

“State your business with prisoner 26758” the droid asks.

“Prisoners 26758 is being moved for questioning” Cara says without hesitation. It looks at her then to you before turning around and continuing on its way. She exhales cutting the tension in the surrounding air. You proceed hastily through the ship ducking behind spare parts as employees walk by, until you reach a storage closet.

“Really?” you ask

“Really.” she parrots back to you opening the door as you squeeze into the closet's confined space. Once the doors closed she interlocks her fingers, boosting you up through a hatch where an unmistakable arm reaches down. You latch onto it with both hands and it pulls you up with familiar ease. With your feet back on solid ground you finally look up into the dark glass of the visor obscuring your saviours face.

“You came back?” you say unblinking, not wanting to break your gaze afraid this was nothing more than a fever dream.

“I said I would,” he responds, still holding your hand in his.

“There’s time for this later, let’s get a move on.” Cara, says pushing between you and the Mandalorian, causing a flushed feeling to rush over your body as you quickly drop his hand. You hobble over to the cockpits entrance where Cara had recently disappeared up into. You wince as your arms reach for the ladder, but before you can heave yourself up you feel two large hands around your waist. Din lifts you gently up to Cara who hooks her arms under yours pulling you up so your legs are dangling on the precipice.

“Where’s the kid?” you ask, as Din ascends.

“You think I’d bring him here” he says, gently helping you settle into the passenger seat. “They're safe, don't worry. Get some rest” he says “we’ll be there soon”

Corvus, Outer Rim

Cara helps you out onto the soft grass covering the planet's floor watching as a woman appears from the walls guarding a small city. She moves towards reaching her hand up causing you to flinch. She pauses for a moment before removing your hood.

“You look just like her.” She says smiling.

“Like who?” you ask.

“Your mother. I knew her back, before the temple when she... I'm sorry I couldn’t do more.” Ahsoka says allowing a silence to hang in the air as she hands Grogu back to the Mandalorian.

“It wasn’t your fault, from what my grandmother said there was no stopping him once the Sith took hold.”

“I'm sorry about your grandmother, I felt her leave not too long ago”

“Thank you” you say, taking her hands in yours.

“I have something for you” she gestures for you to follow her back into the city’s walls.

Din takes a step forward but Cara places a hand on his arm shaking her head.

“I don't think we're on the invite list for this one, c’mon i'll let you beat me in a arm wrestling match.”

“If we may speak frankly...” Ashoka starts once in her office “The item in this box is no toy, it must not fall into the wrong hands. You have been having nightmares?” She asks, turning to face you, as you nod eyes darting away from her gaze “You must be careful who you let into your head from now on. Once they’re in it's hard to get them out. They will be looking for you.”

“Who?” you ask, taking a cautious step towards her.

“They will not stop, they are dangerous, ruthless and extremely persuasive, they can turn even the best. The path you walk is unclear, foggy, there will come a time that a choice must be made, and if you do not make it yourself they will make it for you.” She runs a hand over a small wooden box lightly wiping away the gathering dust. “This belonged to your mother, I found it when I returned to the temple, she would have wanted you to have it.” Its weight takes you by surprise. Sliding the slotted lid open an unmistakable cylinder sits atop a deep blue fabric.

“A lightsaber” you whisper brows knitted in disbelief. “ I’m not, I don’t know how” you say, extending the box back out to her hoping she’d take it back.

“Your training over the years means you know how to use it.” She says placing the box down, taking out the sabers hilt and offering it back to you. You press down on the button and as you release it a faint purple light shoots out, emitting a dull buzz. Ashoka was right, you did know how to use it, all those years maneuvering around the woods with a wooden staff had paid off in the end.

“She was one of the best teachers, your grandmother. You’re a testament to that. You have a strong connection to the force and an even deeper understanding and respect for it.” You close the saber looking back over to the jedi master whose smile has faded.

“There are worse things in this galaxy than crime lords and ex troopers, something is brewing deep below, I know you’ve felt it too. This saber will protect you when you need it most. Continue your training, but keep an eye on your emotions, I do not know the relationship you share with those who came to your aid but do not let the roots grow too deep. It can have devastating consequences. To be a Jedi is to be alone” she squeezes your arm gently as your eyes finally meet hers, finding a semblance of similarity and understanding in them. Her words weigh heavy on you as you return back to the ship's entrance way where Din and Cara were wrestling. Anya spots you first and rushes over to you, you bend over scratching her ears. Grogu, noticing Anya leave, peels himself away from the fight and makes his way over to you whining loudly.

“Is no one paying you any attention?” you coo down to him and he responds with a gurgle “the nerve.” you say shaking your head causing him to giggle, as you pick him up.

“Your mother was probably teaching young Grogu here at some point.” Ashoka says loud enough to stop the all out war happening behind you.

“I don’t remember him, or her really.” You say as Grogu grabs at a loose strand of hair.

“Well he remembers you, or he thinks that you're your mother.” She reopens the wood box and you place the saber back inside, handing it to you once it's closed.

“Is that a lightsaber?” Cara asks, eyes wide, as she approaches, brushing dirt off herself. “You can pay me with that,” she says, turning back to look up at the Mandalorian who's fixated on you.

“Where will you go, now the empire is looking for you all?” Ashoka asks, noting the apparent fondness shared amongst the small motley crew.

“Hoth for now, hasn’t seen humans in a while good place to hide out with all the abandoned bases. Hopefully the camouflage technology is still in place.” Din says.

“And too cold for any reasonable people to venture to,” Cara says.

“Not exactly the retirement I had in mind.” you mutter, but at least it was better than the funeral you were planning earlier that day.

“Wasn’t sure we’d ever find you.” Cara says as the ship reaches deep space, her chair swiveling around to face you

“Glad you did.” You say looking up blinking slowly, as a yawn escapes your lips.

“Sure made our jobs harder, had to try to escape didn’t you.” She pats you lightly on the shoulder as she drops down to the lower level.

“Thought I was on my own you” you call down to her laughing.

“Not anymore” Dins' voice cuts in, causing you to scrunch up your mouth in an attempt to hide the smile that was forming.

“Thank you, for coming back, a few more days and I think there’d be no blood left in my body the way they were siphoning it.”

“Kid wouldn’t stop crying” he offers

“Well I'll be sure to thank him. Guess we're all squared up then, end of the line now the kid’s back?” you say.

“Doesn't have to be, besides you should wait until you’re healed up and we may need that saber if anyone shows up for the kid before we can get him to a Jedi.” He says realizing he’d thrown every excuse in the book for you to stay with them.

“Guess you’re right” you say, happy that the Mandalorian wanted you around, even if it was just for childcare

“Usually am” he responds, causing you to roll your eyes and shake your head, resting it back against the chair and allowing your eyes to close. As you doze off you hope when you wake you wouldn’t find yourself back in a cell.

#mando x y/n #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandolarian #the mandolorian x reader #din x y/n #din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #star wars #the mandalorian #alliance #chapter 7

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katedrakeohd · 5 years ago

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What Happens in Paris...(7)

Masterlist

Back at the train, the men and women separate to get ready for the tea party. Down in Max and Drake’s shared room, Drake is sitting on his bed watching Max do his primp and polish in front of the mirror. Impeccably dressed in his black Gucci dress shirt and trousers, Maxwell is running a comb through his neatly trimmed hair and whistling. If he wasn’t his friend, Drake could almost hate him for it. His clothing style rarely changed. His way of taking his day look into a night look usually involved the undoing of a button on his shirt, and the addition of a hair product to keep himself looking sharp when he broke out the moves on the dance floor. Drake knew though, even by day when Maxwell appeared to be calm and collected there was always a three ring circus, complete with peacocks, going on inside his head.

Drake looked down at Maxwell’s shiny black shoes, and then glanced at his own scuffed and worn looking brown ones. As much as Drake didn’t want to dress all fancy for a Royal tea party today, he knew that Kate was expected to be there. Plus he wanted to witness the look of envy on Maddy’s face when Kate walked in all dressed up and stole away attention from the future Queen. Although he usually wouldn’t give a damn how he looked when he skulked his way into events after everyone else important arrived. This time he knew Kate would be under Liam’s lustful eye, and it made his stomach ache at the thought. If he was going to escort Kate into this stupid party, even as her seemingly platonic friend, he had to make an effort to fit in for his own peace of mind. Drake cleared his throat to get Maxwell’s attention. I can’t believe I’m doing this again. Heaven help me.

“Uh, Max? About this party today… I can’t exactly show up looking like some bum off the street. Could you help me pick out something fit to wear?”

Maxwell gasped, dropping the lint roller he was using to remove fluff and hair from his trouser leg. “Really?! You’ll let me dress you up for two events in a row?”

Drake sighs, getting up from the bed and running his hands through his hair. “Well don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“It is a big deal. My grumpy best friend wants to impress a girl!”

Drake grimaced, “Tone it down will ya? Besides, you are not my best friend.”

Maxwell is unfazed by the brush off and just raises his eyebrows, nodding, “Oh right! We’re even better than that now. We’re family!”

Drake opens his mouth to protest and then closes it again. Technically Max was right, as painful as it was for him to admit. He raises his hands and gives Max an impatient head shake, “Alright! Alright! Whatever! Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Of course I will. Show me what you got.”

Drake holds his hands out to the sides to display his current denim disaster.

“No, no silly.” Maxwell drags over Drake’s suitcase and flops it onto the bed. Drake places a protective hand on top, shakes his head.

“No point in looking in there," Drake grumbles.

“Okay then, to the Royal Closet we go.”

Kate sits in front of Hana’s portable makeup mirror, while Hana runs a round brush through her hair, coaxing it into soft waves. “I love your hair Kate, it’s so soft and manageable. What shampoo do you use?”

With a shrug, Kate admires her freshly painted fingernails. “Some kind of fruity scented stuff that I bought at the drugstore. Drake forgot to grab the matching conditioner when we showered, so I hope my hair doesn't get all full of static and frizz.”

Hana meets Kate's gaze in the mirror and they both giggle. “Oh my goodness, Kate. No wonder you two were late for breakfast.”

Trying to hide her blush in the lighted mirror was impossible, “Yeah, well I did interrupt him while he was shaving this morning. And damn he looked sexy in that bathrobe.”

Hana sighed with envy as she parted Kate’s hair and swept it behind her shoulder. Kate hands her the golden, flower embellished comb from the counter. “What’s it like Kate?”

“What?”

“Having a King and his best friend both in love with you?”

"It's not as fun as you might think. They've both staked their claim on me in some way and I hate being the rope in their tug of war. The worst part is that Liam has already lost me and he doesn't know it yet."

“Poor guy, he’s going to be crushed. What does Drake have that Liam doesn't?”

“He doesn't have the weight of the kingdom sitting on his head and shoulders, nor does he have a bunch of noble ladies fighting over him. Plus he’s nobody important to the press or tabloids. I’m not as worried about being seen with him, because I know he’ll protect me.”

“He’s not worried about being pulled into the Tariq scandal with you?” Hana asks, a look of concern on her face.

Kate shrugs, “I know he doesn't regret coming to my rescue, except for maybe the punches Tariq landed on his ribs. He was very much a gentleman about the whole thing, which is a lot more than I can say for Tariq.”

“But speaking of having two guys interested at the same time, what about Neville and Rashad?”

Hana wrinkles up her nose with a frown of disgust, “They're so boring. And neither were very nice to Penelope when we first met them.”

Kate applies a pale pink lip gloss to the center of her bottom lip to enhance her lipstick, pressing her lips together and then checking the results in the mirror, “Well frankly, since finding out she participated in the smear campaign against me, Penelope isn't one of my favorite people either. But I get what you’re saying, especially with Neville. He creeps me out in the same way Tariq does. Rashad seems to be marginally better than his friend as far as character goes, having made his own way as a businessman. He’s not depending on his Father’s money like Neville.”

Hana tilts her head, considering Kate’s thoughts. “I suppose you make a good point. But still, neither are as important, charismatic, charming or handsome as the King.”

Kate smirks, “Liam's definitely a charmer. I wonder sometimes what he sees in an ordinary barmaid like me. Or what Drake does either.” Kate meets Hana's gaze in the mirror. "Am I really worth all this fuss? What's so special about me that loving one man must mean breaking the other's heart?"

"You mean besides your charisma, charm, intelligence and beauty? You're a genuinely nice person Kate, and everyone is drawn to you. The other women in the room envy you when the men all look your way."

Kate turns around to look up at Hana, seeing the admiration in her eyes. "You're all of these things and more, Hana."

Hana looks down at her shoes, shyly, "I wish. My parents have invested so much into my training, refinement and education. But they've rarely praised me for any of my achievements. Sometimes I feel like they'd throw me at any available bachelor if it would raise my status on the social ladder, especially if it got our names in the media back home."

Standing up from her seat, Kate places her hands on Hana's shoulders. "Hey now, don't beat up on yourself. You're more than just some guy's arm candy or potential wife. You need to stand up and grab the future you want for yourself. To Hell with your parents’ expectations. I bet you could excel at anything you put your mind to. You don't need a man to raise your status. Be the strong independent woman I know you can be.”

Hana smiles, “Thanks Kate. I wish I’d met you years ago. You're the type of friend I've been missing all my life.”

Kate smiles back, “You’ve been here for me too, so it's only right that I return the favor.”

Stepping back from Hana, Kate strikes a pose with one hand on her hip, raising the other in a provocative sweep of her hair to highlight her face and bare shoulders. “So what do you think of my finished look?”

Hana smiles broadly, with a clap of approval at her stylish handiwork. “You're going to be hotter than the tea, that’s for sure.”

Kate winks, “Damn straight. We are.”

Drake stands outside of Kate's train compartment, fidgeting. Dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and dark grey trousers, with his hair combed and set with some of Maxwell's styling compound; he felt like a teenager on Prom night. Drying his sweaty hand on his thigh, he's reminded of how thin the fabric feels compared to his usual denim. The way the slim fit of the pant legs hugged his thighs made him feel so exposed, almost naked, and he was starting to regret not opting for his usual jeans. But Maxwell had assured him that he looked good, and that he’d fit in just fine at the party.

He hoped he looked good enough to escort Kate. The sudden absurdity of wanting to dress up for a tea party makes him chuckle and he shakes his head. Damn it Kate, what have you done to me?

Sucking in a deep breath he knocks on Kate’s door and waits.

…

Crouching down to secure the gold strap of her shoe around her ankle, Kate hears the buzzing sound of a text message coming from inside her purse. She glances up, “I bet that’s Drake.”

Hana gets a pinging sound on her phone seconds later, “It's a group text from Liam. The cars arranged to take us to the tea party have arrived. We're to meet in the dining car to coordinate who is traveling with whom.”

Kate breathes a sigh, picking up her clutch. “Ok, off we go then.”

Drake is leaning against the wall looking at his phone when he hears the sound of voices to his right, causing him to look up. Kate and Hana are giggling as they approach hand in hand, and then they stop as Kate sees Drake and gasps. “Oh..my...God! Look at you.”

With a smirk, Drake straightens up blushing. “What..do I look that bad?”

Kate shakes her head, then appraises Drake all over again with a head tilt and a slow look from head to toe and then back up again. “Nah, ah. Hardly. You’re looking like a tasty snack.”

Drake clears his throat, raising his eyebrows. “Heh, look who's talking. If I’m a snack you're definitely dessert.”

Hana grins at them both, rolling her eyes, “Ok lovebirds, quit with the flirty food talk and making eyes at each other we’ve got a party to get to.”

Stepping aside, Drake nods. “But of course, after you Ladies.”

Taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes as Kate passes him in the hall, Drake falls into step a few paces behind them. Damn she smells nice, this party isn’t going to be torture at all.

:::

tagging: @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @mskaneko @speedyoperarascalparty @dcbbw @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @drakexwillow @kingliam2019 @kimmiedoo5 @gardeningourmet @drakesensworld @mfackenthal @thequeenchoices @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @wickedgypsymoon @griselda1121 @indiacater @texaskitten30 @nikkis1983 @lynne1993 @bobasheebaby @drakesfiance @moonlightgem7 @princessleac1 @janezillow @jlpplays1 @walker7519 @drakesensworld @furiousherringoperatortoad @samihatuli @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @rainbowsinthestorm @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @jessiembruno @msjpuddleduck @princess-andromeda-nazario @princess-geek @mom2000aggie @batgirlassociationofgothamcity @masterofbluff

#drake walker #choices #what happens in paris #drake x kate #long post

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kill-the-feels · 5 years ago

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Only if For a Night

a/n: hey y’all! while the next part Rex/Mechanic!reader is fighting me, enjoy this little piece for Captain Keeli as a late late valentine’s gift! the poor captain deserved better, and i haven’t stopped thinking about giving him a lil’ attention since i watched the episode in which he saves ryloth and lives meets his end.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: angst, suggestive content, and enough fluff to rot your teeth

Wartime romances have a way of cutting through all the bantha fodder. And yet, you still don’t know what to call this... thing... you have with the clone captain standing across from you.

Captain Keeli.

It’s distracting, though, whatever this thinks is, and you sort of hate the fact that he’s always on the bridge.

And why wouldn’t he be?

Keeli leads his men into battle along side the Jedi General, so obviously he has to know the plans.

It would just help if he weren’t watching you.

(Never mind the fact that he is watching you do your, you know, job. You’re one of the strategists and you’re good.)

You finish outlining the plan, then glance around to see if anyone has any questions.

Keeli is looking pointedly away from you, watching Master Di instead. When no one speaks up, you thank them for their time, then turn back to your datapad, marking down some ideas you thought of while speaking.

It’s your job to analyze the enemy and predict their fight patterns, and your job to come up with a plan of attack that best benefits everyone. It’s stressful at points, but you enjoy it, especially with the additional challenge of coordinating protection for civilians.

It’s how you and Keeli met.

This isn’t your first rodeo, and you two met in the midst of another battle, while you were trying to evacuate a planet and keep clones alive.

It was...memorable, to say the least.

Your job requires a level head, so getting in people’s faces and yelling isn’t in the typical way you do your job.

But no one was listening to you, and you yelled and it all turned out to be for nothing.

(You still remember how shocked you felt when he found you after the fact, letting you cry and assuring you it wasn’t your fault, that you’d tried your best. That it was what clones were meant to do. Die.

And he still remembers the conviction on your face when you swore vehemently and hissed not. on. my. watch.)

Your relationship spiraled from there, and now you consider him a good friend that also sometimes finds his way to your bed.

(Ok, finds his way there most nights.)

But at the same time, clones aren’t meant for love and officer relationships are forbidden so it’s all been on the down low.

Which is (you hope) the reason he’s avoiding your gaze.

Sure enough, when you finally manage to make it out of the briefing - everyone wants to talk contingencies - and back to your quarters, he’s casually waiting outside.

“You’re very distracting,” you remark, punching in the code to your door. He huffs out a laugh, hands coming to rest on your hips. It’s almost instinctual at this point, and it should scare you how well you’ve come know each other’s bodies.

“You thought that was distracting?” He teases, voice muffled by his helmet. The door opens and you slip inside, half tempted to close it in his face to mess with him.

“I don’t get a convenient little helmet to hide my face,” you say. There’s a blush creeping onto your cheeks. His thumbs are rubbing distracting circles that you can just barely feel through the heavy fabric of your clothes.

You let him in.

“You’d look nice in my helmet,” Keeli says, tugging it off.

Finally.

“Liar.” You waste no time; practically flying into his arms. He holds you tight against him, and you relish in the feeling.

“You think I’m distracting?” Keeli murmurs, repeating just early question. “You oughta see yourself up there in front of everyone. Cheeks flushed, determination in your eyes. Better be glad I have the helmet and amor on.”

His words send a pleasantly warm tingle all through your body, and then you’re leaning in.

You kiss, and Keeli bites your lip, coaxing a moan out of you that he’s quick to meet with his tongue. His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back, and breaking away to peppers soft bites and kisses down your neck and the top of your chest.

Keeli backs the two of you up until your legs hit the small cot you call a bed.

“You staying?” You pant, kissing his jaw and tugging at the straps on his armor.

“Do you have to ask?” Keeli returns, lifting up your own shirt.

*****

When the two of you have settled back down, a comfortable silence fills the room. Neither of you are quick to break it. Instead, you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat as he traces absent patterns on your bare shoulder.

It’s too soon to say anything that even comes close to a declaration of feelings, but being here, like this, with him, always leaves you feeling melancholy.

Wistful.

You have to keep reigning in your mind, because it’s wont to run rampant with the idea of settling down. With the idea of...love. Ideally, the war won’t last forever. Ideally, you’ll be able to act on these feelings one day.

But also, you’re not naive. You know Keeli is, above all, a soldier.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” He asks, fingers drifting down to your sides. You look up at him, cheeks slightly pink in the aftermath.

“Nothing important,” you answer. He watches you for a beat, eyes unreadable. In the distance, you hear the sounds of the ever-busy cruiser. In a matter of moments, you’ll have to separate.

But for now, you’re here, content with being held.

“Liar,” he murmurs, shifting until he can bury his nose in your hair.

“Do you ever think about what life after all this will be like?” It slips out, before you can stop it. Keeli pauses. From this position, you can’t see his face, but you feel his muscles tense.

It’s a tactless question, because, no, of course he doesn’t think about after the war. He’s meant to die in the war.

“Sometimes,” he answers finally. It’s strained, like it hurts him to admit it. You push yourself back some to look in his eyes.

“Keeli, forget I said anything,” you say. You’re eager to move past the awkward moment. “It was a stupid question. No one thinks about that stuff these days. We don’t have to talk.” He tucks an arm behind his head, expression turning thoughtful.

“You’re saying you’ve never thought about it?” His question takes you by surprise.

“You have?” you manage to stammer out.

His other arm tightens around your shoulders, fingers playing lazily with your hair.

“Maybe a little. Not in depth, really, but a little. What it would be like to settle down, have a family. Leave the war behind.” His voice is far away, and it brings an unexpected lump to your throat. You close your eyes, head coming back to a rest over his heart.

“Could you? Leave the war behind, I mean.” It’s something you’ve asked yourself a hundred times since the incident that left you crying on him.

Your job depends on war and making order of the chaos that comes from of it, but sometimes, it wears on your very soul.

And yet, it’s also your passion.

Keeli’s passion.

“I don’t know,” he admits finally. Wearily. “I don’t know.”

*****

You drift off to sleep, waking only to the alarm you’ve set to tell you to prepare to send off the forces. Keeli is already awake, strapping on armor.

You help him with the chest piece, then pull him in for a long, lingering kiss before he slips on his helmet.

“I’ll be on the bridge monitoring things,” you say, hugging him tight. You don’t say anything else. You can’t.

It’s too final.

“We’ll talk when Ryloth is secure. When I come back. Plan for the future and all that,” he whispers, cradling you in his arms. His voice is tender, and it comes close to breaking your heart.

“I’ll be waiting.”

*****

He does not come back.

The war continues on.

#clone wars #star wars #captain keeli x reader #reader insert #captain keeli #this was supposed to come out two days ago and i couldn’t get it written #so please enjoy some late fluff mixed with angst since i can’t write anything else #also he’s got red coloring so like *points* he festive

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kyber-kisses · 5 years ago

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Icebound

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: near death experience, cursing, the good old angst, semi-nudity

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Squares filled: hypothermia and Falling through ice.

A/n: So the amount of drafts I did for this was kind sad, but I eventually did it! I hope yall enjoy and please tell me what you thought! (Gif not mine)

“I told you it was a fucking spirit! Why didn’t you listen!?”

“Because I thought you were wrong, okay!?Now would you keep moving before we freeze to death!?” Deans voice muffled by the falling snow as the two of you ran at a break neck pace through the slowly worsening weather.

So. The hunt had taken a turn. What Dean originally thought was a wendigo actually turned out the be a vengeful spirit of a woman who had died on the banks of the snake river in southern Idaho. How Dean had missed that was beyond you, but at this point there was no use in arguing. There was a good chance you might freeze to death anyway.

Another shriek off in distance told you the spirit was still after you both and you let out a curse, adjusting the straps of your backpack as you ran besides Dean, the hunter holding his shoulder tightly to slow the blood flow of the gash in it. Idiot man had to go and get himself hurt. Again. “What direction was that cabin where you parked the impala?”

“If we keeping moving straight forward we should hit it. Just keep moving.” Even through the gale force winds you swore you could hear his teeth chattering- or maybe that was you. Either way you needed to find shelter quick before either of you froze to death. . . Or Dean bled out.

Your legs where burning as you continued to move through the slowly piling snow, your strength draining from you as the cold was practically seeping it out of you. This sucked. But the thing that worried you the most was Dean. He was the injured one.

“How you holding up?”

“How am I holding up? Dean, you’re the one that’s bleeding!”

“Just amuse me!”

The two of you probably should have been paying more attention to where you were because before you could register it the two of you were skidding across the surface of the frozen river you had totally blanked on. And then you were falling forward, you form sliding out of reach from Dean as he tried to stabilize himself in the surface. When you finally stopped, you planted your hands on the cold surface, insuring that you would slide farther away.

“Y/N!”

Through the slowly lightening snow fall Dean could make out your figure a few yards away. Everything in him wanting to race forward and see if you were alright, but he heeded your words, staying balanced on the thin layer of ice.

“Don’t move!”

“You alright?”

“Yeah!” If you could just stand up you would be fine. If you could do that you could slowly make your way back to Dean. And then you could go back to the motel together and form a new plan of action.

Slowly you shifted in your position, planting your feet on the unstable surface, flinching when you heard the first cracks of it giving out beneath you.

Slow. You had to move slow.

Beyond, Dean was watching in suspense as you slowly rose to your feet, his own body freezing up even more as he heard the cracks echo beneath the surface. It was like hearing thunder while being submerged under water. Nothing about it did anything to settle his nerves.

Eventually you rose to an upright position, shoulders dropping as you let out a sigh of relief , giving him a thumbs up. Step one was done. Everything was fine. Taking a deep breath, you straightened your posture and took a step in Deans direction.

Heel to toe. Heel to toe. With each step closer to him you got, Deans nervousness eased up and eventually he was reaching out his hand, ready to pull you to safety once you were within arms reach.

“Alright, you got it. Only a few more steps-“

And then it was as if the universe wanted you to fail because the ice cracked beneath and gave way. And Dean swore for a moment that it was as if the earth swallowed you up. You just. . . Disappeared. And like a switch being flicked his instincts kicked in and he was racing forward, dropping his duffel in a desperate attempt to get to you, the ice buckling beneath his feet as he vaulted forward.

The icy shock to your system knocked the breath from your lungs as the surface became a blip of light above you. Your muscles quickly becoming too weak to help get you to the surface as you sank like a stone. The pressure squeezing your head until it felt like it would burst. And eventually your eyes were rolling back as you lost consciousness.

Ignoring the pain in his arm, Dean dove forward into the Y/N sized hole in the ice, silently thanking the season for the slow currents and not pulling him off. He just had to reach you. All he had to do was reach you.

Even in the dark water he managed to latch on to your hand, praying that he still had enough strength to pull you from what he hoped wouldn’t be your watery grave.

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

Hauling your unconscious a body from the freezing river was a whole other task. He had managed to get half of your body on the ice before clambering out himself, using what strength he had to pull you fully out of the freezing water.

“Alright sweetheart, stay with me.” He panted, letting out a groan he looped his arms underneath your armpits, his legs shaky as he pulled you across the frozen surface and back to solid land, only to drop you once more when you were no longer on the surface of the river. He himself was close to losing consciousness and he could feel his loss of energy rapidly depleting. He had to get you somewhere safe. He had to get you warm.

“You die on me right now and I’m gonna kill you.” Rolling his shoulders, the hunter took a deep breath before kneeling down and scooping you up in his arms. “Don’t you dare die on me, you hear?”

Even with his exhaustion his brain was working overtime to remember the route back to the impala. If he found the impala he would also find the cabin.

As he trudged through the snow the only thing he allowed himself to to pay attention to was how fragile you felt in his arms. You weren’t giving off any body heat and it felt as if he was carrying around a glass doll. One wrong move and you would shatter in his arms. He hadn't been this scared in a long time. If he lost you, it would break him.

He almost let out a cry of relief when he saw the mat black of his precious impala and the cabin just beyond it. He could feel the muscles in his legs beginning to cramp, and the pain quickly brought him to his knees. It was excruciating, and as he became more dizzy he had to forego carrying you. Once more he looped his arms underneath you, and dragged you quickly to the cabin door, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“Alright hang in there. You’re gonna be just fine.” He still wasn’t sure if he was saying the words to you or doing it to calm himself down. Make himself believe that you were really going to be okay. Backing up towards the door, Dean brought his foot back, driving his heel into the old door and successfully kicking it open.

It was a small space but it had a fireplace and a small kitchenette, along with a full sized mattress and small couch tucked into the corner. In here it would be easy to collect heat. Thank goodness he had decided to park the impala here.

Flipping on the lights with his elbow, Dean laid you down on the floor next to the fireplace before quickly moving to set the wood inside it ablaze. He was back at your side as quickly as possible. Peeling off his layers one by one as he checked your pulse until he was just in his boxers.

“You’re probably gonna hit me when you wake up, but I need to get you out of these wet clothes.” Pulling your shoes off first, he tossed them next to the fire, moving quickly to rid you of the fabric that had practically frozen to your skin. He never wanted to see you like this. The usual brightness to your face was gone, and when his hands found yours in hopes of warming them up he almost recoiled. So cold.

The two of you no doubt had hypothermia. He could see it in your slow and shallow breathing and your weak pulse. As for him, he had been losing coordination and when he spoke it came out mumbled and sometimes slurred. And the gash on his bicep did nothing to help the fact.

He had to help you first before he could patch himself up. He may have left the duffel bag behind but your pack was laying nearby, still holding the first aid kit. Grabbing one of the thick blankets just beyond reach, he pulled it over you, pausing only when he couldn't see the rise and fall of your chest.

Where you breathing?

a fresh wave of fear rippled through his system as his hands went to cradle your face, leaning down in hopes of feeling even just the faintest breath. No. He couldn't lose you. Not here. Not now. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he immediately thought the worst.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Shaking you ever so slightly, one of his hands moved back to your wrist to check your pulse again. If he lost you here and now there would be hell to pay. If anyone was supposed to survive this life, it was you.

“Dean-“ the words almost flew past him they were so quiet. It was almost a whisper- but enough to grab his attention. The hunter let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, the faint traces of a smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he looked down at you with relief, his calloused hand moving to brush some of the hair away from your face.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Don’t talk.”Your eyes were still shut as you were still too weak to open them, but you were alive. That was all he needed right now.

“Cold. So cold.”

As swiftly as he could, Dean was pulling your mostly naked body against him, his back resting against the couch as he tried to give you what body warmth he had. Both your bodies were tense and shivering masses as he reached over to pull another one of the thick blankets around you, his arms locking you against him as he buried his face in your shoulder, one of his hands moving to softly cradle the back of your head.

“Shh, I got you. I got you.”

It was like being locked in the most awkward hug ever, but between the heat from the fire and what Dean was giving off, unconscious quickly took over again, pulling you under. Dean was close behind not long after.

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

When Dean came back around he want sure if he had passed out from exhaustion or from blood loss, but the first thing he noticed was that you were no longer locked in his heated embrace. He tried to move, but his body was so weak that it felt like he was a puppet without strings.

“You’re awake.”

Peeking through heavy eyelids Dean could make out the form of you squatting in front of him, delicately wrapping the cut on his arm with gauze as you worked with your back to the fireplace. This time your skin was warm to the touch and he let out a sigh of relief. You weren’t dead. Thank god.

“You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t be moving around. You were on the brink of death not too long ago.” His teeth still slightly chattering from the cold.

“I woke up and saw that you were bleeding. I needed to stop it.” Your own voice weak and scratchy as you finished bandaging his arm.

As his eyes slowly adjusted his face fell at the sight of you. Your skin was still several shades paler than usual and you had bags under your eyes. You look tired beyond all get out and he couldn’t help but blame himself for all this happening.

“I’m sorry, I never should have drug you out here with me-“he began, only for you to clamp a hand over his mouth, a tired breath escaping your lips.

“Shut up. It’s not your fault.” You paused, moving to adjust the blanket around him, his head falling back against the couch. “You need to rest.”

“No. Gotta take care of you.”

For gods sake. This man was more stubborn than a box of rocks. He had gotten you here and saved your life, now it was your turn to care for him, not matter how much he resisted.

Scooting forward, you pulled him closer, his tired head dropping into the crook of your neck as you wrapped your arms around him, this time sealing him against you. His shallow breaths warming your shoulder as he breathed.

“You know, when I pictured seeing you naked for the first time, it wasn’t exactly in this situation.” He breathed, and you could almost hear the smirk in his voice as he did, his comment making you roll your eyes.

“How bout we both get better first and then we can talk about what you had in mind.”

But you never got an answer. The older Winchester was already passed out soundly in your arms, keeping you both warm. Keeping you both alive.

the spirit could be taken care of later. All that mattered right now was you and Dean. And that was enough.

The End.

SPN Taglist (Still open!)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @neerness @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester angst #bi-danvers writing #bi-danvers0 #supernatural

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avengerscompound · 6 years ago

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Her New Home

Her New Home: A Lady Sif Fanfic

Buy me a ☕

Character Pairing: Sif x F!Reader Square: @ladiesofmarvelbingo - N3, Lady Sif

Word Count: 1892

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut (F|F, light d/s, vaginal fingering, strap-on use, squirting)

Synopsis: Sif has lost a lot over the past five years. Her friends. Her homeworld. Half the galaxy. But she has you and when she and her crew finally track down Midgard, you both decide to celebrate.

Her New Home

Sif tilted her head up, listening carefully. The past few years had been… hard. To say the least. She had gone off-world to deal with the uprising and Thor’s fears of Ragnarok happening. When she’d called Heimdal to open the bridge, nothing had happened. After a few days, she gave up trying.

She had been stuck on Svartalfheim for a week before catching a ride with an unregistered transportation ship she’d bribed with the promise of Asgardian riches if they took her home.

I hadn’t been a hard sell. The pirate was greedy and she was clearly in the armor of Asgard.

When the ship arrived at the coordinates where Asgard should have been, all that was left was rubble floating in empty space.

The captain had not been happy about it. Just when Sif had thought she was going to have to take command of the ship by force or be ejected into the emptiness of space he had turned to dust in front of her. As had the ships pilot, gunman, main technician and three of the other people who were paying their passage through space.

What remained of the ship’s crew and passengers were the navigation specialist - an Ataraxian named Lexatora, the ship’s cook, a Badoon - known as Ala, and three passengers, two Luphamoids, Xoda and Miline. And finally, there was you, a Midgardian who had inexplicably ended up lightyears from home.

With no one to pilot the ship or make repairs, they’d had to limp it to the closest planet, which had taken them eight months. There they had discovered the issue of people randomly turning to dust had been universal. Half the lifeforms had vanished suddenly. Rumor was that the source of the problem had been on Planet C-53. The planet she knew as Midgard.

Thankfully, using the promise of the ship as payment they’d picked up a small crew to get them moving again. The galaxy was in chaos and Sif didn’t know her place in it anymore. With no home, no king to serve, no cause to fight for, no family, no friends, all she had was the people on the ship.

So they had become family. No more so than you. Five years of being trapped in close quarters as you hopped from planet to planet moving displaced people around had given the two of you time to well and truly fall in love with each other. To become inseparable. Sif had never really understood how Thor could fall in love with someone who would only really be around for a small portion of his life, yet here she was completely smitten with you.

“I know you’re there, lover,” she teased as the floor creaked in the far corner.

“Aw, man. Sif!” You whined, before breaking down into giggles.

You came over to her, swinging your hips. That was the thing she had been attracted to the most. The way you could continue keeping this playful air about you, despite being stuck on a junker ship for five years longer than you were meant to. Even when the galaxy seemed to be falling apart around you, you managed to make her feel like things were okay.

“How do you do that?” You asked, taking a seat in her lap.

“Thousands of years of training, my lady.” She said putting her hand on her thigh and squeezing it gently.

“Hey, it’s good you’re here,” Lexatora said, bringing up a holographic map over the transparent shield in front of them. “See that star way off there?” The map circled a star ahead of the ship and seemed to highlight it.

“Yeah. What’s that?” You asked.

“That, my dear. Is the sun that warms Terra.” She replied.

Your eyes lit up in a way Sif had yet to see in you before. Like a fire had been lit inside you. “That’s where Earth is?”

“It is. I know we’ve gotten off track a bit since we picked you up. But you will be back home in a few days.” Lexatora said.

“We’re not going to do a jump?” You asked.

Lexatora shook her head. “No. There’s been some weird activity in the region with the jumps. I’m a lot more cautious these days. You know, with what happened to Asgard and then … the dust.”

“Yeah, right. I get it.” You said, shifting a little in Sif’s lap. “I wonder what’s going on. When I got taken, we hardly had any space stuff happen. There was Thor of course. Then that hole in the sky in New York.”

“There had been more visits, my love,” Sif said. “You just didn’t know about them. But you’re right. It is strange there is a lot of activity now. Best we be cautious.”

“Don’t you want to fight it?” You asked.

She gave your thigh a rub. “And I will when we arrive. But if we go through some active jump site and turn to dust, I can’t fight anything.”

“What if everyone I knew is gone?” You asked. There was a slight strain in the pitch of your voice. Like you were trying to remain the bright light in the dark world that you always were but it was causing you pain to do it. Sif wrapped her arm around your waist and rubbed her cheek on your shoulder.

“Then you still have me.” She said.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, lying back on Sif.

“I’m not going to lie to you, they might be. The whole universe is different. I lost everyone. I can’t promise you didn’t.” She said, gently. “But as someone who has lost everyone, trust me when I say, it’s better to know. And maybe they are all still there. You can go home.”

“Would you stay with me?” You asked.

Sif sighed and kissed your shoulder. “Can I tell you something, my lady?”

You nodded and put your hands on hers, linking your fingers together at your waist.

“I know this is perhaps just hopeful thinking, but I am hoping that whatever it is that led to Asgards destruction, was something Thor escaped. The two of us were going off-world at the same time, following the same leads. He had a love of Midgard, I think you know. If he is alive, your homeworld is where he is. If not, there are others I know there. But you are my home. Perhaps we have a large group of family and friends waiting for us. If not we have each other. That is more than many these days.”

You smiled sadly at her and leaned in and kissed her deeply. She wrapped you tightly in her arms and pulled you flush against her. The love for you she felt flaring up inside her.

Lexatora cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind.” She said. “Take that to your bunkhouse.”

You pulled back, giggling and Sif brushed her fingers over your cheek. “What do you say, lover? Shall we go and celebrate seeing our home?”

“Mmm… yes please.” You hummed.

You climbed off her lap and took her hand pulling her to her feet. Sif followed along as you dragged her down into the belly of the ship, past the small mess hall where there was already the smell of cooking emanating and into the bunk room you and Sif had claimed.

Sif turned you to face her as the doors hissed shut behind you both and cupping your jaw, she kissed you hungrily. She guided you back into the room and up against the large window that separated you from the vacuum of space. An arm of the milky way spread out in front of you both as she pressed you against the glass and slipped her thigh between yours.

She ground on your leg. The rough fabric of your pants rubbing against the heat of her cunt, sending a buzz through her and making her moan into the kiss. As she did you ground on her thigh too.

The two of you broke the kiss long enough for her to pull your shirt off and she spun you to face the window and slipped her hand into your pants.

“I am going to so such things to you, lover.” Sif purred in your ear as she teased her fingers over your clit. Dipping her fingertip inside you and using your own fluids to paint the small bundle of nerves. “I'll have you screaming my name.”

You braced your hands on the cold glass and leaned back against her, grinding your ass into her. “Gladly, Sif.”

She ran her finger in tight circles over your clit and kissed the side of your neck, paying attention to the way your pulse sped up and your breathing shallowed. Slowly she pulled her hands away, trailing them over the bare skin of your waist before giving your ass a gentle spank and stepping back. “Remove your clothes and stand with your hands against the glass.”

You started to strip and she did the same as she went the drawer the two of you kept your toys in. She selected one she had purchased in the Iota quadrant when they had been reuniting some people they’d picked up with their only remaining family after the dusting. It was one that would provide you both with pleasure at the same time and would be perfect for what she was planning.

She lubricated it as she approached you again. You stood obediently, palms pressed against the glass. She moved up behind you and lifted a leg pressing it against the glass beside you. You took a deep breath and held it as she pushed the toy into herself. When it was in place, the end pressed against her g-spot and one of the small ridged protuberances was resting on her clit, she grabbed your thigh and lifted you, spreading your legs out wide as she thrust her hips up and the toy sunk into you.

“Fuck!” You cried out loudly bracing yourself against the glass as the toy penetrated you.

Sif smiled against your skin and began to fuck you as she held you helpless in front of her. Each thrust of her hips pushed the toy in deep into both of you. It pressed against her g-spot again and again. It must be doing the same to you because the sounds you made got louder and louder and more out of control. Grunts and whimpers and loud cries of pleasure came from you and your arousal dripped down the toy and mixed with Sif’s.

Your hands slipped on the glass and your head fell back as you completely lost control. Sif picked up her pace, thrusting hard and deep into you. Your whole body seized up and you cried out gushing onto the window.

Sif moaned and jerked into you, her own orgasm hitting her like a wave. She slipped the toy out of you and let you down to your feet. “There you are, my lady,” she said, taking the toy out as she supported you. “Was that a sufficient celebration?”

You let her support her weight and kissed her neck as you looked out at the stars. “I don’t know, Sif. For finding our home? I think we could go again.”

#ladiesofmarvelbingo19 #sif #lady sif #sif x reader #sif fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #femslash #femslash saturday

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antolcgias · 5 years ago

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ASKED BY @luridtruths (feat. @strongofheart ) :: 49 - mutant srs (a restaurant)

LOCATION PROMPTS

The roll-out on taggers hasn’t been approved by the state representatives— who are struggling against the claims about targeting citizenry — Reynold wishes it were that simple. That clean. The push for the bill straps the counties with the fiscal duty to install, monitor, maintain and coordinate all the devices. He stares up at the chyron signalling the news as pundits banter back and forth about civil liberties, public safety and budgetary needs. All with videos of protests in front of the assembly halls where public hearings are to be had. Full of not only rabid protesters, angry humans-first proponents, and beleaguered politicians — but lobbyists as well.

❝ Kyle? ❞

He steps through the throng of people swamping the baristas for their twelve and sixteen ounce sugarfied monstrosities. Levels a small but kind look at the person fitting three to-go cups into a cardboard carrier. She glances up at him, more than once — studies his features for a tad too long. The person to his right curses. Reynold’s boot smashing right onto sandaled feet. He clips out a quick thank you, pulls the carrier to him and leans hard on the customer behind him. Twists into the pocket of space next to the two under-caffeinated clients just in time for them to glance at each other and declare eternal war. The poor barista is left overwhelmed as Reynold curves around tables to a booth at the back.

❝ ... stalling the hearings is working. We’re making good time, ❞ Reynold adds as he pulls off a cup of bitter, dark brew to hand to Spen—no, wait, Madeline. Sat across from him and flickering through a comms-app modified to look like an RSS feed. He figures their allies in the demonstrations will keep the tension ramped up. ❝ Ready? ❞

❝ Almost. Wait ... Let’s go. He’s at the back. ❞

He stands up with her, and they walk together with the ease of people who’ve known each other for years. His cap is lowered, blazer a bit wrinkled and a dress shirt and tie hastily done up underneath. All the signs leaning towards young, overworked and over it. Spencer’s commitment is truer with her walk turning into a bit of a scuttle as he leans over to pretends to laugh at her phone screen. Bangs neatly cut and kept, hair fanned out around her with thick frames. Bundled up into a sweater-skirt combo under an overcoat that makes her look like the most underpaid archivist around. Both angled into each other in just the right way to avoid the coffee shop cameras.

The street is filled with people moving to and from. A few blocks away from the scuffle of security setting up barriers that protesters are eager to bang against. Close enough that news crews have set up substations in their vans and are prepping coverage but far enough not to warrant immediate police presence. The alleyway between the coffee shop’s west side and the next business — a payday lender spot — is sparsely visited with little save a winding path down to the next street over. They’re able to step in without worry of passersby peeking in and find a short, slim man huffing at his neck tie. Reynold approaches him easily to help tie it right. The man, sweating profusely under the summer heat, sniffles loudly before leaning against the wall in a too familiar slouch. Sam, fit and ready as the lobbyist with a terrible bald spot, glances up at Spencer as she approaches. His suit is immaculate and screams of constant fittings and imported fabrics. The shoes are shined so that any light glimmers off the dark black tips. His suitcase black with gold detailing — every little divot and marking carved in the right spot. Can’t say the underground is wanting for forgers. The man fidgets and asks,

❝ Do I look like that much of a dick? ❞

To their credit, they don’t laugh when Sam rolls his eyes at their instant nods.

#ok so the plan is for sam to pretend to be a lobbyist for the company #that is trying to sell the mutant detection devices #and grabbing the actual lobbyist's stuff while inside the congressional halls of the state #soooo this plan may go wrong and they'll have to kidnap the lobbyist as well #srs | mutants & rebels #ra | spencer #ra | sam & spencer #ra | sam #luridtruths #strongofheart

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ljandersen · 5 years ago

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Under Her Skin

Pairing: FemShep/Kaidan Alenko, ME 3

Summary: This is the most Kaidan they’ve seen of each other in two years. Shepard is starting to feel comfortable. Kaidan has accepted her so far, but he hasn’t seen her cybernetics. Exposing her implants could ruin everything.

Shepard watched Kaidan jog around the cargo bay. She stood at the window in engineering with the core humming behind her. The door to Shepard’s right was open. Allers stood out of sight chattering about coordinated efforts between Palavan and Tuchanka. Allers couldn’t talk about the bomb, of course, so she prattled about vague heroics and the primarch’s son lost in action. Lost in action like so many.

Shepard shifted her weight. Her reflection moved in the glass. The bay was almost empty. Cortez and Vega were in the portside lounge playing cards. Shepard had popped her head in only a few minutes ago to see if James wanted to spar.

“Lola, I’m about to own Esteban’s first child,” James said.

“Didn’t know you wanted kids, James.” Shepard swung her water bottle standing in the doorway.

Cortez lowered his cards. “Always said you were a fan of the ladies, Vega. Now you want to have a kid with me?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry, Esteban. Not happening.”

Cortez snort laughed and tossed chips into the middle of the table. “Your call, James.”

“So, no sparing?” Shepard said.

“Rain check, Lola?” James grinned at Cortez. “Only check I’m taking, Esteban. Call.”

Shepard pushed off the door frame with a chuckle. They had gym equipment – a treadmill, elliptical, free weights – in the portside hold by engineering. Shepard had stepped out of the elevator twirling a water bottle in her hands. Why she glanced out the window into the cargo bay, she didn’t know. Now here she stood still watching him.

Kaidan skimmed the wall in a circuit. Crates blocked him from view at irregular intervals. An engineer popped up from an open panel in the floor by the shuttle. He grabbed a screwdriver from his tool box and dropped out of sight again. The cargo bay was empty except for him and Kaidan.

Shepard had planned some time on the treadmill anyway. Why not start with a run? Screw the treadmill. She pressed the elevator button and unzipped her hoodie. Skipping the warm up, she didn’t need the extra layer. Her eye caught on a reflection in the window, a glowing light. Her fingers paused with her hoodie half unzipped. The pit of her stomach sank. It was her reflection.

She traced her fingers along her collar bone to the swell of her breasts. A glowing orange light. Her skin was thickening and healing. The implant had dimmed to a dull gleam, but it was plainly visible. It was obvious enough in the dark corridor to glow plainly in her reflection. She splayed a shaky hand over the light and met her own eyes in the reflection. Kaidan ran laps behind her reflection.

She and Kaidan were getting along. He made her laugh. Really laugh. She’d forgotten his wry humor, the way he turned words back at her. Dammit, he was clever, but honest and deep too. Deeper than her. Deep enough no doubt that he’d probably spent hours brooding over her Frankensteinian recreation. Her hand fell from the zipper. Air thickened in her throat.

She watched him disappear behind another crate. Running and running and running. Her reflection returned a grim smile. She looked herself in the eye and zipped the hoodie up to her throat. She turned to the elevator and pressed the button for the cargo bay.

She got out and set her water bottle by the elevator. He wasn’t far ahead. She jogged around the first corner of crates and saw him. He must have heard the pounding of her running shoes, because he turned his head. He stopped.

“Not doing hurdles.” Shepard shoved him sideways as she passed.

She smirked over her shoulder at him and took the next turn. It didn’t take long for his feet to clap up behind her.

“Track etiquette, Shepard. Tsk, tsk.”

“Show by example, Mr. Track-Manners. Stop flat-tiring me.”

“Stop changing lanes and winging your elbows out. I’m passing one way or another.”

“No track etiquette here. Expect to get tripped.”

He didn’t say anything, and Shepard looked back. Her footsteps slowed. He was gone.

“Ha!” He burst from between the crates in front of her.

“Off roading it? Cheater.” Shepard leapt into a full sprint.

Kaidan shot forward faster. Shepard pushed herself, but there was no gaining. He kept a fixed distance ahead, so exactly fixed, it seemed deliberately measured. She slowed her pace and that confirmed it. He slowed his pace to match. He could leave her in the dust, but was staying just enough ahead to let her keep up.

“Don’t want to win by too much, huh?” Shepard huffed big gulps of air.

Kaidan’s canter smoothed into a walk. She overtook him, giving him a light shove, then dropped into a walk beside him. Her lungs drank in the oxygen, air wheezing in and out through her smile. Kaidan gave a breathy laugh and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Want me to ask Dr. Chakwas for an inhaler?” Kaidan asked.

“Whatever, Track Star.” Shepard purposefully staggered sideways into him. Her gulping breaths eased into a steady push and pull. “Dammit. I’m your James. He couldn’t keep up with me. I made fun of him. Kharma.”

Kaidan chuckled. “Yeah, Vega’s more fight than flight. I like to keep my options open.”

“Huh. That’s a little unsettling, Alenko. Guy guarding my six wants to keep his fight or flight options open.”

“I’ll drag you with me.” Kaidan flapped air down the neck of his tank top. The light fabric stuck to the sweat on his back. “You may have noticed, Shepard, but not a lot of reapers go down in a fist fight.”

“The one on Tuchanka went down,” Shepard said. She snatched her water bottle off the floor. “Granted, no fists were involved, but it was pretty physical.”

Kaidan's towel and water bottle were across the bay. He turned toward them. The engineer still clunked around under the floor mumbling curses Shepard could hear all the way by the elevator. Shepard took a sip from her water bottle and fanned her face. Her sprint left her hot and sweaty. She glanced at Kaidan’s retreating back, and a soft warmth pooled in her chest. She grabbed hold of the zipper. Her heart thundered.

“Screw it.”

She unzipped the hoodie and threw it against the wall. She could see her reflection in the wall’s metal casing. Light glowed faintly under her T-shirt. She ripped that off too. She squared herself to the blurry reflection, sports bra and glowing patches of skin. The light above her navel was brighter and sharper than the one higher on her chest. The marauder’s blade had left a thin, delicate veil of skin still knitting together. The implant blazed through the healing skin like paper.

Shepard straightened the straps of her sports bra and smoothed a hand down her leggings. She spun around. Kaidan had reached the crate with his towel. She jogged up behind him.

“Must have been something to see,” Kaidan said over his shoulder. “That hard for you?”

He grabbed his water bottle and turned around. The effect was immediate. His eyes dropped – a quick flicker – but it was enough to make his jaw set and posture pull back. Shepard’s heart dropped. She raised her chin and put fists on her hips. This was her: scars and glowing implants, half machine, only part human. His gaze sharpened on her face, a firm focus, deliberate and controlled.

“What was hard for me?” Shepard repeated with an edge. “You were saying …”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Right.” He shifted back a step and angled toward the wall. His eyes drifted away. “I was just – on Tuchanka. Was that hard? Seeing the thresher maw?” He took a long pull from his water bottle. He capped it and glanced over at her.

Shepard glared back at him. “Why? Any thresher maw sighting must trigger PTSD?”

Kaidan looked away sharply and set his water bottle down. “Sorry, Shepard. I wasn’t meaning to – I just thought it might have been hard. I overstepped though. Asking. I’m sorry.”

Shepard knotted her arms and tapped the water bottle against her hip. “It’s fine. Thresher maws are just mindless animals. They act like you’d expect. For all the bad, it’s nice to see a little good I suppose. But in the end, they’re still exactly what you knew them to be.”

“Right …” His brow furrowed. He looked past her and rubbed his arm. “Anyway, just glad to get a point on the reader board for our side.”

Shepard followed his eyes to the elevator. Kaidan snagged his towel and water bottle off the crate.

“I should get ready for duty,” he said.

She had driven him off. She rattled the water in her water bottle and frowned. Was it the awkwardness of refusing to discuss her weepy thresher maw fears? Or was it seeing her implants? It could be both. Kaidan took a step toward the elevator. She edged in front of him. He stopped.

“I was going to …” His eyes lowered and intensified into a stare.

Shepard glanced down. She hadn’t even consciously realized she was doing it. Her fingertips pressed to the glow just visible above the fabric of her sports bra.

“Is this bothering you?” Shepard took a step toward him.

His eyes snapped up, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. “Uh, sorry, Shepard. I … I don’t know.”

She felt sick. “It does bother you.”

“I—I guess? I’m really sorry, Shepard. I just—I … Well, hmm. Sorry.” He darted around her.

Shepard’s shoulders slumped. Her insides twisted. She should have kept her hoodie on, kept it zipped to the chin. She watched him retreating and grit her teeth. Her hands balled into fists. No. This was the way she was now. Damn him then if he couldn’t accept the new her, flesh and blood and gizmos. She hurled her water bottle into the floor and raced up behind him. She tore him around by the shoulder to face her. His eyes ballooned.

“Listen up.” She stepped into him and whipped her voice out with a crack. “I’ll say it once. I’m part machine, I know that, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re going to treat me like a person and follow my orders. Stay on the same page with me, we’ll get along. We don’t need to be friends. My buddy quota’s full anyway. But if you treat me like a cyborg on the field, question me, I’ll kick your ass so hard my footprint will need to be surgically removed. Got it?”

Kaidan stood frozen. His spine was stretched so tight it might snap. He barely breathed. Her face was close enough to tell. A wrench clanged on the metal floor behind her. The maintenance worker’s mouth hung open. Shepard faced him with hands on his hips, and he tucked into the floor like a prairie dog under the shadow of an eagle.

“Are we on the same page?” Shepard swung her face back to Kaidan.

Kaidan’s chest expanded. His breathing fell back into rhythm. He was starting to thaw.

Shepard drummed her fingers on her hips. “Just say we’re on the same page, Major, and we can move forward.”

“We’re not on the same page.”

Shepard dropped her arms and faced him full on. “What?”

“Have I treated you like less than a person? Where the hell is this coming from?”

Shepard jabbed her finger at the spot they’d been standing minutes ago. “Right there. My hardware makes you uncomfortable, fine, but I’m not a machine. I’m not going to let you treat me like one.”

Kaidan followed her finger with his eyes. His eyebrows lifted. “Oh.” His lips twitched with the hint of a smile. The tightness drained from his posture. “Shepard …”

“You think this is funny?” Shepard said.

“Well …” Kaidan shrugged a shoulder. His lips spread into a full smile. “Hey, it’s not what you think. Don’t be angry. Poor Johnston’s quivering under the floorboards.”

“Then what am I getting wrong?” Shepard glared into his smile. “I asked a direct question, you gave a direct answer.”

“Maybe, but …” Kaidan chewed the corner of his lip. He eyed her for a second, then folded his arms. “I don’t know if I want to say. The takeaway is: you misunderstood. You’re a person to me, all right? Of course, you are.” Shepard’s eyes thinned, but he continued. “And don’t give me a footprint I need surgically removed. All the real war wounds being triaged, I’d be on the waiting list forever.”

“I’ll make sure it deserves priority. Turn around.”

“Ha. Think I’d make it easy for you? Fight or flight, remember? I’m faster.”

He backed up and pushed the elevator button. Shepard stared hard at him, but he only returned her glare with a cheeky smile. The breath clenched in her chest drained away in a long sigh.

“Kaidan, you really don’t think I’m—”

“No, I don’t.” Kaidan stepped backward into the elevator and stopped the door with his hand. “I don’t care about your cybernetics, Shepard. Just means you’d lose playing hide and seek in the dark, but other than that … You’re a person to me, Shepard. Sometimes I wish that’s all you were.” He pulled back, and the elevator doors closed.

Shepard folded her arms. A frown soured her lips.

“Commander?” The engineer’s voice wavered.

“Johnston?” Shepard twisted to the head popping up from the floor. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to singe any bystanders.”

“That’s okay, Commander. Still got my eyebrows.” He crawled out of the floor and walked over to her. He tapped a wrench in one palm and opened his mouth. He closed it again.

“What is it?” Shepard took a step toward him.

“Major Alenko.” Johnston nodded at the elevator. “This might be an inappropriate observation, ma’am, but the Major's been checking you out pretty thoroughly when you’re not looking. Well, even when you are looking ...” He waved his wrench toward the place she and Kaidan had stood earlier.

Shepard’s heart sped up. “What? You mean, like – You’re sure?”

“It didn’t look like a professional visual pat down, you know what I mean. Just saying. Might want to straighten him out before there’s trouble.”

“Huh.” Shepard clicked her tongue and smiled. “Yes, indeed. Well, well …”

“Not to criticize, ma’am.” Johnston pointed the wrench at her this time. “Maybe you wouldn’t have trouble receiving attention like that if you … Not saying it’s your fault.”

Shepard looked down. Her skin glistened with sweat. The curve of her breasts rose and fell with each breath, straining against the clinging fabric of her sports bra. She touched her bare stomach and faced her reflection in the metal wall. The implant glowed in her chest. She traced the light between the swell of her breasts and smiled. Ah. Maybe it wasn’t the implants under her skin bothering him. It was the skin itself. She brushed a hand down her side. Only a sports bra and leggings.

“Don’t leer at me, Johnston.” Shepard looked over her shoulder.

He sprang into motion. “Sorry, ma’am. Really, really didn’t mean –”

“Eh. Just giving you a hard time. Keep up the good work. Whatever you’re pounding away on down there, continue.”

Shepard fluttered to the elevator. She should make sure Kaidan was on the same page as her about this. Distractions and emotional complications weren’t appropriate for war time. Still, she couldn’t help smiling. She jabbed the elevator button. She’d set him straight some other time.

From “About Mars . . .”:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369139/chapters/50901124

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13428855/1/About-Mars-Mass-Effect

#Mass Effect #fanfic #shenko #kaidan #femshep #fshenko #femshep x kaidan #About Mars

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years ago

Text

No Strings (XI)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

Word Count: 7,086

Summary: It started off as such a simple question. How to know if you’re bad in bed? Of course when you asked, you didn’t imagine Jimin would actually answer. (This is an additional part to my series, No Strings, as requested in the poll for my follower milestone)

“I’m just saying,” Minsun says, spinning around on her stool. Taking a sip of her drink, she squints at the room. “If Namjoon were any klutzier, he would literally die.”

Fighting a smile, you tap your hand to the counter. “Oh?” you say, accepting the drink pushed your way. “You know what I think? I think you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not, though.” Shaking her head, Minsun points a finger at the dance floor. “Look at him right now. He looks like a twelve-legged octopus taking a beginner’s tap class.”

“If he has twelve legs, he’s not an octopus.”

“Shut up, you get my point.”

Hiding a smile, you nod because she is right – Namjoon truly does have dismal coordination. Right now, he is semi-drunk, waving both hands like one of those blow-up dolls at a car dealer. He slinks towards the center, fruity drink in one hand and hair pushed back from his forehead. Namjoon is a good-looking dude, intelligent and a catch for anyone to date – he also tends to be the most ridiculous human on the planet, without quite meaning to be.

Trying not to laugh, you return to Minsun. This week has been long, to say the least. You have been working on this giant presentation at work for a month now, one which went over well this morning – and prompted Namjoon and you to force your friends out in celebration. You have been at the bar drinking since 5:00 pm, although more of your friends have trickled in along the way, joining the revelry.

Seokjin arrived a half-hour ago; he is now seated beside you, two shots deep at the bar. He is partly to blame for Namjoon’s current state of inebriation, having convinced him that being drunk makes him a better dancer, not worse. Hoseok is also here, but Hoseok – you roll your eyes at the sight – is a stupendous dancer and seems completely at ease out on the dance floor. His girlfriend, Vikki, must be around here somewhere. Normally, you would say she is with Katie but Namjoon and Katie broke up two months ago, a messy split which involved your co-worker’s ex-boyfriend.

Wincing, you return the drink to your lips. Namjoon was devastated after, although it seems as though he is finally back in the swing of things. At least, he is trying – judging from the wavy sprinkler move he is attempting out on the dance floor.

Minsun snorts, draining the rest of her glass. “Okay,” she says, hopping down from the counter. Adjusting her skirt, she winces at the motion – the fabric is bright magenta, shorter than yours. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Wait here, hold my purse.”

Minsun disappears, flouncing away and you swivel your hips at the bar, returning to nursing your drink. Music thumps through the air, raucous and loud enough to drown out the voices around you – or, almost loud enough.

“Hey there,” a guy says, sliding onto Minsun’s vacated stool.

You glance up from your drink. A new wave of people has entered and it is a struggle to remain on your chair with everyone crowding so close. The stranger is cute, speaking mathematically. He has full lips, a broad forehead and the type of hair which seems perpetually stuck-up in the back. Beyond that though, your generosity ends.

The way he stares at you is calculated, as though he has a dating playbook and is eighty percent sure – if he says and does the right thing – you will be fucking him by morning. There is something to his gaze, his smile; this man thinks he damn well owns this room and you would be lucky to have him.

It is hard for you not to roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink.

The guy leans forward. “I’m sorry,” he says, placing a hand on your arm. His touch is light, not overly forceful – he has done this before, and often.

“Are you?” you say.

A flash of confusion crosses his face. “I – what?”

“You said sorry,” you say, arching a brow. “I asked you if you are.”

The guy stares, taken aback before he smiles. “Oh, I get it,” he laughs, leg brushing yours. “No, that was just an expression of speech. I think you’re beautiful and wanted to say hi.”

Your smile turns brittle, grip on your drink tightening. Your remark was facetious – it takes a special kind of oblivious to ignore the fact that you are unwanted. Leaning away, you glance again at the bar. Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok are out on the dance floor, Minsun has not reemerged from the bathroom – fuck women’s restrooms and their lines – but once she does, you know she will kick this guy to the curb.

“Anyways,” he announces – louder, as the next song begins. “I was wondering if there’s a mirror in your pants?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “I’m not wearing pants.”

This is true, you are wearing a dress – albeit, not one as tight and short as Minsun, but a dress nonetheless.

Ignoring the warning in your eyes, the guy leans in to continue. “Well.” The guy has the audacity to wink. “I think you must have a mirror in your pants, since I can definitely see myself in them.”

A long moment passes while you attempt to regather your jaw from the ground. The pickup line is horrible, borderline offensive in its awfulness and you are about to go off when an arm settles over your shoulder.

“Thank the fucking lord that I found you.” Jimin exhales, pushing a hand through his hair. His hair returned to black sometime last summer, which was a welcome surprise. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere – and Y/N, listen. We really need to talk.”

The guy looks at Jimin, then you. “I’m sorry,” he says – although this time, the apology really does not sound genuine. “Who are you?”

“I’m sorry.” The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “I’m Jimin. And you are?”

The man frowns. “Clint.”

“Well, Clint.” When Jimin smiles, his gaze remains cold. “To answer your question – I’m the dude who slept with Y/N two weeks ago. I’m also the dude who needs to tell her something important.”

Closing his eyes, Jimin steels himself. “Y/N.” Seriously, he reaches out for your knee.

“Yes?” you say, trying hard not to laugh.

“Okay.” Jimin opens his eyes. “So, it’s like this. About a month ago, I noticed my spunk had this weird smell. I kinda brushed it off, thought was nothing. I don’t know,” Jimin sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “I decided I needed to eat more pineapple, or something.”

You somehow manage to turn your laugh into a cough. “What are you trying to tell me?” you demand, mock-horrified. “Did you come all the way to this bar, just to say that –”

“Yes.” Dramatically, Jimin looks you in the eyes. “I have the clap,” he announces, loud enough for Clint to overhear. “Possibly several of them. And I probably gave them all to you – through my penis.”

“Alright. I’m out.” Clint nearly falls off the stool in his haste to escape.

Trying not to laugh, you take a sip your drink. Jimin grins, wriggling to fill the space in between you. “Hi, baby,” he greets you, kissing your gently. “How was work?”

Smiling back at him, you wrap both arms around his neck. “It was awful,” you say in between kisses. Moving closer, your hips brush his on the stool. “Better, now that you’re here.”

Jimin cannot help but smile. “Your flattery does wonders to my ego, babe. Have I ever said that, before?”

“No.” Sighing, you wrap your legs around his. “I’m sure it got lost in between all the compliments you say to yourself.”

“Hey!”

Laughing, you pull away long enough to boop Jimin on the nose. “You’re so cute,” you coo, stretching his cheeks. “When did you get so cute?”

Jimin growls. “Cute is for children,” he says. “Mostly, those between the ages of zero and five.”

“What happens after five?”

“They get precocious. There’s nothing worse than a precocious child, Y/N.”

Biting down on your lip, you try not to laugh. “Okay, grandpa,” you say, patting his cheek as you hop down from the stool. “Go grab a double shot to catch up to me. I hear Namjoon is already tearing it up the dance floor and I’ve been remiss, keeping away for so long.”

Jimin turns around to order and you rise on tip-toe, peering into the crowd. Minsun has not returned yet, which is strange. She left her purse behind and if she does not come back soon, you will need to drag it out on the dance floor with you. Namjoon’s flailing is awkward enough without multiple straps on your body for him to get stuck in.

“OH MY GOD!”

The voice is Minsun’s, shrieking over the sounds of the bar. Your head jerks sideways, nearly slipping in your haste to retrieve her. “Jimin!” you yelp, delving in between patrons. “Grab Minsun’s purse for me, okay?”

“GOT IT, HONEY!”

Minsun remains audible, yelling somewhere in the background. She must be yelling, to be heard over the music and as you shove through the crowd, you imagine the worst. Seokjin should be here too, chasing after his girlfriend because she is clearly either A) under attack, or B) drunk and yelling at a stranger and honestly, with Minsun, the latter is more probable. Then you skid around a tall, gangly someone and come face-to-face with your roommate.

Minsun seems livid. She is standing with Seokjin, arguing fiercely while he holds both hands before him; a metaphorical shield in their battle.

“Why!” she blurts, poking him hard in the chest. “Why won’t you let me buy fro-yo!”

Seokjin sputters, grabbing both her wrists with his hands. “Minsun,” he hisses, glancing around. “Babe, just a little bit quieter, okay? I want to talk about this!”

“No,” she yelps, wrenching free from his grasp. “I will not be quiet when my very freedom is being oppressed!” Minsun huffs, waving a hand and nearly knocking over Hoseok’s drink.

“Hey!” he yelps, jumping out of her reach.

“Sorry, Hobi!” Minsun returns to scowling at Seokjin. “My boyfriend is compromising my freedom, so I’m a LITTLE preoccupied!”

“Babe.” Seokjin exhales, rubbing his face with both hands.

Minsun inhales deeply, seeming ready to explode as you dart your way forward. “O-kay,” you say, sliding both arms around her waist. Minsun frowns at this, although she lets you pull her back. “What’s going on?” you say. “What’s, uh – what did Seokjin do?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. "Why,” he demands. “Do you all assume I did something wrong?”

“Because it’s you,” you say, glancing at Minsun. “You said something to get Minsun pissed off, clearly. Something about… fro-yo?” you offer, remembering what Minsun was yelling.

Seokjin grits his teeth. Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by Jimin sidling up beside you. “Here, Minsun.” He bows, handing over her purse. “Your affects.”

Accepting this, Minsun tries not to scowl. “Thanks,” she tells Jimin, still seeming miffed in the process.

Her gaze moves to Seokjin, hurt and confused – this is enough that you frown, glancing between them. This seems like more than Minsun being drunk and hot-tempered.

“Seriously,” you ask, glancing between them. “What the hell is going on?”

“Seokjin is an ass.” Minsun pouts. “That’s the short story.”

Jimin turns his laugh hastily into a cough. “Sorry, man,” he shrugs. “That was funny.”

Seokjin stares blankly at him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Minsun’s lips tug down at the corners. “I was coming out of the bathroom earlier and decided I wanted to get fro-yo. So, I reach into Seokjin’s pocket for his wallet –”

“Which I objected to,” Seokjin says.

“– I reach into Seokjin’s pocket for his wallet and he slaps my hand away!“ Minsun nearly knocks Hoseok’s drink over for a second time with her gesticulation. "And then,” she says, lower lip trembling, “he said to me… that if I wanted frozen food, I needed to buy it myself!“

You and Jimin both gasp in tandem.

"You…” Jimin stares. “You really said that to her, man?”

Seokjin glances around the circle, finding no comfort. “I...” He hesitates, shaking his head. “No, no – it wasn’t like that. I just… I don’t want Minsun going into my pants. That’s all.”

Now, you are the one staring. “Uh…” You wrinkle your brow. “Then, what were you two doing on the couch the other day? Did she drop a peanut in your crotch or something?”

“I just wanna eat drunk fro-yo,” Minsun huffs. “But my boyfriend is out here, calling me fat.”

Seokjin’s eyes bug out. “I – what?!” he yelps. “No! I never said that!”

Minsun swallows. “Just...” She exhales, burying her face in her hands. “Leave it. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“No, no, no.” Seokjin groans, moving quickly to wrap both arms around her. “You’ve got it all wrong, baby,” he sighs.

It is like watching a train wreck. You know you should look away, but find you cannot. When Jimin holds out your drink, you take a long sip.

"Ten bucks,” he whispers. Jimin’s arms slides around your waist, his lips brushing your ear. “Ten bucks Seokjin has a present for her in his back pocket, or something.”

Stifling a grin, you nod. Seokjin would never be rude to Minsun without good reason. You know this about him, even if you give Seokjin shit for it occasionally. He is whipped as hell for your roommate.

As though to prove this point, Seokjin squeezes Minsun tighter. “That’s not – I mean, well,” he exhales, closing his eyes. “Fuck.”

Minsun pulls back to look at him. “Well, what?” she demands. “What is it?”

“I think you’re perfect!” Seokjin winces at Minsun’s clear look of outrage. “ You can be big, small, whatever you want – you know, so long as you’re comfortable with your body and not unhealthy, or whatever, you can do whatever you want and I –”

“Dude.” Jimin coughs, drawing a finger across his throat.

"What are you even talking about?” Minsun gapes.

“You can’t go into my pocket!” Seokjin blurts.

Minsun blinks in surprise. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

Seokjin’s cheeks flush, biting down on his lip. “Shit.” Groaning, he presses both hands to his face. “Fine! You want to know why you can’t go into my pocket?“

"Yes.” Minsun folds both arms over her chest. “Let me just prep myself before my boyfriend says that he doesn’t want me touching his dick anymore.”

“Because!” Seokjin huffs, reaching into his pocket. “Because of this, okay?” Yanking out a box, he forces Minsun’s eyes to widen. “I want to fucking marry you! Which you’re ruining, by the way, by making me propose to you in a bar!“

Somewhere in the background, In My Feelings by Drake plays while oblivious, drunk patrons grind out on the dance floor. They seem unconcerned with the fact that history is being made right in front of you – history, witnessed by only yourself, Jimin, Seokjin and Minsun. Hoseok disappeared sometime around the second time Minsun tried to knock over his drink.

Minsun blinks, taking an uncertain step backwards. "You… what?”

“I want to marry you!” Seokjin yells, stepping closer. “I want to marry you,” he says, softer this time. His hands find her elbows, tracing circles over her skin.

Minsun stares back at him, lips parted in shock. “I...” She falters, suddenly at a loss.

Seokjin smiles. “What,” he murmurs, pushing a hand through her hair. He is still holding onto the small, blue box with the other. “No smart answer, for me?”

Minsun inhales, as though she might yell at him – before she lifts on her toes and kisses him smack on the lips. Seokjin laughs, words muffled when he pulls her closer and sinks into the gesture.

“You jerk,” Minsun exclaims, pulling back. She scowls, starting to laugh but refusing to move. “How dare you propose to me like this – in a bar, no less!”

He huffs, yanking her closer. “I wasn’t going to,” Seokjin says. “I was going to propose to you tomorrow morning in bed and then you ruined it by stealing my wallet!”

Minsun grins. “When we’re married,“ she says, looping both arms around his neck. "I’ll have half of your wallet by law.”

“You’re such a gold-digger,” he teases, kissing her again.

“Your gold-digger.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“That’s a fuck yes,” Minsun says, grabbing his face and pulling him in for another kiss.

Seokjin responds eagerly, body moving against hers and you blink, suitably awkward when you realize where this is headed.

Jimin reaches down, tugging on your shirt. “Uh… let’s go,” he says, grabbing your hand.

Tugging you behind him, he pulls you onto the dance floor and leaves your overly-fond-of-PDA best friends behind. The song has changed, rap belting over the speakers but in the corner by the bathroom, Minsun and Seokjin do not seem to care. They are still kissing when you leave, one hand tangled in Jimin’s. You keep glancing at him, since it has not escaped your notice that Jimin has not said anything since the proposal.

He smiled, sure. He laughed – but there is something to his gaze which is giving you pause. Jimin whirls suddenly around, pulling your body to his. “Let’s celebrate,” he half-yells, to be heard over the music.

“Celebrate what?” Your hands slide around his neck. “Minsun and Seokjin?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jimin bends, nuzzling the exposed lines of your throat. “But also, life. Being together. Freedom. Whatever you want.”

You nod, letting your hips sway with the music. The word freedom sticks in your mind; a double-edged sword in comparison to the others. As you dance, you chance another look to where Seokjin and Minsun were standing. They no longer are, having disappeared along with the change of music. You presume they are on their way to properly celebrate. It is not difficult to be happy for them. You have been there since the beginning, after all. You have seen their relationship blossom since college and you know this is the next logical step.

Still, something nags in the back of your mind. Jimin said freedom.

Pressing closer, you try to ignore this. Jimin is not always good with his words – hell, it took him long enough to admit he liked you. It has been on more than one occasion he has said the wrong thing, but his intentions are always good and he learns from his mistakes. Deep down, you know Jimin is happy. It is only – your arms tighten, fingers running through the fringe of his hair – sometimes, you wonder if he regrets this.

Perhaps regret is too strong a word. You are Jimin’s first relationship in nearly five years, after all. Not only that, you two are a relationship, in all italic sense of the word. You began dating by saying I love you and that is a lot of pressure for anyone, let alone a reformed playboy. Thinking this, you wince and turn your face into his shoulder.

This might be unfair, since Jimin says he loves you. You know this, and you know it is not okay to hold his lack of girlfriends against him. It is only that word – freedom – which worries you, because it makes you afraid Jimin thinks this is lacking. The belief is unfounded, to be sure. Jimin has never once mentioned as much to you. It is only occasionally, at times like tonight, or at family gatherings – when the subject of marriage or kids is brought up, Jimin goes unnaturally silent.

It is hard for you not to notice. Jimin tries his best to hide his discomfort but to you, it is obvious – of course it is. There is no one who knows Jimin better than you, no one who can read his small ticks and tells like you can. You know that talk makes him uncomfortable and honestly, you do not blame him. It must be difficult to go from absolute freedom to someone always knowing what he is doing. To go from not having to answer to anyone to always thinking about someone else. Being in a relationship is work and occasionally, it crosses your mind if Jimin thinks it is worth it.

Refusing to entertain such thoughts any longer, you burrow deeper into his embrace. Jimin loves you, you remind yourself. This is just your insecurities rearing their ugly head and you should not let them win when there is nothing to back them up. Jimin pulls you closer, bending his body as you soften.

“Jimin,” you say.

Lowering your hands, you graze the soft threads of his t-shirt. It is hot outside, equally so on the dance floor because the AC can only compete with sweaty bodies for so long.

“Yes?” Jimin moves your hips with his own.

In the corner of one eye, you see the rest of your friends convene on the edge of the dance floor. They have that look in their eyes – the tipsy, where-should-we-go-next kind of look which you have no desire to follow.

“Take me home?” you ask, propping your chin on Jimin’s chest.

He smiles, grabbing your hand as he nods in response. Some Reggaeton beat follows you outside the bar – the same, distant beat which seems to accompany every Reggaeton song – and Jimin interlaces his fingers with yours, pulling his phone from his pants. The night air is chillier, breeze whipping your hair while you take a step closer and drape Jimin’s arm around you.

Jimin squeezes you softly, ordering an Uber. When it arrives and you pile into the backseat, Jimin is silent as he stares out at the window. You end up offering your apartment address, remembering Seokjin said he wanted to propose to Minsun in bed. On the off-chance he still has something he planned about that, you certainly do not want to be around for the moment. Resting your head on the window, you stare at the night until Jimin shifts on the backseat beside you.

“You know that I love you, right?” he asks suddenly, breaking the quiet.

There are a million things which run through your mind. The scratchy cough of the car driver, the feel of your butt on the fabric and the steady itch of your seatbelt. Jimin’s hand closes over yours, warm on the leather.

“Yeah,” you say, looking at him. “I know. You know I love you too, right?”

Jimin smiles, not quite reaching his eyes. “I know.”

When he does not add anything more, you nod. The backseat falls quiet again, you lower your head to the seat and Jimin moves nearer. “Okay,” he sighs.

You smile, resting your eyes the entire way back to your place.

When the car door opens, cold air blows on your face and you protest, burying your face in his shoulder. Jimin chuckles, pushing the door open to drag you outside.

“Come on,” Jimin says, wrapping his arm over your shoulders.

Grumbling under your breath, you let yourself be led up the walk. Before you know it, you are blinking outside the door to your apartment. Mutely, you hand over the key and Jimin lets you both in, stepping past the threshold to turn on your lights. You were right, it seems. Seokjin and Minsun went back to his place.

Yawning, you strip off your purse and fling this over a counter. Jimin has disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone in the front hall. After locking the door, you trudge to the couch and lower yourself to its cushions. You were so sleepy in the cab, as though you will fall right asleep – but now, you find yourself staring at the wildly printed fabric (chosen by Minsun), and feeling wide awake.

As soon you think this, Jimin jogs into the hall. “Righ’,” he demands, toothbrush half-hanging from his mouth. He pushes hair back from his forehead, continuing to brush. “Ai thou chu sh’d kno’ at –”

“Park,” you say, arching a brow. One by one, you kick off your heels to the floor. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying, which somewhat lessens the impact.”

Jimin pauses, nodding and disappearing again down the hall. “’ANG ON,” he yells, followed by the sounds of spitting and running water.

You kick your feet up behind you, lying like a lump on the sofa – your skirt is probably hiked up in the back, but you cannot bring yourself to care. It is too late and you are too tired. Jimin jogs again into the room.

“Okay,” he declares, sticking out his tongue to display newly minted freshness. “What I was trying to say –”

“Through a toothbrush.”

“– albeit, not in the most romantic of fashions, but what I was trying to say is that I love you, okay?”

Slowly, you sit up on the sofa. “Jimin,” you say gently. “I know this. Why do you keep repeating that?”

“Because.” He exhales, pushing both hands through his hair. It makes his t-shirt ride up, exposing a flat strip of stomach. You try not to overly ogle; no one likes being ogled when they are attempting to be serious.

“I’m really excited for Seokjin and Minsun – really, I am!” Jimin says. “They deserve happiness, but...” Walking closer, Jimin kneels at the end of the couch. He drapes both arms over the armrest, peering at you. “I don’t want you to feel as though I love you any less because I’m not proposing right now.”

Your eyes widen. “I – Jimin, I never thought that.”

“I know,” he says. You wrinkle your nose, making him smile. “You’re too good and too perfect to ever pressure me, I know.”

“Jimin, that’s not –”

“I know.” This last part is quieter, eyes shut so that the dark of his lashes brush cheekbones. “It’s just... something I think about every day, you know?”

His fingers trace over the couch, absent-minded. Swirl, angle, circle and line. “Jimin,” you whisper, gaze moving from his hand to his face. “What do you think about every day?”

His expression stills. “You. Me. The future. I think...” He inhales, a quick sound. “I think about it all the time. What it will be like to marry you. To wake up next you. To have kids with you. I want all that, Y/N. I don’t want you to think that I don’t.”

Instead of answering, you swallow. It does not seem as though he is finished yet, and you do not yet know what to say. This is the first time Jimin has confessed something like this to you.

He opens his eyes. “I have every intention of marrying you, Y/N. It’s just, for the first time in my life, I want to do things right. I want to plan, be ready for marriage because once I do – there’s no going back.” He scoots closer, tiny movements until his nose brushes yours. “I want to propose in a way you can’t say no to. Not in some dingy bar, where an overplayed Drake song is playing.”

“I don’t know,” you say, needlessly tormenting. “I kind of like that song.”

Jimin growls. “Fine, I’ll have that playing in the background.” He pauses, adjusting closer. “I just wanted to tell you, because – well, why shouldn’t I tell you what I’m thinking?”

Unable to stop yourself, you smile. “No,” you say, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you did. I think about that stuff too, you know.”

“You do?” Jimin’s eyes crinkle. “What do you think about?”

Now you are realizing the balls it took Jimin to tell you all this because, while you daydream about the future quite frequently, it is another thing entirely to lay it all on the line.

“Um,” you mumble, burying your head in the crook of the couch. “I think about what kind of place we’d get together.”

“Oh?” Jimin stands up from the floor. “What kind of place?”

You inhale when he kneels behind you on the couch, hands sliding smoothly up the backs of your legs. “I – I,” you whisper, trying not to move. “A cute apartment, at first. One where we didn’t have to worry about Minsun taking too long in the morning to shower – or Seokjin, for that matter. Where,” your breath hitches when Jimin’s hands slide a bit too far, “we could get ready in the morning together.”

“Mm?” Jimin’s crotch grazes your hips, letting you feel his hardening length through his jeans. He pushes your dress upwards until cold air hits your ass. “What else?”

“I...” You inhale when his thumbs hook the sides of your panties. Jimin’s weight rests on your legs, holding you firmly as you squirm underneath him. “I think it might be nice to live together for a bit, before we get… married.”

Jimin inhales at the word. Bending, he supports himself with both arms to brush a kiss to your neck. “You want to marry me?” he asks quietly, hips molding to yours. “Are you sure?”

Gently, you nod. “Pretty sure. I mean, Daniel Henney is kind of out of the question, so –” You laugh when Jimin huffs, and then make a much different noise when he smacks your ass with one hand.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” he says, massaging the same cheek with his palm. You nod again, curling your arms underneath you to face into the couch. “You like being a little brat,” Jimin growls, shifting his weight. “You like being spanked, hm?”

You try to move, try to turn over but Jimin just chuckles, grabbing hold of your waist. “No,” he exhales, keeping you there. With one finger, he gently trails the damp center of your panties. “Not yet. I want to see how wet I can make you like this.”

You are not sure what he means until Jimin grips the couch on either side of your head. Your dress remains bunched at your waist, his jeans still firmly buckled, but his cock is now obvious, pushing into your ass. It makes you squirm, hot and bothered beneath him.

“Jimin,” you moan, rutting your hips against cushions.

Chuckling, Jimin lowers his lips to your skin. “What, baby?” he asks, dragging the strap of your dress down your arm. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” you whimper. Jimin presses gentle kisses to your ear, massaging the delicate skin with his tongue. Your thighs clench underneath him, hating how wet he can get you. All without touching, all without even eating you out. He can do this just by straddling you, by dry humping and kissing – you do not hate this fact about him. You only wish you could slam him into the couch and return the favor.

Jimin’s mouth curves into a smile. “Is my baby getting anxious?” he whispers, one hand sneaking beneath your dress. You gasp when he flicks over a nipple, playing with the bud until it hardens into his palm. Then, Jimin moves to the next, still kissing your neck and keeping you grinding into the couch.

You groan, arching your back and pressing your breasts into his hands. Jimin has wonderful, skilled fingers – something you have never failed before to appreciate. You cannot help but squirm underneath him, hips grappling for friction, your barely clothed crotch humping the fabric below. It is barely anything, but still, it is better than lying here drenched in your own arousal.

Jimin gently tugs your nipples before he retreats, rocking backwards as he sits on his heels. “Y/N,” he coos. When you glance over your shoulder, you see him remove his shirt. Jimin flexes before tossing this on the ground – always a show-off, even now. He grins at your expression. “What about a game?” Jimin suggests, seeing the drenched core of your panties.

Fuck, anything for him to touch you again. You narrow your eyes, attempting to appear in control. “What type of game?” you counter – as loftily as you can with your dress bunched around your waist. Jimin slides his hands to your ass, pushing your cheeks apart and massaging them gently. You nearly combust on the spot.

“I’ll ask you questions,” he says, arching a brow.

His cheeks are flushed, chest rising and falling and you realize he is more turned on than he lets on. Gaze darting down, you see Jimin’s cock strain against the tight fabric of his jeans. Judging by that, he will not keep you waiting for long.

Seeing where you look, Jimin frowns. “I’ll ask the questions,” he repeats, lightly smacking your ass. “When you answer, I’ll reward you.”

“Sounds… fun,” you say with zero conviction.

Jimin grins. “Alright, first question.” Adjusting himself, he unbuckles his belt and pulls the leather through loops. “Should we have two sinks in our bathroom, or one?”

Rolling your eyes, you attempt to shift underneath him. “Two, duh.”

The corners of his mouth drop. “You don’t want to share?” Jimin whines.

“I think there will be enough sharing without us fighting over toothpaste stains, thanks.”

“Hm.” Jimin considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Good enough, here’s your reward.”

Dropping his belt on the ground, Jimin pulls your dress overhead. You let him, wriggling until the fabric joins his t-shirt and belt on the floor. You are left naked except for your panties, breasts pressed into the fabric of the couch in twin, hardened peaks.

“Is that it?” You rub your butt against his crotch. Jimin’s gaze darkens. “You’re not even going to touch me?”

“Not so fast,” he says, spreading your legs and dragging two fingers up the folds of your slit. Groaning, you press yourself into the palm of his hand. He keeps your panties on, although the material is flimsy, drenching his digits as they slip to either side.

“Next question,” he pants, tugging your panties sideways. “Do you want a cat or a dog?”

“Um...” You inhale, wriggling your hips – only to be rewarded with a sharp slap on your ass.

“Not until you answer!” Jimin sounds like he is grinning.

“Fine,” you huff, flopping still. “I want a cat. They’re fluffy and independent and just think how cute you’ll look when it deigns to sit on your lap.”

“Hm.” Jimin slips his thumb between your folds, rubbing a slow circle over your clit. You are so wet, you swear, grinding your hips against him in the hope of more friction. “Good.”

Abruptly, he removes his thumb from your clit – you do not protest for long, since he hooks both index fingers under your panties and tugs them down to your ankles. Jimin lifts himself up, removing them gently to toss to one side.

“Fuck,” he groans, when you are naked beneath him. “Turn over, baby, I want to see you.”

You oblige, shifting to press your butt to the couch. Keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin, you drop your legs to either side.

He swallows, hard. “Shit.”

You smile. “What are you waiting for?”

“Next question.” Jimin lowers himself to his stomach. His hands slide up your legs, pressing your knees to the couch. “Do you,” he pauses, blinking uncertainly. “Would you want… kids?”

You stop, staring at him with a lump in your throat. Jimin turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your knee. Feeling the sudden urge to see him when you say this, you grab his face and lift his lips to yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing him.

Jimin opens his mouth, one hand fisting into your hair. He groans, your chests pressing together, hips grinding against him. When Jimin reaches downto frantically unzip his jeans, you are already there. Slapping his fingers aside, you yank his pants past his ass.

“Y/N!” Jimin laughs when you push these down with your feet.

“Shut up,” you say, kissing him again. “I want your pants off.”

“Which you can do,” he informs, helping you out, “through less creative maneuvers.”

“That’s not why you love me, though.”

“I love you because you can take my pants off with your feet?”

“Yep, that’s it.” You laugh when Jimin sloppily kisses your collarbone. Your fingers scramble for his boxers, removing the last article of clothing. “Ah,” you sigh when his cock springs free. His hard length slaps the skin of his stomach. “There it is.”

Jimin smirks, lowering himself to your body. “Where do you want me?” he murmurs, dragging his cock up your slit. “Like this? Fucked into the couch?”

You whimper when he removes himself from your folds, sinking his index finger into the warmth of your cunt. “Ah,” you groan, pushing up while he slides slowly in and out. Jimin’s thumb rubs your clit, smirking above you.

“Or, you can flip over,” he murmurs, opening your lips in a kiss. “And be fucked from behind. Or...” His breath hitches when you start to mouth down his jaw. “Against the wall? Or, spooning – just slip between your legs and fuck you like that?”

“Ah,” you groan. Your hands fumble with his waist, stroking his cock in your hands. “Maybe tomorrow morning, baby. I want to see you.”

Jimin nods into the crook of your neck, letting you guide him to your opening. Wrapping both legs around his waist, you nudge up against him. Jimin’s cock brushes your folds, teasing while you dig your hands into his hair.

“Jimin,” you groan. “Just put it in me, already, I wanna come on your dick.”

Jimin’s gaze darkens and he reaches between your legs. “Fuck,” he hisses, positioning himself to thrust quickly inside. You gasp, jolted into the couch by the force . Jimin pauses, brushing a kiss to your forehead and letting you adjust. “Is that – are you…?”

“Yes,” you groan, tipping your head back to the arm rest. “Fuck, yes, right there, Jimin.”

He smirks, pulling himself higher to re-position himself on his knees. Jimin’s hands find your ankles, lifting your legs to drape over his shoulders. “Is that good,” he murmurs, bending to push himself deeper inside.

“Mmph,” you say, the new angle allowing him further. “Yeah, Jimin, just like that.”

Jimin’s hips roll, letting you feel him in his entirety. He withdraws, hovering a moment before pushing into you slowly. You bite on his shoulder, letting him fill you – sometimes, there are no words which capture the feel of Jimin like this. It takes everything you have not to combust simultaneously, breaking apart to let him in at the seams.

You concentrate on the feeling him fill you and try your best to remain sane. Jimin grabs your ankle, turning his head to kiss skin before gently pushing inside you again and loosening a groan from your lips.

“Oh,” you moan, both arms clasped around his neck.

Jimin thrusts harder, kissing you roughly. His tongue finds yours, hips rutting against you while your hands pull his hair. Each thrust brings him deeper, closer as you bite down on your lip.

“Jimin,” you whimper. “Oh, ah, Jimin!”

He chuckles, pressing you harder into the couch. “Fuck,” he breathes, gathering you closer and fucking you faster, hitting that spot deep inside you. “Y/N, fuck.”

Hair falls into his gaze, dark and sweaty while his muscles bunch, keeping himself up. Jimin falls onto one elbow, other hand slipping between your legs to ease over your clit.

“Shit, Jimin,” you gasp, clutching him harder. His fingers are quick, bringing you close to the edge while he continues to fill you. It is difficult to keep still; you arch against him, urging him closer, deeper while grinding yourself on his cock.

Jimin reaches down, adjusting your hips and suddenly – fuck – he is everywhere. Deep inside you, on top of you, his lips mouthing up the edge of your jaw to whisper words in your ear. How he loves you, how he needs you, how he wants you. How you complete him, how you are him and you are saying it back, tugging strands of his hair with your fingers. When you come, shattering apart, it is Jimin’s name on your lips.

“Jimin,” you groan, collapsing back on the couch. He continues a few, frantic thrusts before coming inside – you feel him shudder, gasping your name when he half-collapses above you. Smiling, you press a kiss to his shoulder, rubbing his back before he manages to pull out. Grabbing a tissue from the end table, Jimin cleans you up before collapsing back down.

He sighs, turning his head to lazily connect your lips to his. “You want all that?” he asks softly, returning your earlier conversation. Looping your ankles over his ass, you let him pancake on top of you.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nearly bursting with happiness. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Jimin smiles, interlocking your fingers with his. “Because it’s all coming. Just not in a bar.”

[ No Strings Master List ]

#jimin smut #bts smut #noonanet #kwriterskollection #bangtanarmynet #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing

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hyunllx · 6 years ago

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Heathers & Gargoyles A complete rewrite of Riverdale Season 3

A game, a cult, a murder. Sounds like a stereotypical october for the town of Riverdale. Yet when Betty, Jughead, Veronica, and newly freed-from-juvie Archie are recruited to join the increasingly dangerous game of Griffins and Gargoyles, they find themselves dodging assassinations and deadly traps designed to keep them on a pre-determined story path. Left without the help of their brainwashed allies, the core four must work in the shadows to stop the rising body count and unmask the King of Gargoyles before their story is finished.

Chapter Two: Candy Store Previous Chapter | Read it on AO3

Frosty midnight grasses and leaves crunched underfoot as Betty trekked the sparse paths on the outskirts of town. Occasionally she stopped to adjust the strap of her bag, resting uncomfortably against her shoulder due to the bulky navy cloak she’d taken from the Riverdale High’s theatre department. The silver faux-fur trim itched where it met her neck, and the fabric occasionally snagged on a twig or bramble. Though it slowed her down, Betty arrived at the entrance to the main Fox Forest trails on time, finding Cheryl, Toni, and a couple other Poisons waiting for her a little way into the tree line. “Betty!” Toni whispered and beckoned as soon as Betty spotted them, pulling her into an alcove in the trees hidden from the view of the unpaved parking lot and road. Seeing the Poisons dressed in leather with black face masks and real weapons on their backs and hips gave Betty pause; she suddenly felt very unprepared and unarmed for what could be a dangerous mission. Her make-shift cabalist costume would not protect against real-world dangers. She’d have to depend on the Poisons for her protection, a fact that became clear to Cheryl as Betty ungracefully slid down the embankment into the alcove. “Where did you get that ridiculous mantle?” “Don’t worry about it.” Betty said as she pulled twigs and dead leaves from the faux fur. Brushing the dirt off her bag, she opened it to pull out a leather-bound notebook, old but unused. Thematically, she figured the book fit her role, though the thought she was spoiling such a beautiful book on this nightmare of a game stung a little, “Do you have the mission?” Cheryl looked to Toni who dug through her many pockets to produce a flattened parchment scroll. “I couldn’t figure it out. It’s code but I don’t know how to unscramble the letters. I remember how easily you decoded that cipher last year… maybe you can figure it out?” The vision of FP’s trailer almost exactly a year ago seeped into the corners of Betty’s eyes. She sat with Jughead and Kevin, Toni’s eyes coldly judging her from across the room. In her hands, the parchment flickered to the cipher her father made, a message to her, pleading her to join him. “Betty?” Toni’s hand on her arm suddenly snapped her mind back to the present, though her head reeled from the flashback. Her daggered gaze was kind now, worried, the air cold instead of stifling. “Sorry, I’ll see what I can do.” She said weakly as she unrolled the scroll. Just like the cards, the word “Quest” took up most of the top of the paper. Below it, two rows of random letters scrawled in hand-written haphazard lines: GARDYLPE.HWONSIUVKBCFJMQTXZ DWK QRS WJU PD. At first glance the key looked like complete nonsense, which Betty figured was likely the goal, except for the row of three 3x3 grids at the bottom of the page, kindly pre-labeled with grid coordinates along the tops and sides of each square. “Can you decipher it?” Toni looked over the paper with genuine curiosity, a stark contrast against Cheryl’s burning impatience looming over them. “I think so,” Betty whispered, fumbling through her pocket for her phone, “The grids look familiar.” Turning the light of the screen down so they wouldn’t become a beacon in the dark woods, she thumbed through the pdf of a book of ciphers. It wasn’t thorough, but gave a few basic examples, and it was easy to find the matching row of three grids; a trifid cipher. Tracing the grids into her notebook, Betty made quick work of filling them in according to the instructions on her phone, assigning each letter in the first row, plus the period, a coordinate string. She then matched those coordinates to the second row of the key and unscrambled the strings, giving her the true letters. Within 10 minutes, “DWK” turned into “LAB”, written and circled at the bottom of her page. “Lab?” Toni exchanged a puzzled look with Cheryl, “Like a lab in the school?” “Unless the government is setting up a secret facility reminiscent of Stranger Things in Fox Forest, I don’t know what else it could be.” “ONN, with two ‘n’s” Betty cut in as she solved the QRS clue. The W in the next block shifted to an E, and while Toni and the Poisons theorized where this lab could be that held their mission, dread crashed through Betty’s bones. She knew what the cipher spelled now, each of the final five characters confirming her suspicions. LAB ONN ENU IT. “Lab on e-new it? The hell is that?” Cheryl looked down at the solved quest with disgust. “La Bonne Nuit.” Betty corrected, though her voice came as a whisper. “Finally, we’ve gotten somewhere. Poisons?” Cheryl clapped her leather-gloved fingers and threw her bow over her shoulders. The other Poisons gathered their things and followed their leader into the woods, heading back toward town. Toni was the only one who lingered with Betty in the alcove, “Are you coming?” “I don’t know, why are we going there?” At her side, Betty brought up the dialer on her phone, muting the sound as she hit the button to dial Veronica. “The King usually wants us to find offerings when He just gives us a location.” “Like what?” The phone slid into her pocket now. Betty had no idea if Veronica was listening or not; she could only hope her friend wasn’t asleep yet and would get the signal in time. Toni shrugged, climbing out of the alcove and checking her gear, “Booze, money, passcodes, keys, valuables. Things that are useful.” “So you’ve done this before?” “Who do you think has been breaking into buildings since school started?” Toni held out her hand to help Betty up; she took it cautiously but allowed the smaller girl to pull her out of the alcove. As they trudged after Cheryl and the rest of the party, the phone against Betty’s thigh grew uncomfortably warm, and every so often she’d glimpse green and red light shine through the fabric. Someone was listening. Please be Veronica. Not daring to check her phone, Betty couldn’t tell how long she and Toni stalked through the crisp autumn forest, occasionally stopping to help each other around rocks and fallen trees, or to free Betty’s cloak from brambles and nondescript bushes. The moon was only half-visible over the treetops when they caught up to the rest of the party, lingering in the trees outside the back parking lot of Pops’. A single light above the back entrance spilled over the asphalt and into the brush, but there were no signs of life around the diner this late at night. “There you sluggards are. The newbie didn’t want to come?” Cheryl chided with impatience still plastered on her face. “Be nice.” Toni shot her a look as she passed, the words barely audible though the quiet forest amplified them to Betty’s ear. “Excuse me for hesitating, we’re just stealing from my best friend’s business.” Betty retorted. Her legs hurt with exhaustion and needed sleep leaked into her muscles at this hour. She wasn’t in the mood for Cheryl’s mean-girl act tonight. “Are we gonna have a problem?” Impatience melted like ice from Cheryl’s face, fiery anger surging in its place. Her voice was too loud with the outburst, and the Poisons immediately snapped to alter positions, eyes glancing around the building and fingers lingering on hidden weapons. “Cheryl!” Toni warned, voice a contrasting urgent whisper. “No, if Betty has a bone to pick after coming this far, she should know the consequences. We take these missions seriously. Maybe it’s a game to you, but there’s no backing out for us. We can’t just waltz home and sleep peacefully without following orders. You’re a Poison now, or you’re an enemy.” Betty found herself unable to pay attention as Cheryl talked at her. The words entered her ears but became lost on the way to her brain as a deep fog filled the wiring of her mind. Her nerves tingled as if she were falling, or the ground were spinning rapidly around her, and her vision became blurred black. The sensation was unsettling, but familiar, especially since her father’s imprisonment. Yet usually Jughead or Veronica or Archie were with her to ground her as the dissociation overwhelmed her senses. Here in the deep night woods there were no warm hands to grab her and keep her from floating away. “You’re an enemy” leaked through the fog, echoing into the hearing processing center of her brain. She shook her head, clearing enough of the fog to mutter, “I’m not your enemy.” Her vision came to at the point of a knocked arrow, the arrowhead bright scarlet even in the silver moonlight. Cheryl’s still-fuming face glared at her from the other end of the shaft. The image sat hauntingly familiar in her mind, the hazy memory of a Dead-Eye card in flames and an even more distant lingering image of her father glaring at her behind a gun conjured at the corners of her awareness. “Go unlock the door.” Cheryl ordered, shouting the oncoming flashback away with her words. Though Betty was used to macyvering her own picks, a proper steel pick and torsion wrench slipped into her palm from Toni’s fingers. She pushed her way between Cheryl and Betty, giving Betty a shield to side-step out of the brush and onto the parking lot. Pins and needles sparked sharply in her feet as the rest of her body shook off the dissociation, remembering how sore and tired her muscles were. Still, Betty hobbled halfway across the small lot before her legs locked in fear, motion-detecting light suddenly pooling around her, wreathing her in brilliant white. The light hummed faintly in the quiet, the sound drowned out by the panic roaring in her ears while she waited for alarms to blare. Or sirens. She didn’t know which would be better. None came and eventually her legs unlocked, allowing her to stumble to the shadows clinging to the wall of the diner. Familiarity took her muscles, guiding her to the locked door. The lock inside the doorknob was not complex, and with only a little pressure and a couple audible clicks, she could thrust the heavy concrete door open. The hinges creaked as Betty let the door swing for a moment, waiting to hear voices or footsteps approach. Still, no noise came from the building. The Poisons joined her, moving silent and stealthy around the parking lot, weaving through the shadows in more expert patterns than she could have even thought to do. A sharp whistle met her ear as an arrow materialized embedded into the wooden steps just inside the door. The Poisons froze around her, allowing Cheryl to enter the building first, not without a sneer in Betty’s direction. Toni followed, and Betty shuffled in after the other members, keeping her eyes on the woods until the door closed. The steps to the speakeasy squeaked, the tiny stairwell illuminated by faint strips of orange light installed in the spaces between the wood panelling. Betty had to blink as Toni flicked the lights in the speakeasy on, flooding the room in warm yellow-white. With a smirk Cheryl turned toward her party, gestured grandly to the nearly finished La Bonne Nuit, and said in a familiar sing-song tone, “Well ladies, welcome to the candy store.” Immediately the party split up, searching for anything expensive-looking or useful construction bits. Cheryl and Betty were the only ones who didn’t move; the smirk on Cheryl’s scarlet lips faded to a sour pout, “At least make yourself useful and look for a safe. Shouldn’t be that hard to find if you know your friend.” The words stung. The thought of stealing from Veronica turned her stomach. Yet if Cheryl didn’t kill her for refusing to help, the Gargoyle King would. She should have never agreed to help the Poisons. “It’s under the drinks display.” She said, motioning to where she’d seen it installed a few weeks before, “I don’t know the code.” While Veronica trusted her, she was still quite a private person and wouldn’t have given her that information. Understandably so, given her family. Violating that trust added extra salt to her fresh wounds. “What are you here for if not to crack codes?” Cheryl stepped out of her way, the Poisons gathering around again with handfuls of spare copper wiring, rolls of light strips, and tools left abandoned at the end of the previous work day. They were practically breathing down her neck as she stepped behind the bar and crouched low to slide open the cabinet door hiding the safe away. The safe was fairly stereotypical; a square of heavy, dark steel wedged into the cabinet so no one could remove it without dismantling the surrounding wood. However, instead of the traditional dial that looked like it should rest in the center of the door, an electric lock and a keypad waited for her. As the safe was brand new, there was no visible wear on the number pads, and the buttons were firm to the touch when she dragged her knuckle over them. No visual indication of the password. Blinking lines on the green LCD screen showed a twelve digit solution, too long for a birthday, or anniversary, or pin code. Betty frowned, wracking her brain for a number that length Veronica could have chosen. “Has anyone seen a 12-digit number anywhere?” She asked aloud, hoping that perhaps there was a universal code they used on missions, but everyone shook their head. Must be a challenging cipher then. Betty considered pulling the code book up on her phone again, no 12-digit ciphers coming to mind. Except…. The clue that brought them there. Four sets of three letters made up the clue, 12 numbers in totals if she added each set together. Pulling the book out of her bag, she quickly added the numbers that designated each letter of “La Bonne Nuit.”. 645 655 656 777 A long beep rang from the lock as she pressed the enter button, followed by the click of magnets releasing inside. The door swung outward and she opened it slowly, met with a rather unremarkable stash. 4 rolls of coins as starter change sat in the corner, weighing down a blueprint of the building and a couple bank statements. Betty let out a sigh of relief, glad she wouldn’t be taking anything of major value. She passed the rolls of coins to the nearest Poison and collected the blueprint for herself, slipping it into her bag as she pushed away the recognition that she was stealing from her best friend. As she did so, however, another paper slipped from the very bottom of the safe, settling discreetly on the floor at her knees. Looking back quickly to make sure none of the girls were watching anymore, Betty lifted the paper into just enough light to read it. A tear consumed the top left corner and the contents were difficult to decipher due to wrinkles and smearing from fresh liquid. FAKE Written in bright red, blotchy ink scrawled across most of the page. The paper was thin under the bright paint, made recent enough that Betty avoided touching it lest she become literally red-handed. Carefully, she brought the page closer to her face, squinting to read the smeared letters through the ink. Photocopied given the poor quality of ink, Betty tried her best to scan through line by line, growing more and more confused. It seemed to be a building deed, likely to Pops’ as Veronica’s legal signature scrawled across a line at the bottom. But why would someone label this as fake so aggressively? So obviously that there was no way someone could miss it. And where was the real version of not here, in the building's safe the deed belonged to? “Betty! Are you coming?” She jumped as Toni called her name, hauling her out of her concentration. With haste, she shoved the sopping copy paper into a secluded pocket of her bag and shut the safe door. The electromagnet lock took a moment to click back on, and only then did she close the cabinet and get to her feet. As she stood to follow the Poisons up the stairs, the dull glow of her phone screen caught her attention through her pocket. It displayed two text messages at the top of the screen. “On our way” from Veronica. Received 20 minutes ago. “Stall, around the corner.” from Veronica. Received 1 minute ago. “Come on, Cabalist.” Cheryl growled from the stairs, the glare back in her eyes. That’s when the rumbling of speeding tires cut through their heist for the first time that night.

#riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #bughead #varchie #riverdale rewrite #my writing #h&g

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