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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

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poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 4

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ty to everyone who told me what yall think the canary suit looks like! if you would like supplemental photos in order to imagine it, i can provide those!

cw: battle-typical violence, dehumanization, claustrophobia

Scott’s happy to say that he hasn’t thought about Solidarity hardly at all in weeks. The wake-up call from Shelby had been necessary to get him back into his head, and he remembers that he has no reason to actually care about Solidarity so he stops worrying about him.

That is, until today.

There’s a new villain in town, one teaming up with Xornoth and from what Scott’s heard the effects have been absolutely devastating. He hasn’t met this ‘Canary’ yet, but from what he’s heard from the hero Microsoft Team and seen on the news, the man has some sort of telepathic or force-type powers. There’s a blurry clip that’s circulating of the Mad King climbing up a wall toward him, only for it to collapse inwards. A clearer one shows fWhip running down a road toward him only to be stopped in his tracks by a car flying out of nowhere. That’s telepathy if Scott’s ever seen it, summoning a car through the air like that. The Canary’s strong telepathy combined with Xornoth’s corruption is so far unbeaten as they cycle through heroes and antiheroes and, on occasion, villains whose turfs they invade.

They’ve got to be stopped, and Scott is just the man to do it.

He’s been a little bit absent recently—the anniversary of Aeor’s death had come, and he’d found himself out of town visiting friends for support—but he’s kept up to date on all of this and he’s certain that Xornoth is finally moving to take over Empires City, if not the country as a whole. Which just can’t happen, and Xornoth is, of course, Scott’s responsibility. So when, two days after he returns, he gets an alert saying that Xornoth and the Canary have been spotted by the harbor, he’s shooting out his backdoor without a second thought.

He follows the sound of screams and sirens to get there, and finally he can see the Canary for himself.

There’s truly not much to see that he hasn’t seen already on the news. The suit is met with tall black boots and leather gloves where it ends, exposing barely any. On top of that is a wide-brimmed black hat with a yellow feather tucked in the band, which Scott knows from the recordings is pinned into the man’s almost militant haircut. The suit itself is mostly yellow with black and grey accents, armored up for extra protection, Xornoth’s classic ‘X’ embossed on the chest (in white and black and grey, almost like feathers bursting from the villain’s chest). Attached to a harness around his chest is a pair of folded glider wings, designed to look just like a canary’s.

The ‘X’ certainly registers as strange to Scott, even as he shoots off a spiraling icicle right at the man, who dodges it just barely. There’s something else, though, something else that certainly feels wrong, something telling him that there’s something not quite right about this situation. Maybe it’s a fashion choice, but combined with the ‘X’, Scott really doesn’t know how to feel about the leather collar around the Canary’s neck. It makes Scott uneasy. Maybe it’s nothing, and it’s just a necklace the Canary likes—but usually, when in costume, one doesn’t wear any distinguishable jewelry. It’s far too easy to lose or forget to remove. Scott’s almost been caught a couple of times when he leaves the house in his layman’s clothes only to realize he left his classic Major earrings in.

There’s no time for curiosity, though, because before he knows it he’s been lifted into the air, a red tentacle squeezing tight around his waist. Scott twists this way and that, evaluating the situation.

He can either freeze the limb and break free, or he can let Xornoth think he’s trapped for a moment to try and understand more of the plan here. Xornoth is the type to monologue, something that Scott’s used to his advantage several times. That would certainly be useful here, wouldn’t it? So he puts up a token resistance, pretends to struggle as the tentacle pulls him close to Xornoth.

“Well, well, well,” the villain says once Scott is within hearing range. “Look who we have here.”

Scott’s always found it difficult to discern between what is their mask and what is their face. His running theory is that the corruption that spreads wherever they goes (it had been distressing for a while, when the fountain downtown had been overrun with maroon vines and toxic black roses, until Blossom had managed to figure out how to reverse it) has also corrupted their body, a reason for their cracked grey lips and the full skin coverage type of costume they have. He’s close enough now to see their lips, spread in a sharp-toothed grin.

“Hello, Xornoth,” he says lightly, resting his elbows on the tentacle still tight around his waist. “See you’ve made a friend.” He jerks his head in the direction of the Canary, who is currently staring down the crowds of people that have flocked to watch, almost daring them to cross into the battle. As if on cue, a flipped car happens to burst into flame. They back off.

Xornoth chuckles. “Do you like my pet bird?”

“I prefer birds that sing, not ones that collapse buildings on my friends,” Scott replies, and he sort of hopes that the news truck down below can pick up what he’s saying. That was a good one.

Xornoth isn’t put out by his quip, though. Instead, their smile grows dark. “Oh, he sings very pretty in his cage,” they say ominously. “Perhaps you will hear one day.”

And if that isn’t creepy as all get out. Scott doesn’t have time to think about what it means, though.

“What’s the goal here?” Scott cuts to the chase. “You think you and the Canary can beat us?”

“Easily. My Canary does exactly as I tell him. And when I take over the city, he will be at my side to ensure my victory.”

Right. That’s enough talk. Scott starts a sentence, doesn’t finish it before he blasts flurries into Xornoth’s face. While they’re distracted, he stabs the tentacle holding him with a shard of ice, rides it as it flails until he’s close enough to the ground to hop off. By then Xornoth has cleared their eyes, is speeding down toward him, the vine holding them moving at record speeds—

Scott dives out of the way, the ground below him going icey, letting him slide even further. Then he’s on his feet, running after Xornoth—Xornoth’s on the ground now, turning back toward him—Scott leaps, his cape rippling behind him, as he lets a stake of ice shoot from his hand directly at Xornoth.

On principle, Scott doesn’t kill. But there’s something off about this situation—and Xornoth’s been a thorn in his side for so long—and surely there’s nothing redeemable about this villain, surely the world will be a better place without them—

The stake misses and he breathes a sigh of relief. It’s short-lived, though, as a blast of red energy nearly nails him in the shoulder, just barely missing him. Scott ducks and rolls, rolls behind a parked car, straightens up and shoots ice in Xornoth’s direction before climbing into the air. His ice builds up into stairs of sorts, hopping from one pillar to the next as they rise steadily higher, tentacles wrapping around each one just as his feet leave it. It’s a move he spent weeks perfecting in college, one that he’s still insanely proud of. He always does it just for fun when kids ask to see his powers. In instances such as the current one, though, it’s more than just aesthetic. It’s life-saving.

Xornoth is rising as well, a tentacle lifting them, and Scott sends bullet-like shards of ice in his direction before doing a front flip off his ice pillar and onto a slide of ice that he’s creating as quickly as he can move. He slips down it, wind rushing through his hair and he can’t help but whoop, grinning at the world—

A tentacle smashes the slide in front of him and he barely has a moment to think nope, not gonna work, before he leaps off the side, tucking and rolling on the wooden dock of the harbor. Right, he’s in the middle of a deadly fight.

Beyond the harbor, the waves are a little choppier than normal. Perfect. Scott pulls at one, his arms moving through the air, turns it to slush then ice as it stretches across behind him, creating a suddenly solid shield behind him for the tentacle to crash into. He laughs when it works, waves his arms to shatter it.

The crowd is cheering, and he sends them a quick salute—they cheer even louder—and then a barrel of something beside him on the dock explodes.

The heat of the flames licks at him, some of them hit him—he cries out, moves to run away but he’s already on the ground and he doesn’t know how. That surely shouldn’t have happened—is the place laced with explosions?

There’s something familiar about the spontaneity of this. Scott doesn’t have time to focus on that, though—he rolls to his feet, pats out the fire on his cape, winces at the angry red marks appearing along his left arm where his sleeve has burned away. There’s so much smoke; his eyes stream as he tries to squint through it.

He’s been in worse. He doesn’t need help yet—

A tentacle snakes out, grabs him around the ankle, pulls him into the air. Okay, this is bad. Nothing he can’t win, but he wouldn’t mind having a bit of help.

The tentacle drags him up high—so high his head spins when he looks at the ground far below, at the flaming barrel, at the crowd, at the tiny yellow-and-black dot that is the Canary—and suddenly he’s eye-to-eye with Xornoth, standing on a tentacle of their own.

“Oh, Major,” they purr, and Scott decidedly does not like that. He reaches up (all that time doing crunches is really paying off), cape in his face, and scrabbles at the tentacle around his ankle. He can catch himself if he falls—it’s such a great height, he doesn’t think he’s ever had to save himself from this high up but there’s a first time for everything—

“You really think you can beat me?”

“Seeing as you’ve never won against me,” Scott grunts, “I feel that I’ve got a pretty good chance.”

Xornoth is abruptly in front of him, one gloved hand clenching Scott’s upside-down jaw, his hands falling away from the tentacle. “Look at me. Look at me, Major.”

Scott shudders, but meets Xornoth’s eyes. They’re black, pools of darkness, darkness that will swallow him up if he gets too deep.

“When I win, I will keep you locked in a cage like my Canary. And when I have your little friends, that Gem and that Blossom and the mayor, I will make you watch me torture them. I will make you watch them beg for mercy. I will make you hurt them.”

As crazy monologues go, this is one of the craziest Scott’s ever had the privilege of hearing. They don’t usually bother him that much, but Xornoth is staring into him with such a familiar look, something so truthful, that Scott can’t help but feel a chill run down his spine as he realizes that Xornoth fully believes they’re capable of such acts. This isn’t a casual, blustering revenge plot. This is forethought. Xornoth fully intends to carry out this plan.

“You’re insane,” Scott breathes, and the villain laughs.

“My pet screamed that once, long ago. You’ll break, just as he did.”

Scott doesn’t have the chance to consider what on earth that means, because while he’s beginning to panic at the tight grip around his leg, something hard and all-encompassing comes out of nowhere and slams Scott down.

He sucks in a breath only to choke on water—it’s a wave, a giant wave hit them, and he’s underwater and everything is muffled and slow and where did this water come from—?

Like a giant hand, the water grabs onto him, pulling him along as he thrashes—he’s never learned to swim, he’d avoided it as a child and was never interested as an adult—then he’s coughing on the ground, hacking up his lungs, and he turns to see—

It’s that water-powered villain, the new one with pink hair that usually the Mad King battles. Scott groans, briefly laments his terrible luck. Why did she have to turn up now? He’s already fighting two villains, two incredibly dangerous villains, he doesn’t need a third. . . .

The water releases him totally—he’s still soaked, but it’s no longer holding him—and almost—pats him on the back? Then it’s gone, racing back up to where the ocean villain is standing on top of a towering wave, hair whipping in the sudden storm of water. And she’s not even looking at Scott, her eyes totally fixed on Xornoth, who is rising up to meet her on a tentacle of their own, also dripping wet.

They regard each other, and Scott’s not sure if they’re about to battle or team up. There’s silence, even the crowd is holding its breath. Scott staggers to his feet, assesses the water—he could ice that over, no problem, will he need to?

She raises a fist, and water shoots out, hitting Xornoth directly in the chest. Right. Because that makes sense. It makes sense that this new supervillain would be on Scott’s side.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he mutters to himself, still gazing up as Xornoth sends a blast of plague-ridden red mist in her direction. He tears his eyes away. He has to get to some cover, message the Mad King or anyone who’ll come, he’s outnumbered here and he’s not sure what to do. He sprints away, close to the crowd (better not get caught can’t bring fights this close to civilians) behind an overturned car, pulls out his heavy-duty flip phone.

Which he promptly drops when he looks up. The Canary is stalking towards him, slowly, predator-like. Like he knows that no matter how far Scott runs, he won’t get away. It’s just a little bit terrifying.

Maybe he should start with an attempt at diplomacy?

“Canary, is it?” he calls out. The man doesn’t react, his mask rendering his face expressionless from this distance. “You’ve hurt quite a few of my friends.” Still nothing. Scott lets out a quiet curse, picks up his phone from where he dropped it and shoves it in his pocket. He’s still not really sure what the Canary is capable of.

The car he’s sheltered behind creaks. And leans. And falls.

Scott dives out of the way, ice appearing all along the ground as he penguin slides out of there. The car falls right where he had just been, then promptly combusts. It must’ve had a faulty engine or something.

The Canary is still coming closer. Scott rolls his eyes, climbs up onto a rising pillar of ice. It’s not going to be difficult at all to get aw—

The ice cracks under his weight, shatters. Scott falls, not far but far enough to knock the wind out of him when he hits the ground. He gasps for breath, turns to see the Canary almost on top of him.

That’s never happened before. His ice has never just cracked like that, leaving him to fall. It’s simply unheard of—and the viewers know that too, judging by their whispers.

That’s shaken him more than anything. He needs back-up, if he can get it. The battle raging in the background (the ocean woman is thrown to the ground but she picks herself back up as if it was nothing and spirals into the air, water conveying her) isn’t helping his focus, and he just needs to get away and pass this battle to someone else.

The Canary is right there. Scott hops to his feet, and, no time to think of anything else, shoves him in the chest. The Canary falls back to the ground, arm flying out in a wide sweep before the crowd (they’re very close to the viewers, just feet away, Scott needs to move this far away). Unnoticed, a metal barrel tips over, some kind of fluid spilling down in a line before the crowd, all eyes fixed on the fight.

Scott dives onto the Canary, still on the ground, and rolls them both away to the side, behind the burning car. They grapple for a moment—the Canary squeezes his eyes shut—there’s screams, screams from beyond the car—

Scott jumps up, runs back around, and there’s a line of fire between him and the crowd. The flames leap insanely high into the air, one section bursts and spits sparks all around and at least thirty feet up. Scott gasps, lifts his hands—he’s got to freeze this, do something to snuff it out, he can’t let anyone get hurt—

A hand grabs his wrist, pulls him back and down to the ground. He’s taken by surprise: in a normal situation, he would use the arm grabbing him as a stable bar to backflip over them and grab them from behind, but he’s still so distracted by the fire that he can’t help but land flat on his back. The Canary is on top of him in an instant, cloak whirling around him, landing his full weight (which isn’t much) on Scott.

His breath leaves him with an oof, and Scott grunts “Buy me dinner first,” before shoving him off. He rolls to the side—the Canary grabs him—Scott kicks him in the chest and scrambles up, feet slipping under him as he leaps into the air. Ice appears below him, giving something to kick off of as he flies forward and lands on his feet. There’s still screaming, so much screaming, but Scott can’t pay attention to that right now because he’s just got to get away from the crowd, draw the Canary away. He runs down the docks, narrowly dodging a whipping tentacle because that fight’s still going on. He runs, skates on patches of ice, slips his way into an alley off the harbor only for something to barrel into his back.

He lands on the ground, scrapes his chin on the asphalt, twists around onto his back to find the Canary on top of him, glider wings closing as he pulls on a string at his chest.

“What is your problem,” Scott manages, before the Canary grabs him by the shoulders and slams his head into the ground. It’s not a very hard hit, but it still leaves Scott a bit dazed as he reaches for the Canary, throws him off, and rolls on top of him.

One right hook to the jaw is all it takes for the Canary to go limp, eyes sliding out of focus and arms falling to his side submissively. It’s not the right move, not in any situation, not even a move Scott would make at his closest to death, but the Canary is completely still, waiting for Scott to hit him again.

That’s not right. He’s never met somebody who just doesn’t fight, and he remembers suddenly what Xornoth said, about their little bird in a cage and screaming—

Without even thinking, Scott tears off the Canary’s mask (inappropriate, illegal, he can’t do that) to hear a familiar cry come from those lips and suddenly be met with a face that he recognizes instantly.

“Solidarity,” he breathes, and Solidarity's panicked eyes find his.

The Canary—no. But the Canary—?

Solidarity reaches up, pulls his mask back down over his face, glances around anxiously. “Get out,” he whispers hoarsely. “Get—please, get away from me. . . .”

It’s Solidarity. He’s—he’s working with Xornoth?

That’s not possible.

He’s working for Xornoth. He’s not got a choice.

“No, I—I’m gonna help you, I’ve got to get you out of here—” Scott rolls off him, tries to pull him up, but Solidarity just shakes his head and covers his ears.

“No, no, I-I’m good, I can’t. . . .”

“Yes, you are good,” Scott encourages. He knows it’s true. Solidarity is no villain. He sees now the thin frame, the way Solidarity’s hands shake, the deep shadows under his eyes. Solidarity isn’t here of his own will. Solidarity isn’t a bad guy here. He glances toward the mouth of the alley, toward the continuing sounds of violence. He has to hurry. He extends a hand. “Solidarity, please. You can trust me. We just have to get going, right now.” He’ll deal with the man’s volatility later. He was right, he was right this whole time when that nagging voice in the back of his head told him that Solidarity’s disappearance was born of ill-intent, he knew it.

Solidarity breathes, deep and shuddering. “I—go. Please. Go. I’ll hurt you.”

He’s probably not wrong about that, what with his lack of control power-wise, but Scott doesn’t care. He just needs to get him away from Xornoth. “That doesn’t matter. It’s okay. I can take a hit if it means you’re safe.”

Solidarity doesn’t respond. He slowly unfolds himself from where he’s curled up, stands (and Scott can see now that what he’d thought was slow, calculated, terrifying movements are just stiff limps and pained steps), moves closer and closer until he and Scott are practically bumping noses.

“Please go,” he whispers, so quiet Scott has to strain just to hear it. “Or I will hurt you. On purpose.”

It’s not an empty threat. Scott can feel the power radiating off of him, the way he crackles with it. He doesn’t budge, though. “Come with me, and I will go.”

Solidarity’s eyes squeeze shut. There’s a creaking sound.

Scott looks up to see the office building they stand in the shadow of buckling in on itself. Of course.

He leaps, tries to clear himself from the destruction, but a chunk of concrete knocks him to the side and he cracks his head against the ground, his vision going red . . . then grainy . . . then black.

When Scott blinks his eyes open, there’s a paramedic taking his pulse. She looks up, smiles at him. He’s not quite sure what she says, but he hears his name and something about putting his neck in a brace. He’s done this sort of thing before, so he just lies back and looks around at what he can.

The alley he’d been in is covered in rubble. He’s too bleary to properly take it in, but he sees an office chair upside-down on a pile of bricks and almost laughs. He coughs instead, dust flying from his mouth. The paramedic clucks her tongue, lets go of his wrist to crack open a water bottle and hold it to his lips. Maybe it’s just because he has Solidarity on the mind, but he can’t help but recall doing the same when patching up his wounds.

Solidarity.

Scott struggles to sit up, is shoved back down by the paramedic. “Major, please stay down,” she says, voice almost muffled to his ringing ears. “You may have hurt your spine. As soon as they can get the stretcher over here, we’ll take you to the ambulance.”

But—but Solidarity—the fight—Xornoth—

“The fight,” he croaks, coughing more. Surely someone else came in, someone else stopped Xornoth from taking away Solidarity again.

“Xornoth and the Canary left, you don’t have to worry about them,” she says kindly, but Scott’s heart sinks. No. “And the water one—I think the news is calling her Lady Shadow?—she got away too, but nobody’s badly hurt.”

Then the paramedics with the stretcher arrive, and they put his neck in a brace and lift him up and there’s no more talking to him, just talking over him. He can hear the flash of cameras as they slowly carry him over the rubble, but he can’t gather the strength to wave, or do anything that might show he’s okay. For all he knows, they think he’s dead.

Scott lets himself be loaded into the ambulance, lets an IV be inserted into his arm, blinks blearily when they ask him questions. A concussion, he hears thrown around, and he curses silently because a concussion will put him out of commission for a week minimum.

The trail for Solidarity will have gone completely cold.

Jimmy takes it when he’s thrown to the floor, he takes it when Xornoth kicks him, he takes it when Xornoth rages at him about ruining everything.

Major wasn’t supposed to get away. It’s all his fault. He just wasn’t enough, didn’t do enough to stop him, didn’t try hard enough. Never mind that he hadn’t eaten and barely slept and so much more. He should’ve been better. He’s just a pet, he should’ve done what his master commanded—keep Major distracted while Xornoth fought the water powered.

He’d done his best. He really had.

Still, he just curls in on himself, lets Xornoth strip the Canary costume from his body until he’s in nothing but his shorts and mask and collar. Then they cuff his hands, attach his leash to his collar, and pull him away from the meeting room.

They pull him into the ballroom, and Jimmy starts panicking.

Xornoth is cutting a clear path to the cage. No. No. He’d been bad, he knows that, he knows he’s bad, but wouldn’t a beating be better? Maybe no food? Anything else?

“Please,” he whimpers, and when Xornoth pauses he throws himself to the ground, pulls at the leash with his bound hands. “Please . . . anything—anything else. . . .”

“You think you deserve better?” Xornoth snarls, looming over him. Xornoth isn’t as pristine as usual, their long hair knotted and their cloak torn. The battle hadn’t gone well for them, either. “You think you deserve to sleep on a bed tonight? You think you deserve to talk back to me?”

The slap is expected, but no less painful. Jimmy’s head whips to the side, his cheek stings, but all he can think of is not going back in that cage. He keens, he pulls on the leash, he shakes his head over and over again because he doesn’t deserve better, he doesn’t deserve a bed, but he can’t go in there.

“I’m sorry—please, master, please—I-I-I—” Another slap, to the other side of his face. He shrinks back, waiting for a reprimand, but Xornoth keeps pulling on the leash instead, fully dragging him across the room as Jimmy scrabbles at the floor.

“No—no, master—please! Master, please!” he screams, all thoughts gone as his brain goes into overdrive. He’s kicking out, his heart is beating faster than it ever has, he’s breathing too fast and not at all— “No—no—I’m sorry, master, please don’t! Please, no—!”

It’s too late. Xornoth bodily throws him in the cage and locks it, and before Jimmy can call to them again, they’re gone. Jimmy screams until his throat is raw, deliriously praying that someone, anyone, will take pity on him because it’s just a punishment, he can survive this he just needs another breath outside, he just needs a moment of respite and then he’ll be fine with the bugs in his spine and the voices muttering in his lungs and the shadows and how small it is he promises, he’ll be fine, he’s so sorry, he didn’t mean it, it was an accident, he didn’t mean to, please. . . .

#empires smp #esmp #empires fanfic #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #empires superpowers au #esh au #mas writes #i love scott he's so much fun to write in this #like i love jimmy and all but his pov is depressing #don't forget this au has a playlist!#maybe i'll link it again later #uhhh there's also a taglist for this!#just lmk if you want to be added #and lmk what you think!#love you guys

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boytouya · 3 years

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𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

words:2.3k

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, angst, open ended/ambiguous ending, descriptions of death.

request: “Can i request sukuna x male reader. Where reader keeps reincarnating with each lifetime for a curse and every time he remembers sukuna, he dies after gaining memories back. You can choose if theres a good ending or angst. Thank you king! I fell in love with him especially after reading that one shot i had to watch jjk and hes hot! Thank you for turning me into a sukuna simp! Much love”

a/n: i went,,,overboard with this request 🗿 BUT IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITESSIJEHSHE i’m honored to have introduced you to such a foine man

When you were five, only then had you understood the curse deemed ‘Ryoumen Sukuna.’ A rather tall man with two heads, one of which had splattered blood onto your sneakers. You understood the concept of death, of course, but could never truly comprehend the feeling of nothingness after watching your life flash before your eyes until nineteen. But there you stood, clutching the loop of your shorts when you witnessed the murder of your entire village. You didn’t know evil could have a moral compass, but the tall curse seemed to exclude half of the women and children. After the widening of youthful eyes and curdling screams you learned the monster took likings to things too. Women, with shaking forms and broken spirits. He’d stop before them, stare at them with eyes that could- in fact- kill, if they truly wanted to. But then he stopped in front of you.

“Close your eyes, Brat.” Death's hands were just as large as your family painted them out to be, if not larger. Calloused and riddled with blood as they are placed over your ears. You do as he- it says, squeezing your eyes shut and enclosing your eyes behind the meat of your palms just to be extra careful. You can see stars behind your eyelids, just as you can feel the sickening twang of death lingering in the air. You were aware it would happen at some point, Death would find its place for you over and over and over again, you’d been told since the day you were born.

There’s another sound, only muted under large palms. You don’t need your sense of sight or hearing to know what it was, the warm chunks splattering onto your skin was enough. Immediately, you flinched. When you opened your eyes, there were piercing eyes staring straight into your own. It looked so human, but something was off. Uncanny, as if it took years to manipulate its flesh and bone to emulate humans to a T. But there was nothing human behind those eyes, instead a void of nothingness. Death itself. If Death could express interest, you’d have thought that was the expression it was imitating. It offers a hand, one of four. Larger than your face, with sharp claws that could almost be described as talons. Darkened by dirt and remains of your loved ones, if it truly wanted to kill you, it could. It could tear you limb from limb with the wave of a finger. And it knew that.

So you took the hand, and he became your second home.

When you were ten, you learned about the red string of fate. It could never be broken, and those connected by it would always reunite, no matter the circumstances. You often had nightmares, those of which filled with blurred faces and sharp pain that reached you in your lucid state. Dreams of talons, piercing eyes, and double headed monsters. You dreamt under the stars, tasted metal on your tongue, and choked on smoke that wasn’t actually there. You dreamt of facial markings, details that you couldn’t exactly place, a name that you couldn’t quite remember. It left your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, racked tremors through your body, and caused premature dark circles to accumulate under your eyes.

When you were nineteen, you experienced your last breath. The air was stolen from your lungs, crushed under years of heartbreak and terror, and snatched from you in the dead of night. Your eyes glazed over, and nothingness overtook you. It left you for someone else to find, cold and lifeless. A void, similar to the eyes you had finally placed. But that didn’t matter much then, you had already drifted away from your body.

And that was that.

Thus, the cycle repeated. Under different names, different ages, different genders. There was always something gnawing away at your conscience, you felt as though you were forgetting something. But when you finally remembered, it was too late. And there was nothing you could do about it.

It was almost like deja vu, stepping outside your home to find blood splattered on the concrete floor. It made your blood run cold, sent a tremor through your body and made you feel like you were five again. Small and defenseless. You take it as your best interest to go back inside before you pass out, but the second you whip your body around you meet something- someone?- large and sturdy.

“Sukuna.” That was it, the sour taste at the tip of your tongue, the lingering sensation at the back of your brain. Him. He didn’t look the same, no, much smaller with tufts of pink hair. There’s something behind his eyes this time, something almost irrevocably human. For some reason that’s much scarier than what you remember. What you think you remember. He’s much more human, but the way he looks at you is everything but humane. He looks frustrated, angry at something, as if he’ll implode any second and go on a rampage. Dread bubbles up in your stomach, nearly erupting through your mouth as bile. It felt as though something should be happening, like something usually happened when the itch went away. He chuckles, low in his throat as he cranes his neck to put his face uncomfortably close to your own. His hands, still large, find their way to your wrist, gripping your right hand uncomfortably tight. For a moment, you consider how long a trip to the hospital would be if he shattered the bone beneath his fingers. But instead there’s a jolt of electricity that would’ve had you yanking your hand back if he weren’t holding it.

“What? You look different.” He all but purrs, inspecting your palm with long nails. Not long enough to be talons, but longer than those of a claw. It was true, you did look different. He wondered if you spent your lifetimes looking exactly the same. That couldn’t have been possible, he would’ve found you much easier, then. Still quite boyish, as if the body you were in didn’t originally belong to you. Clearly grown out of cargo shorts and polos, much taller than you were before. There was no way he could have forgotten you, the way you jumped when the remains of your loved one splattered across your legs. The way you stared back at him with a look of acceptance, the way you grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead you out of the village. It explained the body memories perfectly, the feeling of large palms on your head and remnants of a brain splattering onto your knees.

“Last time I saw you,” He let’s go of your wrist with a bored expression, then replaces its spot with the top of your head. He shoves you down, and you make an effort to ignore the crack your knees make when they smack against the concrete. Then, he crouches down to stare you directly in the eye, just like he had the first time you met. His eyes were no longer dark, instead a deep shade of red that caught light from the moon. They reminded you of vials of blood. “You were this tall. Much cuter in this century.”

“And you were bigger.” Sukuna laughs as if hearing that was the funniest thing in the world. He leans his weight into you and uses you as a support beam, laughing until his ribs burn and beg for a break. But how could he laugh at a time like this? He didn’t think it was weird? He’s existed for centuries, murdered for millennias and only now has he seen you. That wasn’t how it worked, when you died, you died. But Sukuna was a walking oxymoron to that statement. When he died, if he died, he would return. He’d return through you, the last fragments of his soul would stay bound to yours until the end of time. Perhaps that’s how he knew, how he remembered. Perhaps that’s why he still took the time to find you, even after countless years of failure. It was peculiar, but not as much as being bound to Death himself. It was a sick game of turning the phrase ‘Til’ death do you part,’ because in your case it was literal.

“You’re still a brat.” His voice is closest to something fond, as if he’s reminiscing sweet memories. It was much different on your account, and part of you wondered if Sukuna understood that. He makes no effort to help you up (he explains that you’re “a big boy now”) as he invites himself into your apartment. Nothing special, he doesn’t care much for family photos or if you have them, but the stacks of letters and books on your table peak his interest. He tears apart envelopes as if he owns them, reads through the contents and discards them to the floor if he deems them useless. The way he sits nearly breaks your chair, and, honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

So you sit beside him.

“You were so scared,” He says, almost as if he were bragging. But he was known to be arrogant and cocky, that was just his nature. He didn’t truly mean it like that, in fact, he looked quite reverent after letting the thought drift into the air. It was kind of funny, such a powerful thing fawning over past memories. But that wasn’t how this should go, you had your memory back, so why hasn’t anything happened? “When you grabbed my hand you stopped shaking.”

“...”

“It’s a shame I couldn’t keep you long,” He visibly frowns, the skin around his lips worry, but you can't tell if it’s genuine or not. He looks at you with something knowing the second the thought enters your head. “I looked for you, at first. You died young, for a human.”

Ninteen. ‘I should have been there,” he wants to add.

“Why aren’t I dying now?” You interrupt and let the panic sink in, the thought of impending doom sits on your shoulders because, really, it could happen at any moment. But this time, you don’t want it to. You remember accepting death when it came to your door at the young age of five, nineteen, countless times over and over. You had only ever gotten this far, you weren’t ready yet. You couldn’t start over, not now. “Sukuna?”

The question sours his mood in the blink of an eye, and instead of looking through your things, he raises himself from his seat to rest his palms on the table. It seemed he had a thing for staring down at people, making them cower under his stone cold gaze. You note the way his jaw clenches. You open your mouth to speak again, but he seems to have other plans. He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips purse together under the pressure of his large fingers. The movement feels familiar, like he’s done it before. The five years you spent with him were still a bit of a blur, but you remembered holding his hand quite often. He’d tell you to close your eyes if there was something he didn’t want you to see, he’d ruffle your hair a bit too hard, let you sleep on his back if he was out in the town. But that was all you remembered. He remembered it all.

“Respect your elders,” He lets go and sits back down as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over you interrupting him. Sukuna was centuries old, but even then, he’d exhibit immature behavior sometimes. Living for so long had to get boring (and lonely) at some point, perhaps that was why he looked for you. He did consider you something close to family, after all. In truth, there were some lifetimes where you met. Some when you were friends, something more than that, and something inseparable. And that’s why you hadn’t died yet, you didn’t remember it all. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking.”

“You’re much more handsome in this life.” His smile is much more intimidating than sweet, the sinister curl to his lips would only ever be associated with bloodshed in your eyes. But it was much more than that. Nights of sleeping together, days of laughter and flirtatious comments, soft moments that only you had seen. And it was bittersweet, because he knew the second he’d jog your memory you’d be gone. It wasn’t just a curse for you, but for him. Maybe it was his punishment for hurting so many people, dragging an innocent soul down with him and hanging them by the red string of fate. The comment makes your skin prickle with heat. Sukuna was quite the charmer when he wanted to be, easily picking at your weak spots with whatever you wanted to hear. But the comment was much more for the sake of his own, instead of yours.

Sukuna stands, hot on his heels as he holds out his hand one last time. If something were to happen to you tonight he’d make the most out of it, just as he did countless times over and over. So many years of starting over, getting to know you in various different bodies, realizing that being trapped away was the only way you’d get to live a full life, it was always on his mind. You were always on his mind.

So you take his hand. And for the millionth time, he’d become your second home.

taglist:

@ryoukuna @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @rinkindaugly

#💕.sukuna #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #anime x you #anime x reader #anime x male reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader #sukuna imagine #sukuna angst #sukuna au #sukuna oneshot

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Tower

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | two

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re apart of the Refugee Relief Movement, an intergalactic organization providing aid throughout the systems, and you find yourself assisting at a resettlement camp in Lothal when disaster strikes, changing your life forever, intertwining your path with that of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rated: Mature

Warnings: descriptive violence, blood/injury mentioning, danger, mature language

Notes: Hi y'all, welcome. This fic is going to be set during Season 2 of The Mandalorian, and will be what I like to call ‘canon adjacent’. ALSo, this chapter is very much so Reader focused, setting up the scene and the general pacing of the story, but naturally, Din will be more and more featured as things progress. I’m a sucker for backstory and a slow burn, so ye be warned. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) I’d love to hear from you lovely little beans. Be safe out there, friends.

Lothal was a planet all too familiar with occupation.

You remember seeing a quote somewhere that read ‘Look no further than Lothal if you want to see what happens when the Empire takes control of an entire world’; and although the Imperial chokehold had loosened when the Empire fell, the planet, even all these years later, still found itself gasping for breath.

Off world migration from the Core Worlds had been popularized since the expansion of the Imperial government bureaucracy, which brought booming business opportunities for the fortunate few, but as the rich became richer, the poor grew poorer. The Lothalites were forced out of their homes, off their own lands—refugees on their own planet; forced to resettle and relocate with nothing but the clothes on their back and the possessions they could cram into their pockets. The only heirlooms passed on from generation to generation were that of poverty, tall tales of former splendor, and the greatest of ancestral traumas: disillusionment.

The truly desperate turned to crime, and what couldn’t be solved by back-dealings and blaster fire was managed with fear mongering and the bitter flair of xenophobia. There was always a species to blame, and it was always the one who seemed to be doing better off, no matter how slight the margin.

Greed. Fear. Despair. These are the currencies in which the galaxy trades.

And so it was then, and continued to be, cycle after cycle. History, always finding clever ways to repeat itself.

On bad days, pollution still loomed heavy over the atmosphere—remnants of the fires from the Imperial occupation still clinging on to Lothal’s weary bones. She had been stripped during that time; gutted and strung up by her feet to dangle from the Empire’s meat hook, exsanguinated slowly, drop by drop, until she had nothing left to give. Her resources and minerals and ore and water and seed, robbed. Pillaged.

She’s free from it now, but the scars remain— the planet remembers. Her people do not forget. Like muscle memory, they all ungulate to this synthesized rhythm they can’t seem to shake, day in and day out, wandering. Forever unsettled.

The planet had always had a diverse population and had become something of a safe haven for other abandoned people fleeing their home worlds, determined to find somewhere - anywhere - for them to survive. Lothal provided that for them. It wasn’t rich or bountiful by any stretch, but it was simple and safe—safe in the way hidden things in plain sight are. One could blend into the crowd of many, unique faces, of all races and backgrounds; you could be anonymous, if you wanted. You could be free.

That’s how you’ve found yourself here in Jortho. You had been with the Refugee Relief Movement for the better part of what felt like forever, and they had transferred you to this planet not six weeks ago. You were out on rotation; the RRM sends someone new twice a cycle for the span of a month or two to varying locations to supply rations, aid with the influx of refugees, organize resettlement lodgings, and generally be of assistance when and where you could. However, your tenure on this temperate planet was coming to a close, and soon you’d be flying back to the headquarters on Coruscant before being bounced to another post somewhere out among the stars.

You love your job. You know it’s unpopular to say, but you do. It’s fulfilling and impactful and indescribably special. The individuals you meet, the stories you hear, they’re invaluable— priceless and precious, like handmade trinkets crafted by the fingers of a child; you press them all to your heart, holding them there. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you— the weight of it; the plights of all of these people, all of these lives, burdening your conscience. It isn’t always painless— you aren’t immune to it. Even so, on most nights you manage to sleep easy, tucked away aboard the transport freighter you flew in on with the batch of settlers newly assimilated into town knowing Maker, at least you were doing something— anything— everything you could.

And really, to call Jortho a town would be an insult to all towns everywhere—but ‘town’ has a certain charm to it that ‘refugee camp’ simply did not, and it gave the people hope. Pride, even. That they belonged somewhere.

You suppose that’s all anyone wants. To belong.

A feather soft gust of wind tickles the golden blades of prairie grass as the sun, bleary and tired, starts dipping from the sky. The crickbeets begin their song early, trilling, sensing Lothal’s moons still coyly tucked away, hiding somewhere along the horizon. A smile adorns your face, private and serene, as you bring a bowl of broth up to your lips, humming when the warm liquid meets your tongue. You sigh, contented, taking in the sights before you; how the dusk blurs the aromatic air, making it opaque, the shuttles docked across the way from you casting long purple shadows onto the flat plains, the snowcapped mountains in the distance bordering the cant of the planet’s surface, nestling Jortho in a shallow valley.

You feel calm, at peace, and take another sip.

An easy moment passes, and it’s the last one you get before silence stalks up from behind you.

You don’t notice it at first, like any patient predator, it goes undetected: the white noise, the nothingness— until finally, you do and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On top of you. Smothering you. Goosebumps stipple your skin and you bristle. The insects have stopped chirping. The breeze has stilled. The air hangs dead.

And then—

Chaos.

You’re hit with a blast of crushing heat, the sheer power of it picking you up off your feet and onto your side, sending your body careening into a nearby structure. Your shoulder takes most of the blow, but your neck still snaps backwards unnaturally, the back of your head colliding with the stone wall behind you with a dull thwack. You let out a groaned cry at the impact, the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crumple to the ground.

For an instant, your vision goes white, stars popping and fusing out in front of your pupils, and it’s like you can feel everything and nothing all at once, hollow but overwhelmed, and all you want to do is close your eyes and drift asleep— Maker that would feel like a luxury, just right here on the damn dirt. And you almost do, you almost let yourself slip under and sink— until you hear a piercing scream from somewhere close.

Immediately your eyes shoot open, desperately blinking away the blurriness that threatens to over take them, and you try pushing yourself up by the heels of your scraped hands, failing once - twice - before finding your footing. You’re shaky at first, uncoordinated and dizzy and redownloading bipedalism, before that sweet drug of adrenaline starts to course through your veins and finally, finally, you take in your surroundings.

The ships that once stood across the field are gone, obliterated, and in their place only metal ribcages remain—empty carcasses like dead birds splayed on their backsides, imploded from the inside out, their bits strewn all around you.

Your breathing comes hard and heavy, fighting down panic, and cloudy eyes search through the thick black smoke billowing up in stacks, trying to pin point the source of the scream you’d heard just moments ago. You cough a strained wheeze, sputtering against the charred air, and wade your way through the debris— it’s only then that you realize the magnitude of the explosion. It’s not just the landing bay, it’s half the kriffing village. The buildings that neighbored the airfield had been decimated, burning roofs and crumbling fixtures, homes collapsing onto themselves, scorch marks and shrapnel branding the outsides of the shanties left standing.

It looks like a battlefield. You’ve seen holovids of this—what war can look like, how it can ruin a people… But you’ve never had to stand in the middle of it, head on.

Your heart drums against your chest as you break into a hobbled run, desperately scanning the area for any signs of life, up and down, left and right, straining against the waning daylight. It’s then that you hear your name, urgent and frantic, and you whip your head in it’s direction, knees nearly buckling in relief. You immediately recognize your friend Hareem, brandishing her arms at you, waving you over to her.

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” the Balosar cries out, trembling hands finding purchase on your shoulders, bracing you. You don’t know if its for your benefit or her own, but either way you’re grateful for the grounding pressure; for the first time since the initial blast, you feel solid, like you won’t just float away, atomized and weightless. Worried, you look her over. A sliver of fresh scarlet blooms from her scalp, a small line trickling down past her temple, but she otherwise looks relatively unharmed. You grasp onto her wrist, squeezing firmly.

“What the hell happened?” You ask, voice low and pitched, wide fearful eyes drilling into her.

“T-There was a man-” And she shakes her head, mouth clamping shut, deep wrinkles framing her face.

“Hareem,” you reassure, giving her another squeeze. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

She tries again with a steadying inhale, “I-I saw him. A-a man. He had a device with him, and he set charges, and Maker I don’t know— I don’t know— it went off a-and he ran towards the center of town!” The Balosar is in hysterics, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks, and it takes your brain a moment to catch up, to wrap your mind around the words she’s stuttering out.

A man.

Device.

Charges.

A bomb. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack—and he’s still kriffing here. You cup her cheeks, thumbs rubbing against the pale skin, smearing away the blood that’s nearly dripped to her chin. Your friend’s gaze is flighty, everywhere and nowhere, and you try giving her a smile, but you’re not quite sure you manage it.

“Hareem? Hareem. Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re alright…” You peel your eyes off her to glance around hurriedly. “We need to find cover.”

///

You’re holed up in one of the few remaining homes on this side of the encampment, crowded into the small space with three other survivors. All four of you, packed in and silent and petrified. Unsure of any further threat, you stay completely still. Helpless. Laying here, idle, for whatever awaits you behind that feeble, wooden door. You feel like prey for the wicked, just passing the time.

Minutes inch along like this—or maybe its hours; time moves eerily different when you’re attempting to become invisible—and eventually, you almost begin to relax.

Almost.

But a new sound breaks the din, hard to recognize at first, indistinct from all the commotion outside their hut, but you hear it. You all do. The youngest of you, a teenaged Devaronian, grips onto the hem of your shirt, knuckles creasing with anticipation. You tense, spine going rigid. Footsteps. They’re slow, guarded, but they’re getting closer. You bring an arm up, for all the good it’ll do, creating a human shield in front of the boy at your side. Closer. Someone behind you muffles a whimper. Closer. A Bardottan you hadn’t even met until today let’s out the faint whisper of a prayer, lips barely ghosting over the phrases. Closer-

and then, nothing.

They’re here. You can sense him, see his shadow sweep across the gaps in the entryway. You all hold your breath, as if the air is being syphoned out of the space… And the door is flung open, nearly breaking off it’s hinges as it slams into the inside of the house, shuttering the rickety walls with a jarring bang.

You don’t know who looks more astonished: you four, or the Mandalorian before you, dripping head to toe in silver plated armor, pointing a blaster directly at your head.

“Where is he?” He asks, hard edged and modulated, and it’s more of a demand than a question—but he lowers his weapon all the same, holstering it at his side. You gape at him, guppying wordlessly. “Volcur X’elo. The bomber. Where?” He hasn’t moved an inch out of the doorframe but he’s still managing to loom over you, completely filling up the archway, shoulders set and impossibly intimidating.

You gulp, finally finding your voice. “In town, i-in the center of town…” Kriff, you had not idea if that intel was good or not, but it’s all you think to say. Seeming satisfied with your answer he turns on his booted heel, cape whipping behind him, leaving just as soon as he arrived. The dust barely has time to settle as the door teeter’s on its hinge, its rusty squeaks filling the void in the Mandalorian’s wake.

“Fuck,” you hiss, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, doubling forward, propping your palms up on your knees.

///

After deliberating it with your group, you all come to the agreement of braving it outside. Better to be out under the open sky than die under a concaving apartment, clambering over each other to get to the exit. After all this, at least your dignity was still partially in tact— normally, you reckon you’d chuckle dryly at that. But you don’t.

Can’t.

You lead the pack through the mazelike streets. The sights that once seemed so familiar after weeks of living here become like strangers to you, and you sleepwalk through Jortho, snaking down paths marred by rubble and fallen wreckage— you haven’t seen any bodies, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe you’re just too scared to notice them. Maybe they’re there, hovering just outside of your peripherals, haunting the corners of your vision…

You keep your head fixed forward, jaw clenched.

Your feet move on their own like this, only vaguely aware that the red-skinned boy still hadn’t let go of your tunic. You forge on. Have to. You have to. Your only purpose on this kriffing planet was to help these people, to bring them aid, and if that means simply planting one foot in front of the other, then so be it. You take side alleys, double backing here and there, ducking under canopies, looping around yourself, only stopping when you catch a glimpse of beskar, the orange setting sun glinting off the surface of his helmet.

And he’s not alone.

You freeze suddenly, as do the rest, and the Devaronian bumps into you, stumbling under his lanky legs. Some paces in front of you, the bounty hunter has the other man, this Volcur X’elo, by a punishing grip on his shoulders, shoving him forcefully out in front of him; his wrists are bound and he’s fitful without the stabilization of his arms, his feet staccatoed and flailing wildly beneath him as the Mandalorian marches him forward.

The wind shifts, and on it you can hear the bomber rant madly, only catching snippets of the vile nonsense that spews from him.“- like swine, they are a plague to the system! And they must be purged from this planet, and the next, and the next— every last filthy one!” You spare a glance to Hareem, to find her watching the scene in hypnotized horror, but your eyes snap back at the sound of something maniacal, drawing your attention. It’s laughter. The zealot begins to laugh a twisted, mocking cry that makes you want to vomit. “You might have me in binders Mandalorian, but you’re too late. You’re too late. This isn’t over!” He’s practically giggling, gleeful and demented. Disturbed. “You’ve only found one.”

Your blood runs cold.

Only one? Oneoneoneone, one what-

The realization hits you with a punch to your gut. He’s only detonated one of his bombs. Somewhere, nearby, there must be another.

Without another word, the Mandalorian whips the smaller man around, pulling him sharply by his collar to collide with his breastplate, completely dwarfing him with his beskar frame. “Where is it, X’elo?” Nothing. Only laughter. High pitched, terrible roars. He tries again, patience ebbing. “The bomb. Now.” X’elo’s head tilts back and he howls another crowing shriek, keeping private his own sick joke, as if clutching a secret to his chest with slimy hands.

The bounty hunter had heard enough. He clearly wasn’t getting anything more out of him, and with a quick strike, he rears his blaster and pistol whips the terrorist with it. The body drops. Volcur X’elo crumples, unconscious, blood streaming from where he was struck. You hear the Bardottan behind you stifle a cry with her fist.

And with that, Lothal’s sun disappears completely, stealing away the last of it’s light as it furls into itself, shrinking out of sight. The dark ushers a new wave of dread, creeping over Jortho like a miasma, poisoning the very air.

The Mandalorian wheels around, searching for his heading in the labyrinth of the town. Others have gathered now, poking their heads around corners, stealing glimpses through windows. He turns, his head on a swivel. “Where is your power generator?” he demands, addressing the small crowd, but you’re all too stunned to speak. “Anybody. Generator. Now.” There’s something new in his voice, something muddled, and it takes you a moment to interpret it. It’s desperation, you realize, tinny and deep through his vocoder, and with a surge of adrenaline you move forward, furthering yourself from your group. You swallow. “I-Its this way.” Upon hearing your voice, he spins around, his visor latching on to you, and with a nod you both set out.

“Watch him,” the Mandalorian growls past his shoulder, stepping over the bounty’s limp body.

///

You’re still not really sure how he knew where it’d be, you wonder to yourself, gravel crunching under foot as you both trudge on, an eery quiet settling over them. You’d say it was a lucky hunch, but judging by the way the Mandalorian carries himself, you doubt luck had much to do with it.

You had led him to the power generator hub on the other side of the sad excuse for a city, traveling in tense silence, and when you came upon that tall, bulky machine he sprang into action, circling it until he found what he was looking for. The bomb. You stood back, rooted there, and after some grunting and rewiring— or maybe he just hacked at it with a vibroblade, you had no idea; his wide frame engulfed his work and you couldn’t tell what he was up to, all you knew was that his methods proved successful— the man managed to disarm the second device. You had thought you noticed his shoulders release, slumping with relief, after the red flashing lights on the rudimentary interface flickered and then went dark.

And so here you are. The two of you, bathed in the bright light of Lothal’s twin moons, their bellies hanging full in the blue-black night, illuminating the trail of blood staining the dirt beneath your boots as the Mandalorian roughly drags the body by his ankle behind him— through the exploded rubble, through the fragmented lives of the people around you, already displaced and estranged. They’ll all have to move, you think, pack up their lives, or what little is left of them, and relocate. Again. The thought sinks in you like a stone, sobering you.

Even with the weight of a fully grown man to lug, the bounty hunter is still a few long strides in front of you and your eyes are trained on the unconscious form, taking in the way his mouth lolls open like an animal, his hair matted with thick blood, eyes rolled back into his head. You’re talking out loud before you even realize it.

“How sick do you have to be,” you mumble, transfixed. Your voice, it’s not angry; no, shock has effectively robbed you of that— it’s not anger, but bewilderment. Quivering, broken bewilderment.

“H-How hoodwinked and warped you’d have to be, how disturbed... For you to think like that. To do all... all this...”

“Hey,” his gruff voice shakes you from your trance, and you blink up at him, tearing your eyes off the body. “Focus,” he urges, and you can only nod dumbly back at him, suddenly feeling a ripple of nausea slither through you.

The ramp to his ship is lowering as they come upon it and you plant yourself at the base, feet seeming to stop on their own accord, and frankly you’re not really sure why you’ve even followed him this far in the first place— always a step behind him as he hauled his bounty all the way through the vestiges of Jortho, across the arid prairie to where he first touched down. Maybe it’s because you feel untethered, unmoored, and all of his steeled surety is like a lighthouse, a beacon, guiding you away from the rocks.

He heaves X’elo up the ramp and you’re left standing there, staring unseeingly into the durasteel, becoming more and more aware of the ringing in your ears. The longer time passes, the more it’s as if you’re underwater, the background blurring into the foreground, sound gargled and far away. A high pitched buzz pinches your ear drums, and it takes you a moment to realize the Mandalorian is calling out to you, trying to get your attention.

“— Dala.”

Does he sound annoyed? Kriff, you think he might... If you had your wits about you, you might be able to recognize it. But as it stands, you don’t. You’re not here, not all of you. You’re splintered. Suspended.

“Hmm? Sorry, what..?” Your mouth is as dry as Jakku— parched desert tongue darting across your cracked lip, tasting soot and ash and something metallic. Brow furrowed, you touch a shaky finger to the flesh and when you pull it back, crimson red dots your skin.

Oh, you think, numb. Huh.

Your eyes skitter back up to the Mandalorian, towering over you, nearly at the apex of the incline, and his stance is broad and his fists are clenched. You’re almost positive he’s glaring down at you through his visor, and you don’t even know the man, can’t even see his damn face, but you can tell he’s peeved— Maker, just how long had you been ignoring him?

A scratched noise comes through his helmet’s vocoder and his next words are clipped, punctuated. “I said, do you have a way off this skug hole?”

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

This Is New For Me

Loki x Reader

Summary: Life on Asgard can be straining - especially if the God of Mischief has taken a liking to you.

Warnings: Loki being so terrible at flirting it physically hurts, bullying, this got way angstier than I initially intended

Words: ~2800

A/N: I’ve written this trying to distract myself from personal problems, but honestly I can’t think straight rn. Dunno I kinda hate how this turned out but here you go I guess...sorry.

Loki Odinson must really despise you.

No matter how often Thor would stand up for his brother and try to justify his behavior, there was no other explanation for you other than that he must truly hate you with every essence of his being.

In the beginning, having been invited in the palace to train magic under the Allmother sounded like a once-in-a-lifetime chance - yet all that’s left from your initial excitement had been replaced by pure annoyance.

Lately, whenever you knew that you had to attend class with that certain raven-haired prince, your insides would churn before you even arrived.

Weeks have turned into months, never once ceasing his condescending remarks or childish pranks. Of course, he wasn’t called the God of Mischief for nothing.

All nine realms had tales to tell about his sheganinans - yet with you, he seemed especially invested. There was not one encounter where he could leave you at peace, always ending with you being victim to his wicked humor.

The man did not seem to respect you at all - and it made you furious.

Today, you’d show him just what you were capable of!

“Greetings, great Allmother.” Polite as always, you bowed deeply in front of your queen, her magnificent presence still making you jittery beyond belief.

“No need for formalities, my lovely student” she responded heartily, only making you admire her even more - until a loud, exaggerated sigh cut through the calm atmosphere.

“Her again?” There he stood, maintaining his defensive pose as he rolled his eyes at you. “Mother, why would you keep on bringing a lowlife like her to defile this holy place?”

This was probably the millionth time that Frigga apologized deeply for her son’s behavior, and you were always amazed by her patience with him. How could a person so formidable end up raising such a troublemaker?

But then again...if she believes that there is good in the God of Mischief, then so would you.

“For today, I have prepared a spell that can only be cast by two mages at once”, Frigga explained, while Loki would still not bid you a single look. “So throughout this lesson, you will need to work together to succeed.”

Irritation was clearly visible on his face - and if you were perfectly honest, you weren’t really fond of that idea either. Yet if it was your scolar’s wish, none of you would protest.

“Spontaneous creation of complex concepts puts a huge stroll on one’s mind and body, so do not be frustrated if it doesn’t work within the first try.”

The idea was simple: Create a blooming meadow in midst of the palace floor, since creating life would be way too complex - only masters of the sorcery arts could take this spell to completion.

You and Loki were now sitting on the bare floor in front of each other and only now you realized how tense he had become, sweat dripping from his forehead and biting his bottom lip.

Was your presence really so terrible that he couldn’t bear with it?!

“Hey” you whispered, taking his hands to form a ring just as instructed “Don’t worry, we’re gonna get this!”

“I don’t need your encouragement...” he spat between gritted teeth, now that you noticed his palms were just as sweaty as his face seemed to be.

One second. Two, tree...fourty....a hundret and two...

“Relax” Loki repeated to himself as if it was his mantra - but now, with your fingers entangled in his? Sheer impossible.

Distraught, he shot his mother a desperate look, just for her to point towards you, sitting cross-legged and seemingly completely relaxed.

Since your eyes were closed, Loki took this chance to observe every detail of your face, without having to fear that you’d notice his little infatuation.

By the norns - you were as fair and bewitching as always. So way, way out of his league. An unreachable, vigorous being. No angel, valkyrie or similar could ever reach up to you - at least in his eyes.

Was this what they called love at first sight? Loki only knew those sentiments from novels he always ridiculed before he got to know you.

Slowly and steadily, Loki aligned his breathing pattern with yours, picturing the cycle of energy the two of you formed. Carefully, he began infusing you with his magic, trying his best to allow yourself do the same to him.

Another minute passed by and you were finally able to let your magic flow through each other’s bodies entirely, like a serene stream.

With things being like this, he felt so different from the Loki you knew.

His magic was strong, indeed - but so gentle, warm and somehow comfortable to be coated with. You wondered-

“HEY!”

As soon as Loki slapped your hand away, breaking the cycle, all of the flowers that had previously bloossomed through you would wither in an instant.

“What the hel do you think you’re doing, you mewling quim?!” Loki shoutet as loud as his lungs allowed him to, while his mother’s face distorted in second-hand-embarrasment at her son’s choice of words. “Who do you think you are?!”

“I-I’m sorry, I just-” You only wanted to scan his emotions through the magic bond you shared, just peek under the cover for a mere second - what was he so afraid of you to find?

“Know your place, woman!” The god pointed at you before he rushed up, ignoring the ache in his heart as he saw your face contort in sadness. “You are beneath me, never forget that!”

Why were you even surprised?

“You’re right” you sniveled quietly as you balled a fist in your dress, and Loki hated himself so much that he wished to just disappear. “My apologies. You don’t have to put up with me ever again.”

As always, instead of fighting, you made your leave without ever fighting back.

Frigga’s pleads for you to stay and talk this over were all for naught when you rushed away, muttering curses directed towards youself rather than anyone else.

Instead of scolding her son, she’d punish him through her silence, furiously shaking her head as she rushed away as well.

Why did he always have to ruin everything?!

The God of Mischief was very well aware that whenever you were close, his mind went completely blank - and that made him panic.

Never before he had felt so goddamn vulnerable in front of anything, terrifying him beyond belief.

And Loki loathed that feeling: Losing control over himself, being reminded once again how alone and unloveable he is, facing a goddess as stunning as you are every single day.

So he concluded it to be best to cope like he did all those millenia: Cover up those insecurities, shove his anxieties in the back of his heart and protect his heart from anyone coming close.

Good thing you believed that presumptupus, disoblinging duplicity of his to be his true self.

That would make it easier for the both of you, having as much distance as humanly possible. Vicinity could become dangerous terrain.

Yes, he would only save you some time - it would be a waste if you would try to actually give him a chance, just to be let down by what kind of disappointment he truly was.

But it wouldn’t end here - since the only way Loki Odinson first and only communication was through causing mischief.

A scream of yours startled the servants early in the morning, with your personal maiden being the first to rush to your side.

“Milady, wha-” She stopped in her tracks as she saw you standing in front of the mirror, touching your scalp in disbelief, where everything had been cut short.

That was it. Enough of it!

Dismissing the servants, you took a scissor and tried to at least make an acceptable hairstyle out of the mess he had made, before you would leave to the royal garden.

“You!” Pointing towards Loki, innocently sitting on a bench to watch the sunrise, you screamed and let a strand of hair run from your fingers to the floor. “You did this!”

“Now relax, would you” he chuckled, wearing his smug grin like a trophy as he defendingly held his hands into the air. “You should be grateful, it looks much better like this.”

Next thing he knew was the feeling of your backhand, mercilessly crushing against his collarbone.

Usually, you’d be shocked at yourself, for you had never been a person to choose violence ever before - but right now, you were too full of anger and hurt to even realize.

“You conniving craven pathetic worm!” you exclaimed, breathing heavily as you swung yet another fist towards the prince - however, he grabbed your wrists, trapping you in his hold.

In his life full of wrongdoings, he had been called worse than that - yet still, hearing insults coming from you of all people shot arrows through his heart with every word escaping his lips. Not that he’d ever admit, though.

“It was just a little prank.” Loki would’ve never thought that his actions would affect you this much. “What are you so worked up about?”

“All this time I believed there could be a good person beneath all that...but now what?” The compassion you detected in his eyes were only upsetting you even more. “You are a selfish, cruel and terrible person, and I gave up on you.”

Loki let go off of you, staring at you in disbelief:

You actually believed in him, all this time?! That was impossible!

If anything, the Odinson had always believed you to ignore his existence completely, if he wouldn’t use such drastic measures to attract your attention.

“Wait a second, I-”

“I hope you know that you deserve to be alone...” you sniveled, turning around to face him one last time before you fled the scene. “And you always will be.”

Several minutes had passed until Loki had given up in silencing he voices inside his head that told him you were right: He was indeed a despicable being, tainting your pure goodwill - repelling anyone that would still be willing to give the God of Mischief a chance.

Out of a whim, he jumped up from his place, wanting to rush after you. He was very well aware that he was probably beyond forgiveness by now, yet he at least wanted to make things up to you - even though he had no clue where to start.

“Calm down, Lady Y/N.”

Thor’s voice drang to Loki’s ears just a mere second before he saw that particular heart-wrenching scene unfold in front of him:

You were lying in his brother’s arms, crying to your heart’s extend while soothed you, softly petting what remained from your hair. Loki remained hidden in the shadows, even though his guts told him to stab his brother right here and now.

“My brother...you know-” The God of Thunder was trying to find the right words, even though poetic speeches were not really his forte. “It’s just his speecial, twisted way of interacting. Who knows where he got that from.”

“I rather wonder if he realized how his behavior truly makes me feel” you snapped back, unwilling to keep defending him. “Weak and worthless, that’s how I feell. And every time our ways cross, he’s making it worse!”

By the gods, Loki never wanted to make you feel that way, let alone think such ways about yourself! He of all people, who knew best what its like to feel unfit and nowhere near enough.

Loki grabbed the fabric of his shirt tight, feeling that his heart might burst if he didn’t. It took everything in him to not let out a loud sob and be caught - but then, his brother snapped him out of it with an impossible question:

“Do you still love him?”

“L-Love might not be the right word, I mean-” Lately, you had let Thor in on your secret admiration for his younger brother. “With the way he’s treating me, and all-”

You just couldn’t help being drawn to him against all reason. After everything you had endured, just to be close to him - and he never even acknowledged your feelings.

And still, here you were, crying over a man that didn’t want you.

“Lady Y/N?”

Loki’s voice made you panic, immediately wriggling out of Thor’s embrace. The Odinson understood immediately, nodding towards his brother before leaving the two of you alone.

“Since when have you been standing there?!” Panic dropped to your stomach, wondering just how much he had heared.

“From the very beginning.”

Before you could even think about what to do now, Loki summoned a dagger, cutting off his raven locks in one swift move. “Wha-”

“Please, accept this as means of apology.” The man now dropped to one knee, humbly facing the ground. “I have never intended to make you doubt your most perfect self.”

Frantic, you were scanning his voice, face, anything for the slightest hint of a lie - but nothing. Loki seemed determined and sincere when he looked up to you, hesistantly taking a hold of your hand.

“This is new for me...” he uttered under his breath as his lips graced your knuckles, and only now you realized that he was trembling ever so slightly.

“I-Is that another trick?!”

“What kind of vicious being do you think I am?” Well, after everything he had commited it was only natural of you accusing him. “There are lines not even I do not cross.”

Only for a brief second your heart felt a little bit lighter, as his eyes were locked with yours, lost in this moment you have been waited for so long...

...a little too unexpected, right?

Suddenly, you tugged your hand away, and Loki could only sigh in frustration. Of course it won’t be that easy for him to gain your trust. “I don’t need your pity, Loki...”

No matter how he racked his brain around the matter, he had burdened your shared past probably beyond the point of repair.

That would be his last chance, maybe the last time he’d ever see you again. He was so desperate in his attempt, and yet - what else could he do?

So for the first time in millenias, the God of Mischief decided to speak from the heart for a change:

"Y/N, I-I...As I said, this is new for me, so...” he cleared his throat before continuing, stress literally dropping out of every pore. “From the first day we’ve met, you...I mean...you were the most magnificent being I ever laid eyes upon, and...when I think about it now, I-I may be enarmored with you.”

Your eyes widened at this wholeheartedly confession, a sincere smile playing on his lips in contrast of sole tears running down his face.

Never before you had seen him like that: Flustered, vulnerable, and honest...

“I thought to be unworthy of your affection, so I tried to belittle you, to...I don’t even know. I’ve been told many times I am quite assertive of anyone but myself. I-I mean, I am a mess...I don’t understand my own feelings and thus drive away any chance of happiness, and...how could you ever-?”

“Mhh...” you silenced the man as your lips crushed over his, falling straight into his arms. It took Loki quite a second to fully grasp the situation before deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around you as if you’d disappear if he was to ever let go.

“Y/N...” the prince gasped when your lips parted from that breathtaking kiss - and this time it was you who wore that thug grin on your face.

"Apology accepted” you giggled, just to smother the face of this flabbergasted man in yet another thousand smaller kisses.

This had to be a dream, he thought...and immediately, a wave of guilt washed over him. He did not deserve this in the slightest.

“Now, don’t give me that look.” Cupping Loki’s face in your hands, you gifted him that heartwarming expression he had ignored for so many years, thinking it was not meant for him. “That kiss wiped my memory from everything you’ve done...by now.”

Out of sheer, genuine happiness, Loki leaped from the floor and excitedly swirled you around in his arms.

After another kiss that would kick the air right out of your lungs. the god would peck a more gentle one afterwards, as sweet and tender as no one ever thought he could be.

Even if it’s gonna be a long way, Loki would prove to be worthy of your love.

“Lady Y/N...if you are to believe in me, then I swear I will be on my best behavior from now on!”

"Let's see about that."

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki Series #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #God of Mischief #Loki Friggason #Marvel #Disney #Writing #Fanfiction #Self Insert #Asgard

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lene-loki · 3 years

Text

Circles

Summary: (Y/N) is addicted to a certain medicine and goes too far for a new bottle when she can't pay the drug dealer.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: HUGE TRIGGER WARNING, VERY DARK, Angst a LOT, drug abuse, violence, depression, suicidal thoughts, mention of rape, no spoilers

Word Count: 1,443

A/N: Hello guys, here's my first Peter Parker fic! I hope ya'll like it. And I know what you're thinking, YES it's so much angst again I'm sorry!! 😅😅😅 Don't worry there will be a Part 2!!!! I'd love for you to check out my other Imagines and my Loki series, but they're all angst too 😅 And don't forget you can request Imagines as well! 😊 With Love, Léne xx

Y/N = Your Name

Huddled together with my arms around my legs, I can't stop shaking. I have already wiped my sweaty palms on my pants at least three times but they're still wet. I get up from the floor, unsteady on my feet as I walk out of the cabin. My heart is racing and I cringe at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands and my mouth. I never even had a healthy tint of colour on my cheeks but after I just vomitted in the toilet I seem to have threw up the last taint of red that has been on my skin. I'm getting nauseous again and I know what'll help to get me calm enough again to go back into class. My hand disappears inside my bag, rummages the little bottle out. With tremoulous fingers I open the throttle, popping two pills on the damp palm of my hand and putting them into my mouth. I swallow them dry. Before I leave the restroom I dab the shiny sweat with a paper towel from my face. I won't lie, I look horrendous. The way people keep staring at me when I walk through the hallway confirms it. The dark circles under my eyes almost reach my cheekbones which are really prominent to the rest of my face since my cheeks are cavernous. But I can't change my bland appearance. At least not as long as I keep taking the medicine.

I open the door to the classroom where everyone keeps looking at me as well as if I'm some kind of extraterrestrial creature. With my head held low, I walk to the back of the class. Trying to ignore the stares I keep geeting. I can barely concentrate during class. My nails keep on drilling into my skin the way my teeth sink into my bottom lip. I suddenly feel extremely dizzy before I break another sweat. I pull the hem of my shirt up to dab my forehead dry. The more the teacher is talking, the more nervous I get. At once I get oddly aware on the clock that is hanging on the classroom wall. Its ticking making my heart beat faster with every passing second in anticipation. I can't control my breathing as my right leg starts to bop up and down. In my mind I'm counting the minutes to when I can get out of the room again - somewhere quiet and private where no one can see me taking peacefully my medicine. Too impatient to wait, I hide my face behind my hands while surpressing the need to cry from all of your tension. Now both of my legs start to bop up and down. I can't stay still. My body is filled to the brink with the longing for my pills. The pills which will make it all stop again - at least for a short while. But that doesn't matter. Even if they only helped for two seconds I would take them. I can formally feel the satisfaction the moment the pill rolls down my throat and making my shaking and sweating stop. I daydream about the moment for the rest of the class when the bell finally redeems me. I run out of the classroom, hitting a few students on the way to the restroom. Again, I lock yourself up in that extremely tight cabin. I let my bag sink to the ground before I once again throw violently up in the toilet. Repeating my routine I wash out my mouth and pop three pills this time directly into my mouth. It is a never ending circle. On some days when I catch a glimpse of the other side, I desperately want to break the cycle - but I'm not strong enough. On the way to my locker I bump into MJ. The blackhaired girl is the closest thing I have to a friend. "Hey, (Y/N)." She greets me cool. "Hey." I answer as emotionless as her. It is your type to communicate and you get along quite well. Plus, MJ never asks me if I'm on drugs or an alcoholic or whatever else my classmates think of. And I really appreciate it that she isn't as nosy as them and leaves me to my things.

After recess I disappear in the restroom again and find out that my pills are almost empty. They're not even enough to come through the rest of the day. I hurry out of the bathroom, seeking for Oliver from my Algebra class. Oli is the boy supplying me with the medication since my Doctor isn't prescribing them to me anymore. Doctor Bick has seen through my addiction a long time ago already. Just like me, Oliver isn't in class yet - still selling something to a student. He smiles when he sees me. "(Y/N), the usual?" He grins and I nod quickly, already searching my bag for my wallet. My hands are shaking in excitement. But then Oli stops me. "Listen, (Y/N) I don't have them yet. I get a new delivery the day after tomorrow." I quickly shake my head. "No, I need them now." I'm on the verge of breaking out in tears. "But I know a friend of mine who could have them." Oli quickly says as he senses that I'm about to cry. He sends me a phone message with the number of his ominous friend and I arrange to meet up with him tonight. I thank Oliver again and leave to go to class.

This night, after my parents have gone to bed, I sneak out of my window with my wallet in my pocket. I meet up with the boy called Jamie in an alley a few blocks away from my home. It's pitch dark nevertheless I can make out Jamies features - and he scares me. I already understand that he's not the kind of person to mess around with and I can't shake the bad feeling of my body. As soon as he starts to speak in a deep voice the goosebumps start to raise on my skin. He shows me a full bottle of my medicine and I can feel my mouth water. My eyes widen in anticipation after I had to dispense my pills for the last six hours. Before I can grab the bottle he withdraws ist. "100." He simply says and my face becomes as white as a papersheet. "100? Oliver always wants fift Dollars." I make the mistake in trying to argue. "Well, I'm not Oliver." He grumbles. "So? You want them or not?" I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I don't have so much money." He shrugs his shoulders and stowes the bottle back in his backpack. "But I really need them!" I almost sob. I suffered the entire evening from a withdrawal phenomenon and I know I can't make another whole day without my medicine. My addiction drives me to do dangerous things. He stopped after I began begging and I take a step closer towards him. "Isn't there a way I can pay you different?" I whisper with a seductive undertone and already regret what I suggested.

When I return in my room the sun is already getting up. I may have returned with an unopened bottle full of new pills but also with the urge to die. I can barely control myself as I break down on the floor crying, totally exhausted. I can't get rid of the picture of the strange man's hands all over my body and need to put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from sobbing to loud. I run to the bathroom to take a shower, to wash the disgusting memories away, To wash Jamies touch away. My whole body is shaking after I realize what I have done just to get a bottle of pills. I literally sold my body. Every step I take hurts between my legs and I discover that he went too rough on me - made me bleed into my underwear. A look at the now stained fabric is enough for me to finally vomit. I try to throw up the entire night - every memory, every touch, every word. Just everything. I crouch down on the floor of the shower stall and hug my legs. I support my chin on my angled knees. The tears stop to flow as I start to feel more numb with every second I'm sitting under the shower head. I can't even feel the waterdrops hitting my skin. In that moment I feel like I have died last night.

#tom holland #zendaya #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker #peter parker angst #spider man #spider man homecoming #the avengers

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years

Text

Caught In The Fire 1 - The Funeral [Mobster! Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback to the preview my loves! Please don’t forget to tell me what you think of this chapter, kisses!

Summary: Funeral of a mob boss is not the best place to reconnect.

Word Count: 2601

Warnings: Violence, death, funerals, crime, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Ever since you were a child, you had always found it strange that one’s family could determine their fates. Granted there were people who could break that cycle and choose what they wanted to do with their lives, but nearly no one around you had been that lucky, including you.

When your father had moved here decades ago, he had used up to his last penny to buy a pub and turned it into a bakery, and only after buying it he had realized that it wasn’t some kind of luck that it had been so cheap. The problem was the location and as he had been informed by two men who dropped by the next day after the opening, the bakery was built on the neutral ground, right in the middle of these gang territories. Each family ruled a different part of the city, and the neutral ground was off limits, so whenever the gangs needed to make sure that they wouldn’t get shot or ambushed, they would meet up there.

Pub served a better purpose, but even they had to admit, a bakery looked much less suspicious.

At first you didn’t even know. You were just a child after all, and your father had made sure to usher you back to the kitchen or to the backyard whenever certain people showed up, and you had never protested because as far as you were concerned when you were six years old, all grown-ups did was talk about boring things and glare at each other. But one of those days when you were sitting on the stairs at the back of the bakery, trailing the spoon in the bowl full of cake batter you had stolen from the kitchen, a boy with bright blue eyes and dark hair walked to the backyard.

“What are you eating?”

You looked up from the bowl, making him stifle a laugh at the sight of the cake batter all over your face and you looked behind you to check your father was nowhere to be seen, then held up the bowl,

“Do you want some?”

“What’s that?”

“Peach cake batter,” you said, “Daddy says it makes you sick if you eat too much but it’s delicious.”

He frowned, “Cake doesn’t make you sick.”

“It does if it’s unbaked. It gives you—“ you thought for a moment, trying to remember what it was called. “It gives you salmons you see.”

“Salmon is a fish.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Exactly. It – it makes fish in your stomach, so they make you sick.”

He didn’t look like he believed you, but didn’t say anything as he took the spoon you offered him and dug it into the batter before taking it into his mouth.

“Daddy says customers aren’t supposed to be here.” You said and he shrugged his shoulders.

“My dad is making a deal in there, and I got bored waiting in the car with his men,” he mumbled before he gave you the spoon back “Will you tell them I’m here?”

You smiled at him brightly and shook your head,

“No.” you said, and offered him your hand because you were sure that was what you were supposed to do when you met someone new, “I’m Y/N.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he shook your hand and you scrunched up your face.

“That’s a lot.”

He grinned at you, “You can call me Bucky,” he said, “Everyone else does.”

“Miss?” you were pulled out of your thoughts when the woman waiting at the door motioned at you, “Arms up please.”

Right. Of course.

Everyone had to be checked for weapons when they walked into the Barnes household, especially in times like these. You held up the tray so that she could pat you down and once she was sure you weren’t carrying any weapons, she took a look under the foil to see what was in it and let you pass. You tried not to get distracted by the huge house, that familiar pang shooting into your heart at how different it was from your small apartment, but you shook your head and walked into the living room to put the tray next to other food before pulling the aluminum foil off to ball it in your hands. The house was packed with so many people, all there to pay their respects for the deceased mob boss or get on his son Bucky’s good side, since he was about to take over the family business.

Or to make sure their alliances continued.

But the one thing you knew about everyone in this room? They were not to be crossed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Steve Rogers sitting beside Rebecca Barnes, Bucky’s sister who was uncharacteristically silent as she stared into space. She muttered something to Steve and he nodded, heaving a sigh and squeezing her hand as if to assure her everything was going to be alright. Tony Stark was by the corner of the room with James Rhodes, speaking in hushed whispers and Natasha Romanoff looked to be in a serious discussion with Sam Wilson as they walked past you.

“I get what you’re saying but it doesn’t change anything in terms of business, Bucky knows that.”

“Doesn’t it? I’ve never had to be checked for weapons at the door until now.”

“It’s a funeral, Nat.” Sam said, “You know it as much as I do that not everyone is here to give their condolences. You’ve seen Winnifred.”

“She just lost her husband, and she’s not the person I’ll do business with, her son is.” Natasha said, “Did you talk to Bucky after the meeting?”

“You know what he’s like.”

You could feel your heart skipping a beat but you scolded yourself in your head, it definitely wasn’t the time for this. You looked around for a trashcan, but of course there was none so you turned around in hopes of finding one outside the huge living room, but crashed into a hard body. He grabbed at your shoulders to help you regain your balance and your eyes snapped up to see who it was, ready to apologize but the words got caught in your throat.

He looked as handsome as you had last seen him. You could feel your heart beating in your ears and his blue eyes searched your face, slowly withdrawing his hand.

“Bucky.” You swallowed thickly, “Hi.”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, then shook his head as if trying to snap out of his thoughts and motioned at the table.

“Are those black cupcakes?”

Right.

Yeah, that wasn’t the best idea.

“I just,” you cleared your throat, “I figured I couldn’t bring his favorite cake, because cake is for…happier times so I figured, cupcakes—but it’s a funeral so that’s why they’re black.” You let out a breath, closing your eyes for a moment, “I’m being nonsense. I’m sorry for your loss.”

He shifted his weight as if he didn’t want to think about it which was expected because this was probably the hundredth time he was hearing this. You strained your mind to come up with something to say, but before you could find anything he reached out to grab one of the cupcakes to take a bite and nodded at the door.

“Follow me.”

Okay, what was happening?

You didn’t get to ask him as he walked upstairs with you following him closely and he entered one of the rooms in the huge hall. You looked around as you stepped in after him, it looked like some sort of an office with a big mahogany desk, a library and a comfortable couch. The room alone was probably half the size of your whole apartment but you tried to pull yourself together.

“It’s so loud in the living room, impossible to get anything done.” he leaned back to the table, “How’s your dad?”

“He has some health issues.” You said, making him raise his brows “Nothing serious, it’s just…he can’t really stand for so long, and he’s getting older, you know? I took over the bakery a while ago so that he could rest and all.”

He gawked at you, “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did no one tell me?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, “It’s no big deal, really. He sends his condolences by the way.”

He nodded slowly and you bit inside your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of the new yet intimidating mob boss holding a cupcake.

“I wanted to tell you,” he cleared his throat, “Even if my father is dead, the deal still stands between him and your dad. Nobody touches the bakery, it’s the neutral ground so you don’t need to worry—“

“Bucky, I’m not here for that.” You interrupted him and he looked almost taken aback.

“What?”

“I’m not here to ask for something or talk about deals, I’m here to pay my respects. Your father was always nice to me and I will miss him, that’s the least I could do.”

He blinked a couple of times in confusion and something told you this was the first time he was hearing something like that without a request following it.

“Oh.” He turned his head to grab the glass of whiskey on the desk which made you think he had been closing deals left and right since the morning at the same office and it probably wasn’t his first glass of the day.

“Would you want some?”

“No thank you.” You said as you watched him down it in one gulp and you shifted your weight, nibbling on your lip.

“Let me guess,” you said softly, “Business doesn’t wait for funerals to end, huh?”

He lowered his gaze, his rings tapping against the glass as he heaved a shaky sigh.

“It really doesn’t.” he murmured but something in his voice was so barely held together that your body moved before you could realize what you were doing. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug and it was only when his body froze against yours that you realized what you had just done. You were just about to pull back and apologize when you felt his arms sneaking around your body, holding you tight and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he had pressed his nose into your hair to inhale deeply.

“Do you need anything?” you asked when you pulled back and a small smile graced his lips for the first time.

“No,” he murmured, “Thanks peaches.”

Ah.

That nickname again.

You had almost forgotten about it.

“How’s your uh…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “How’s your fiancé?”

Your smile faded slightly as it dawned on you, “My-? Oh right, you don’t know. We broke up a couple of months ago.”

His head shot up, “What?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged your shoulders, “He sort of- well, not sort of, he cheated on me, so….”

He frowned. “You should’ve told me.”

“Why?”

“I would’ve sent someone around.”

A small laughter escaped from your lips and you shook your head.

“Bucky, you can’t get a guy beaten up because he cheated on me.”

“Sounds like he deserved it though.”

“No way.” you said, “It’s fine. How about you? Do you…?” you trailed off, and it wasn’t fair that your heart skipped a beat while waiting for an answer, not at all.

“Do I have a fiancée?” Bucky finished the question for you and chuckled, “No.”

“It doesn’t have to be a fiancée.” You said, “You know… a significant other.”

He tilted his head, that amused smile playing on his lips and you scrunched up your face.

“You know what, I’m prying. Just ignore me okay? It’s not a good thing to talk about at a funeral—“

“Peaches, I’ve been listening to people talk about money, deals, or their memories about my father the whole day. Trust me, this…slice of normalcy feels better than you could ever imagine.”

You looked up at into his bloodshot eyes, something in your stomach twisting painfully before you licked at your lips.

“Alright,” you said, “Normalcy then?”

“Yes please.”

“I came up with a new cupcake the other day,” you said, “I mean I’m sure I didn’t come up with it, but I tried it by myself and it’s pretty good, you know?”

“Will it give me salmons?” he asked and you shot him a look, trying to hide your surprise that he still remembered that.

“No.” you said, “It’s a bourbon cupcake, all those moms on Pinterest will worship me.”

He blinked a couple of times and held up the half-eaten cupcake,

“There’s a cupcake out there that can make me drunk and I’m eating a non-alcoholic one on my father’s funeral?” he deadpanned “When did you become so cruel?”

Your jaw dropped and you bit down a smile.

“You should be careful,” you said, “I know a guy who can send people around if someone is mean to me.”

He grinned and held up his hands, mocking surrender.

“I know a threat when I hear one,” he said and someone cleared their throat by the door, making you look over your shoulder to see Steve leaning against the doorframe.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said, “Sam needs to talk to you Buck.”

“Right now?” Bucky stole a look at you and you waved a hand in the air,

“It’s okay, I gotta get Em from school anyway, I should go.”

Bucky pulled his brows together,

“Your sister goes to school now?” he asked, “Wasn’t she a toddler like yesterday?”

“She’s in first grade now Bucky.”

“Jesus Christ I’m getting old.” He muttered to himself, making Steve chuckle.

“You’ve just realized that?” he asked and you smiled at Bucky.

“Take care, okay?”

“You too. Thanks for…being here.” His eyes searched yours, “Send your dad my regards.”

“Will do.” You said and nodded at Steve before walking out of the room, your cheeks still burning.

All the way to Emma’s school, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was slamming against your chest, and you bit at your lip, trying to focus on something else, anything else. You took a deep breath, and turned your head when the door to passenger seat opened and Emma got in the car.

“Hi!” she smiled at you brightly and put her seatbelt on, “I have no homework today!”

You let out a small laugh, “Is that right?” you asked and she nodded.

“Can we go and see the aquarium? Please? Please please please? They say there’s a whale there, a huge one!”

“Okay, okay…” you raised your brows, “Breathe, and yes we can go see the aquarium.”

“Then after aquarium can we have a tea party?”

“You might have to wait for that, kiddo.” You winked at her, “I need to drop by the bakery.”

“Wait, then I can come to the bakery too,” she said, “I can help, you said you would let me help if I got a star.”

“Did you get a star?”

“I will!” she insisted, making you smile at her fondly and you hmmed.

“You can help me yes, but you can’t eat what we’re making, okay? Not this time, I’ll give you a cookie instead.”

She pursed her lips, frowning. “Why not?”

You started the car, your stomach making a pleasant flip before you turned the steering wheel.

“Because Em,” you muttered, “We’re making grown up cupcakes for a friend.”

Chapter 2

Taglist: @rhabakoli @theskytraveler @alwaysadreamingoptimist @danyka-fendyr @a-seeker-of-imagination @readingsubtitles @threeeyesslitthroat @alytavzla @sfyri @silverkitten547 @finnickfoxes @lostinmydream-world @sadlittlefairygirl @celestialhayi @superwolfchild-fan @endaglivet @onebatch--twobatch @justnerdystuffs @demigoddesofchimichangagod @iblogabout-stuff @addictedtofictionalcharacters @syrenak @emmalbg @bookloverfilmoholic @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @raspberrydreamclouds @wellfucksorrymum @meganlpie @dogshemp @actuallyazriel @captain-spandex @chibi-liz05 @thebadasssass @lettersofwrittencollective @buckys-other-punk @a-seeker-of-imagination @valhallaas @anatomyofaclumsymum @efferuse @you-are-my-sunshine-90 @usernamesarebitches @readsalot73 @bellamys @crazyandanonymous4u @elliee1497 @bluebird214 @we-are-all-wild-things @yennewolf @whovianayesha @calumisdaddyaf @awkwardspontaneity @mrsenos08 @some-person-somewhere @thyunnamed @an-awkward-human-1 @supercarricat @rhaelrence @aworldwideapart @lovelynerdytraveler @jooordanharrrop @jbarnesss @starfish-angel @paramorefold @thedaisydeer @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza @mariaenchanted @merelrose @pinkisokay @lady-of-lies @mahleeyuh @dezzylou24

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butterflydm · 3 years

Text

ramble about WoT

Like a lot of people, I do wonder what the impact of making S1 of WoT more of an ensemble will have with regards to show-only viewers once the stage is done being set and the reveal happens.

Book spoilers below.

Because I do understand the argument that the show is downplaying Rand too much. I get that argument, I do, but for me, I feel like an ensemble-vibe is true to what the books became over the course of the series as a whole, once the PoVs really started opening up. And the Dragon mystery is a good hook for a first season. So I understand why they set things up the way that they did.

But I can also understand the worry that show-only viewers will be disappointed at the reveal. I feel like all of Rand’s screentime has had incredible depth to it, but it hasn’t really been as dramatic as the others yet, except in context with other characters. Plus, the worry that show-only viewers will feel bait-and-switched that, yep, tall handsome white guy is The Chosen One.

That potential second reaction is, I suspect, part of why the show did go with an ensemble-vibe, so that hopefully viewers who feel disappointed will come out of the reveal feeling like the other characters are still massively important in their own right.

For the first point, I do think, once those viewers know more about the Dragon, if they go back to rewatch the episodes, it’s pretty clear that Rand is the only one who is getting moments relevant to the main struggle of the Dragon Reborn (a struggle that has already been talked about in the show) and that the powers that the other characters are showing don’t connect to that specific theme and their conversations don’t hit on those themes.

Points the show has already made about the Dragon Reborn:

Strong channeler

The Trollocs and Fades are actively searching for TDR

Born twenty years ago

Could destroy the world or save it

re: point one - strong channeler

While Rand and Mat may believe that Mat’s behavior is tied to potentially being TDR, the show has tied his weirdness pretty closely to more of a possession vibe and most of the non-reader reactions I’ve seen have already connected it to either the dagger or some other item he’s carrying even before we get told that in the show (I’m currently assuming we’ll find out next episode but we’ll see!).

And Perrin’s thing is obviously tied to wolves and, well, the character’s title isn’t The Wolf Reborn. Egwene is kinda the wildcard there, as she obviously can channel, but the difference between what we saw Nynaeve do and what we saw Egwene do implies that Nynaeve is more powerful than Egwene, so that makes her less likely.

re: point two - chased by agents of the Dark One

Rand and Mat are the only group who we see on-screen continued to be pursued by a Fade after they’ve all split up. (unless I’m forgetting something!)

re: point three - twenty years old

Nynaeve is too old to be TDR.

re: point four - saving or destroying the world

The philosophical question that Rand is actively getting pushed at him in the show is “Is the Wheel/’reincarnation cycle of the world’ actually a good thing?”

There’s really only one character to whom ‘should the world keep existing’ is actually a practical question rather than just a philosophical exercise.

He gets the discussion with Tam in the first episode about how being reincarnated gives us a chance to do better (which I would contrast against Ila’s talk with Perrin, where the focus is on peace vs violence). Logain talks about this, too, thus tying this theme more strongly to the concept of the Dragon Reborn.

We get Dana in the third episode, and I love that Dana’s belief in the need to break the Wheel is based on her personal experiences. The reason she was tempted by the Darkfriends was because her life was kinda shitty and she didn’t see a way out and the idea of just cycling around and around in the same situation sounded like an eternal nightmare. Understandable!

Our boy Rand goes through so much trauma in the books. He’s a big target and everyone gets their shots in. He also went through a shitton of trauma in his past life immediately before this one, and he’s forced to process all of that trauma in addition to his own. And, because of his power and who he is, he’s the one person who gets the opportunity to actually answer the question of ‘Is the Wheel worth it?’ and actually make his answer stick.

So that’s kinda why I feel like, if people rewatch the show after the reveal, they’ll see that the hints are all there.

All that being said, it totally hurts my heart when show-only viewers hate on my boy Rand, so I get the worries. He’s pretty high up there on my list of favorite fictional characters and I think Joshua has done brilliantly with him so far. But I feel like the show has done a good job so far in translating the vibe of the books to a new medium and a new decade, so I’m hopeful that the reveal will be done well.

#wheel of time #wot #wot spoilers #wot book spoilers #wot prime spoilers #wot show spoilers #wot personal meta #wot meta #i got my booster yesterday and i'm a little feverish so i apologize if my thoughts are scattered!

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hotchley · 3 years

Note

For your 500 thing: 4 from the angst list with Hotch and anyone else, platonically? I like the prompts you've chosen too. Very angsty haha

Hehe thank you! I chose Reid, because it worked so... yeah. This is not to be seen as me infantilising Reid or as H Crit because it's not. People say things they don't mean when they're hurting. There will come a time when Reid doesn't hesitate and Hotch forgives himself. It's just not written here.

It went over 1.5k... let's just ignore that. Umm... Set sometime between Nameless, Faceless and Haunted. There's no real comfort.

4: "shut up! please. just shut up."

Trigger Warnings: past child abuse, intrusive thoughts, references to canon-typical events and violence

read on ao3!

With hindsight, moving Spencer to the same hospital as Aaron was not the smartest idea the BAU had ever had. Not when traumatic and painful events caused them to react in opposite ways. When Spencer was hurt, he didn't stop talking, so terrified that if there was even the slightest indication that he was weak, everyone would leave. And when Aaron was hurt, he completely shut down, still scared that making his existence known would lead to hurt.

But at the time, they had only been thinking of Derek. He had been running himself ragged, trying to manage the BAU in Aaron's absence, and caring for both his teammates who were in different hospitals, because he was coincidentally, the only person that either of them would listen to.

Perhaps they were more alike than anyone gave them credit for.

So Spencer was moved into the same room as Aaron, because when the team came, they came to see both of them, and it was apparently good for the two patients to socialise with each other and try to maintain their bond. At least, that was what everyone said to them. In reality, it was just easier to only have to have certain conversations once. Especially the ones about Foyet.

Because even though both of them would be out of the field for a while, and had lost so much of the independence they prided themselves on, the situations were not the same and they never would be. Spencer had been shot in the leg trying and succeeding in saving a man, and the perpetrator had been arrested. He had gotten justice.

Aaron had been stabbed nine times in his home, the place he had a right to feel safe in, by a man so evil that there was no chance of ever reasoning with him. Foyet had gotten away, and he'd taken Haley and Jack with him. The only people Aaron seemed to live for, were gone. He hadn't gotten any sort of closure. Nobody seemed to understand that, because everyone kept saying him and Spencer could relate to each other. But they couldn't. And he was sick of hearing it.

But he tried to hide that bitterness. Spencer wouldn't have been shot if he had been there. He would have been the extra set of eyes needed to finish the letters, and they would've worked it out sooner. They would've all been fine, if he had done anything other than frozen when the bullet wedged itself in the wall beside his hair, close enough to make his ear ring painfully. His anger was irrational, and the result of trauma. Everyone else understood his emotions were all-consuming and overpowering, but he didn't. To him, the anger and resentment were just another sign he was becoming his father.

He wasn't. But he would never allow himself to believe that.

Spencer knew that his and Hotch's situations were different. That Hotch blamed himself for what had happened to Haley and to him. That Hotch was hiding how he truly felt, probably to protect him. That things were going to explode sooner rather than later. He just didn't know how much sooner than expected it would end up being.

Rossi had swung by in the morning, and that visit had set Aaron on edge. Rossi was trying to help, he was, but his method of doing it wasn't helpful. It never had been. Not for someone like Aaron, who needed something that was not his best friend telling him how the BAU had been fine without him. Or how the children seemed to be fine. Or how victims could recover.

When Rossi left, Reid took the crutches beside his bed and hobbled over to sit in the chair that he'd vacated. They had both been encouraged to try and be mobile without going beyond their limit. Only Spencer had listened.

"If you want him to stop talking, you can always tell him," he said gently.

Aaron turned away. "He's just trying to help."

"But he's not. I think we can all see it."

"Spencer, I don't know what you're trying to do but-"

"I don't care if you resent me. I care that you're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Really? So if I asked you whether or not you resent me, you could look me in the eye and say you don't? If I asked you whether you blame yourself for my injury, you would say no, and mean it? If I asked you who was responsible for Haley and Jack going into WitSec, you would say Foyet? If I asked you how you feel, would you say hopeless and angry? Would you?" He snaps.

Aaron stares, and Spencer feels the heat rise to his cheeks. Hotch is still his superior.

"I'm sorry, that was out of line."

"No, it's- you're right. I am lying. But-" he swallows, unused to being so vulnerable, especially with someone like Spencer, "I have to. Lie that is. I can't be honest. Not about this. Not with these feelings."

"Why? You've been put through horrific trauma. I think you're entitled to feel like shit. I feel like crap."

Aaron looks at Spencer, in all his hopeful innocence, and understands the subtle invitation to be honest for once in his life. To let someone else save him. To have a normal conversation, with no ulterior motives or secret conditions. To have someone just care for him because they love him, not because they want anything in return. It's that final realisation that makes him take a leap of faith.

"Because if I let myself feel the anger, I will never stop, and then I will never be any better than my father." The words taste like failure, and he hates himself for saying them as soon as they leave his mouth. Who is he, to do this to a subordinate? To make someone else take responsibility for his issues? He wants to take the words back as soon as realisation dawns on Spencer, but he can't.

All he can do is close his eyes, and pretend he is somewhere else where whatever comes next cannot touch him.

"You know those thoughts don't determine who you are," Spencer says, and nothing about his tone has changed. He still cares about Aaron. Aaron, who has to blink back tears because he always forgets how many terrible things this boy has seen.

He tries to tell Spencer to stop, that he doesn't deserve to be called a good person, but the words won't come.

"I can tell you don't believe me. Well let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a FBI agent that panicked so much during their gun qualification that they failed. And the man that had been practicing them, who had every right to lash out, just nodded and asked if it was his fault. If there was anything he could do to help. And then he trusted that agent with his life. Without hesitating," Spencer said. It felt like he was talking to Henry.

Aaron needs him to shut up. He cannot hear this story. It is his life, so he knows how it ends, but he cannot hear that ending right now. Not when the loss of his family is still so raw and painful. Not when it consumes his every waking moment.

"And after the case was over, he raced to the hospital, and he stayed in the waiting room until his son was born because he refused to leave his wife for a second longer than necessary, even though she had given her blessing multiple times for him to go save people. She said that he changed more nappies during his paternity leave than most men do in their lives."

"Spencer-" Aaron manages to say.

"Abused children can break the cycle. They have broken the cycle. They continue to do so. You said that once. Do you remember? You told Vincent Perotta that not every victim goes on to become a killer. Because some grow up to catch them and you are one of them, you just-"

"Shut up! Please. Just shut up." He doesn't mean to shout. He doesn't mean to make Spencer flinch. He doesn't mean to sound angry. He doesn't mean to say the words. He doesn't mean to do any of those things, but he does, and he won't ever forget how terrified Spencer looks.

He did that. He did that, with nothing more than his words, and he cannot believe what he has done, but he has, and it's a terrible thing. And everything Spencer just said has been disproved. Everything.

"I'm sorry," Spencer whispers, turning away.

"No. No, please don't be sorry. You've not done anything wrong. Spencer, look at me. Please. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. Don't lie to me."

And Aaron has lied about enough. He won't lie anymore.

"I am sorry," he says, even though it won't ever be enough.

Spencer smiles slightly, but then he goes over to his own bed. He closes his eyes, and pretends to sleep. He carries on pretending when Aaron walks over for the first time in three days, and kisses his forehead, much like he always does for Jack. He carries on pretending as Aaron sighs, and whispers an explanation too honest for repetition.

Aaron truly is sorry. Spencer truly does forgive him. The words are never said again, not to him, but that's the worst part. No matter what either of them do, Spencer will always remember and hesitate, and Aaron will never forget or forgive himself.

#hotchley's 500 #sam <3 #platonic hotchreid #tw child abuse #tw intrusive thoughts

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ticklyfluffers · 3 years

Text

Sensitive Seeker-TF TK Fic

Repost of fan fiction of mine.

To think, it all started with just a simple gesture.

Thundercracker mused in how he had gotten to the scene he stood in now: Starscream shooting off blast after blast at Skywarp, yet the purple and black Seeker just treated the entire thing as some sort of game.

And, perhaps in some weird way, it was a game. As “‘playful” as a “self-respecting” Decepticon could be, he supposed. Yet still, he’d known he would need to separate the two (as always) eventually. Yet when to jump in was the question, as he was in no mood to have a shot of raw, stinging energy or a null ray being delivered to his facial region, should he intervene at the wrong time.

‘How did I get here, dealing with this?’ He questioned, inwardly groaning. It was a useless question, having already known the answer.

It had begun but a few short Earth minutes ago, at least, it had for him and Skywarp, yet for their Commander, it had begun but a few solar cycles ago (at least that measurement of time was fairly close to those used in this planet). Once again, Starscream noticed a, in his own words, “massive flaw” in one of Megatron’s bids to acquire more energy, and thus, just HAD to point it out and make sure everyone around him could hear it. This then led into the regular bickering, which led to the Seeker (once again) proclaiming he’d make a more suitable leader for the Decepticons, which led to Megatron “reminding” him of his place (once again), which resulted in a trip to the infirmary (once again).

And, while Thundercracker felt Starscream deserved to be told to keep his mouth shut, the blue Seeker found himself dreading what Megatron had planned for the Air Commander, as while it was Starscream’s punishment, somehow, in some way, it would affect his wingmates. Once again. Thankfully, it wasn’t overly extreme, mainly because Megatron had two locations of interest in mind, and probably declared that more worthy of his time than looking over his shoulder for his 2nd in Command’s potential assassination attempts. The Decepticon Leader had assigned Starscream and his wingmates to keep watch over the Space Bridge until the operation to seize control over the locations was completed or disregarded.

“And knowing our ‘glorious leader’, he’ll probably fail at this plan too.” Starscream grumbled to himself, arms folded over his chassis.

Thundercracker only sighed. Ever since he had come here, slag, back when was alerted of his duties, the Seeker had done nothing but complain over his leader’s orders. Of course, with a little “encouragement” from Soundwave (as in, alert Starscream he would be relieved of his wings for a good while if he didn’t do as he was told), their Air Commander (begrudgingly) accepted the assignment. Of course, now that they were here, Starscream had seen it as the perfect time to go ahead and start his tirade against Megatron again.

And suffice to say, it was beginning to get on his trine-mate’s nerves.

“Guard duty,” Starscream growled. “Of ALL the humiliating tasks he could’ve thrust on me...guard duty?!”

Skywarp began to shake, fists trembling until finally, he had finally reached his breaking point. “Is it possible for you to shut the frag up for at least a FEW cycles?! Is that too hard to ask?!”

Thundercracker was quite taken aback by the violet Seeker’s outburst. If anyone was being told to shut up, it was usually him. ‘Primus, he must be REALLY mad.’

“I’ll say whatever is slagging well please, thank you very much!” Starscream retorted, clenching his fists.

“Well go off and do it somewhere else away from me!” Skywarp argued back. “I’m getting sick of hearing that shrill dog whistle of a voice you’ve got!”

“Then get used to it, because I have no intention of stopping until I’m done!”

While he had no appreciation, let alone any sense of respect for it, since their arrival to this primitive world, some Decepticons had taken to using Earth expressions and terms in comparison to some more traditional, archaic language. The Casseticons were the worst out of these bots, outright using terms such as ‘dude’ and ‘man’, as well as copying much human cursing (a good portion of which humans based on their own bodily functions, to Thundercracker’s confusion). Skywarp, whether he had just decided that their regular curses weren’t enough, or he had been hanging out with Rumble and Frenzy on one too many assignments, decided to unleash everything that had been, as humans say, getting under his skin.

“Oh boo-hoo! You think YOU’RE the only one that doesn’t want to be here?!” the Seeker shouted, approaching Starscream. “This entire damn thing is your fault anyhow! You just HAD to go and run your mouth about how much Megatron’s plans suck and how YOU obviously had the better idea!”

“Because I do!” the Seeker Commander countered. “He wished to attack both locations at the same time, yet didn’t wish to better separate his forces into equal groups! Even if one was easier to access than the other, did he not think those blasted Autobots would just LET themselves be overtaken?!” he fumed, releasing a frustrated cry. “Bah! He had NO good reason to NOT send the Constructicons! There would’ve been no way that any of those slagging Auto-dorks would’ve stood a chance against Devastator! But NOOOOO! Apparently, they were needed elsewhere!”

“Because there was a crack in the hull,” Thundercracker interjected himself. True, he had little intention of getting involved, yet Starscream was forgetting one vital factor in Megatron’s decision. “The lower sections would’ve been at risk of getting worse and potentially breaking open. Then the entire Nemesis would’ve been flooded.”

“The pressure at the depths the ship’s at is far from enough to cause a breakage in such short a time!” Starscream argued. “We are situated in what the under evolved primates of this floating rock called the mesopelagic zone. True, we are away from the primary star of this current solar system, yet a majority of sea life in that area are perfectly capable of withstanding the water pressure. And they’re also organic, mind you!”

Skywarp scoffed. “You saying all that fancy mumbo-jumbo to make yourself sound smarter or something?”

“Hey, I WAS an accomplished scientist back in the Golden Era of Cybertron!”

“Of which you quit!” the purple and black Seeker countered. “And accomplished? That’s a fat load of shit, and you know it! I bet you only got a passing grade on whatever research logs you presented to those old farts running the academy!”

“Why you slagging piece of-”

“All right, both of you! That’s enough!” Thundercracker had decided that now was the time to step in, lest things start getting violent. Violence was an accepted part of Decepticon culture, seeing as many of their members had been forced to engage in it just to scrape by and survive via gladiatorial matches and other low ranking jobs (which didn’t house the most respectable of bots), yet the blue and black Seeker wasn’t in the mood in having to bring both of his wingmates into the infirmary because they decided to behave like a couple of Sparklings and duke it out.

That’s when the discovery had been made.

Thundercracker had pushed back against Skywarp’s chassis, yet he must’ve misjudged the distance between him and his oh-so-mature Commander (seriously, and he said Skywarp was the one who behaved like a sparkling). His servos made contact with the red and blue Seeker’s waistline, and that was when he and Skywarp heard it. It was a cross between a frightened gasp and an attempt to choke back laughter. Any anger between them had died that instant, replaced with curiosity and bewilderment. Their Commanding Officer was looking quite frazzled and on edge.

“Whoa, time out for a nano-second,” Skywarp said, lightly shoving Thundercracker off him. Nevertheless, he turned to him for confirmation. “You hear that too?” He then turned his attention to Starscream. “Hey, Screamer, what was that noise you made just now? And don’t say it’s nothing, I’ve got a witness right here!” Skywarp gestured to Thundercracker.

Starscream paled (even if there was no change of color) and stood there with wide, red optics. Nonetheless, he quickly straightened himself out and appeared to be cool and collected. “I was merely taken aback by Thundercracker’s sudden movements was all.” He explained, all the while trying to choose his next words very carefully. “You should be grateful he stepped in, lest I fire my null ray right in your face.” He glowered at the black and purple Seeker, hoping that his display would get his subordinate to back down.

But, as the humans said, no dice.

“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong-“ Skywarp began, taking a few steps toward, noticing how Starscream took a few steps back.

“And you are.” Starscream interrupted.

“But you seem a little nervous there.” The Seeker’s grinned. “All I’m asking is why you made that noise.”

Slag, Starscream thought. He wasn’t buying it. Ok, don’t panic. Just come up with another excuse. One that he surely couldn’t refute. “Well...it seems that my inner components are still a little sore from my last...disagreement with our all-wise and all-powerful leader.” He snarled that last part. Even if he were trying to get Skywarp off his back, it wasn’t all a lie. Hook had told him to take it slow for a few solar cycles for his internal repairs to mend the rest of him back together.

“Oh dear, are you ok?” Skywarp asked, an uncomfortable amount of mischievousness in his voice.

Slag. “Yes, I’m fine,” Starscream assured. “But...you shouldn’t touch me. In fact, I outright forbid it.”

Thundercracker analyzed the situation, looking back and forth between Skywarp and Starscream. He was puzzled at first regarding what had happened when he separated the two, yet given one Seeker’s predatory grin and the other’s excuses, it slowly dawned on him what was going on, as well as what Skywarp intended to do.

“Why?” He asked, taking a step towards Starscream while Starscream himself took a few steps back. “You took quite a bruising not too long ago. Maybe something is out of place or broken.”

“No! No, nothing is out of place or broken!” The SIC shook his head wildly.

“Are you sure? Because last time, you said Hook was a piss poor excuse for a medic.” Skywarp chuckled, raising his hands and spreading his servos out.

“Well, I think maybe he’s improved his craft these last few human weeks!” Starscream said, beginning to look around for any escape routes. “But...just in case, you shouldn’t touch anything! You could only make it worse!”

It was then that a familiar, magenta hue began to overtake the purple Seeker, Starscream’s optics widening in horror. “Why Starscream, I’m hurt! Do you think I’d actually hurt you?” He said coyly, optics fittingly red and devilish. “You’re my Commander, my trine-mate. It’s mine and Cracker’s job here to tend to your needs.”

Thundercracker gave a low growl, Skywarp knowing well how he hated being referred to by that name. Despite that though, he kept quiet.

“C’mon,” Skywarp cooed. Then, the magenta hue overtook his entire form, and in a flash, the Seeker was gone from sight.

“N-No! Stay away from me-“ Starscream shouted, yet was cut off when he felt digits traveling along his waistline.

“No need to be so tense.”

The reaction was immediate. Skywarp’s servos lightly stroked and scratched at the other Seeker’s ivory midsection, Starscream seizing up and doubling over, trying to get his “comrade” to release him.

“N-No! Stop it!” Starscream hollered, trying to grab at Skywarp’s hands. “I command you to-“ then out it came. “St-Sto-hoho-p!” A chortle caught in the middle of a demand (or was it a plea) to cease the infernal movements. Starscream had managed to wrench himself away from his assailant, but the damage was already done.

His terrible secret had been uncovered.

“No. Way.” Skywarp said. True, he suspected it, but to actually have confirmed blew his processor. “No. Fragging. Way!!!” He then pointed to his superior. “You’re ticklish!!!”

Now it was Thundercracker’s turn to be surprised, he looked at Starscream with bewilderment and shock. While it wasn’t a topic relatively discussed among themselves, he and the rest of the Decepticons would be fools if they didn’t acknowledge that their “hosts' ' shared more than a few qualities with the ones that had crashed landed on their planet millions of years ago. They were the only species to have similar civilizations to their own, same general body shape, they had an internal, skeletal structure that greatly resembled their own, lived as the dominant species on the planet (well, they were until the Decepticons and Autobots awoke), and fought and warred amongst themselves over the centuries. Yet when it came to the way their organic structure was put together, no one had an exact idea of how the human body functioned. Soundwave suggested gathering a few “lab rats'' and transporting them to Shockwave, yet so far, nothing else had come from that suggestion. Good thing too, Thundercracker felt such a thing was both unnecessary and, while he would never say it aloud, savage. But from what he had seen from Skywarp’s experiment, it seemed that they now were the ones to share the trait of ticklishness with the humans.

Starscream stood there, completely at a loss at what to say or do, processor scrambling to try and find something, anything, to keep the inevitable from happening. “I-I am not-AH!!!” He protested, only for Skywarp to teleport behind him and deliver a servo right in the crease where his hips met his waist. “Stop it!!!” He then aimed the weapon situated on his left shoulder in the other Seeker’s direction. “Try that again, and this null ray is going to blast you right in the face!”

Skywarp wasn’t the least bit intimidated. In fact, this just seemed to make him even more eager to go through with his plan. ”Primus, you’re acting like I’m going to kill you!”

“I’ll kill YOU if you get any closer! I mean it!” Starscream shouted, still aimed right at Skywarp’s head.

“Fine. Do it.” Skywarp laughed. “In fact, I doubt you’d be fast enough to hit me before I just warp out of the way.” He drew closer. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Thundercracker stood by, ready to jump in if things got too ugly. Starscream was cornered, he knew it, yet he seemed to be leaning much more into flight than fight. He looked to the blue Seeker as if trying to gain some support (or maybe a shield to use in case Skywarp made the first move), yet his optics mainly stayed on the third Seeker, trying to gauge what the next plan in his strategy was.

And it was then that Starscream made a critical decision. Frag it.

Immediately taking flight, Starscream transformed into his jet mode and zoomed off, leaving a long, cloudy trail as he departed.

“Oh no!” Skywarp declared, also transforming and chasing after his superior. “You’re not getting away that easily!”

“The slag do you think you’re going?! Get back here!!!” Thundercracker bellowed, yet either Skywarp didn’t hear or just outright disregarded his command, because he and Starscream flew off, leaving him alone.

Why did he always have to be the one to reign those two in?

…

“Aw, c’mon! I’ll go easy on you if that’ll get you to slow down!”

“NO!!!”

“I’m not going to hurt ya!”

“That makes it worse!!!”

“Don’t be such a baby!”

“Frag you!!!”

Back and forth the two Seekers went, Skywarp going back between promising to be ‘gentle’ with his Commander to outright declaring that resistance was futile, and Starscream shot back with threats of murder and dismemberment. All of which didn’t deter Skywarp a bit.

Seeing that the other jet was gaining on him, the Decepticon SIC went as fast as he could to where he was certain he would blow out his thrusters, yet he had to veer over to the side when Skywarp appeared before him via teleportation. He dove upwards, yet found his route blocked by the purple and black Seeker cutting him off via a barrel roll. Starscream went in the opposite direction, yet found himself cut off there as well, Skywarp just barely colliding into him.

“Hey, watch it!!!” he hollered. “You could’ve clipped my vertical stabilizer!!!”

“Then stop flying off and I won’t have to get drastic!” Skywarp shot back, yet inside his alt-mode, he was grinning ear to ear. Or at least he would be if he had any. “Try all you want, I’m not letting up anytime soon!”

“Then you’re going to be doing this for a long time because I have no intention of stop-” Starscream was interrupted by the horrific sight of Skywarp’s body being engulfed with magenta before disappearing from sight.

Oh, Primus. Oh Primus, no! Transforming into his root mode, Starscream looked around, panicking as he found himself surrounded by clear, blue skies, the sun shining high and bright. The intensity of the solar rays blinded him momentarily when he turned in that direction to look for any trace of his pursuer, yet this proved to be a fatal mistake. From beneath, the Seeker was rammed, his subordinate having decided to stay out of his line of sight long enough, and by the time Starscream realized his error, it was too late.

“Aha!!!”Skywarp seized him by the waist and immediately went to work. His servos went in and scrambled along the area he had attacked before, Starscream immediately seizing up and trying to contain the chortles that threatened to spill out of his vocals.

“S-Stop it!!!” Starscream shouted, twisting as much as he could to dislodge himself from the other jet’s hold, yet it seemed that whenever he made a movement, Skywarp just focused on another part of his midsection, the continuous switching of locations making Starscream’s processor be torn between staying still or continuing to writhe around. It was all so confusing and torturous! He was at a loss at what to do! “Stop!!! I-I comma-ha-nd you!!!”

“Hmm...nah.” Skywarp responded, continuing to scramble over the bends and angles of Commander’s midsection.

“I-I’ll kill you!!! Do you hear!? I’ll kill-” Starscream’s voice, unfortunately, chose that time to not cooperate with him. “G-Gah! N-No-hohoho!!! STOP!!!”

“Ah, there you go!” Skywarp congratulated. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Get off!!!” Starscream practically shrieked, both from frustration (and panic), yet also from the sensations that were plaguing his cerebral chamber, sensors lit a fire with horrid tingles and shocks. He only wished that they were of pain. “I-I can’t-'' he then nearly fell out of Skywarp’s arms before he was, unfortunately, caught, the torment continuing. “I can’t stay alo-ha-ft!!!”

“No problem!” Skywarp said, shutting off his thrusters. The two Seekers then began to plummet downwards.

“What in Primus’ name are you doing?! We’ll cra-ah-sh!!!” Starscream hollered, all the while trying to contain himself as Skywarp’s servos still continued to torment him.

As the ground continued to come closer and closer, Starscream braced himself for impact, yet found that it never came, magenta filling his vision before everything around him froze. He wasn’t a stranger to this phenomenon, yet it still perplexed and bewildered him that such an impulsive oaf had such an ability bestowed on him. The times were far and in between, yet whenever it happened, Starscream had gone into the strange dimension between planes of existence with Skywarp when the Seeker teleported both of them. The world looked the same as it had before, yet everything was still and silent. No movement, no sound, nothing. Nothing but their own, as if they were the only things that existed in this small pocket universe.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended, both Seekers landing on the ground, yet far from at the velocity they were previously traveling at. The landing didn’t mean that Starscream was free, however, the lack of the need to look out below allowed Skywarp to fully focus now on the movements of his servos, which quickly went back to work.

“Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!!!” Starscream commanded, yet he was quickly shut up as giggles threatened to pour out from his vocal processor. He then lifted up his arm in an attempt to, out of desperation, fire his null ray in the other Seeker’s direction, this proved to be yet another fatal error.

Once Skywarp shot his hand underneath to scrape at the cables and joint that linked Starscream’s shoulder and upper arm, he could hold it in no longer.

“Gah!!! Gah-hahahahaha!!!” Starscream released loud and slightly hoarse laughter from his vocals, using his other arm to push back against the other Seeker tickling at his underarm. “S-Stop!!! Stop it!! Sto-hahahaha-p!!!”

“Ha! Gotcha!” Skywarp shouted in triumph, spidering along the red area that rested above his white waist just below the arm joint, this forcing Starscream to retreat into himself and cease his attempts in getting the purple and black Seeker off him. “You’ve got no chance now! Surrender!”

“Hahaha, n-never!!!” Starscream shouted back, trying to turn the opposite way to keep Skywarp away from his side. “Ge-hehehe-t off!!! Get-ah!!!” Skywarp swiped a digit just underneath the area where Starscream’s chest protruded outwards, running the servo along the rim. “Don’t touch me there-AHH!!!”

Skywarp smirked. “Why? Does it tickle?~” he asked oh-so-sweetly. “So you admit you’re ticklish.”

“I admit nothing!!!” Starscream choked in between bouts of involuntary laughter. “I’m not tick-“ he tried to finish but was cut off by more chortles forcing themselves out.

“Then what do you call this? Just a WEE bit of sensitivity?” The purple and black Seeker asked. He stroked and pinched along the SIC’s upper chest region, dipping his hands in the small, square-shaped hollows that rested by his white shoulders, this causing said SIC to try and make another grab at his hands to stop the attack. Unfortunately, Skywarp used this opportunity to dive in under Starscream’s arms and begin scribbling at the joints and cables and whatever other components he could reach. Starscream howled with laughter the moment he felt the wildly moving digits, his arms hugging around himself and clamping themselves down.”Oh great, I’m stuck. Now, what are you gonna do?”

“Wh-Wha-hahaha-t?! You ge-hehe-t them out!!!”

“Can’t exactly do that with you holding my hands down, can I?” Skywarp asked, not letting up in the slightest. “Lift your arms up and I can get free.”

“N-No!!! You’re just gonna-hahaha!!! STOP!!!”

“Hmm...nope.”

Starscream was in, as the humans would say, stitches, his body torn between twisting around and curling up into a ball in a vain attempt to lessen the sensations plaguing him. He knew well that Skywarp would go for the same areas and perhaps others if he lifted up his arms, yet, as he found out, the seams of his underarms were deathly sensitive. It was the equivalent of either having Megatron rip off his limbs versus his fusion cannon blasting him right in the chest. Neither of them was exactly pleasant options. And he didn’t care if he would be called dramatic for making such a comparison! This was torture! He needed this to stop! He HAD to make it stop!

Yet he wouldn’t beg. Not to Skywarp of all mechs. That fool would never get the satisfaction of hearing him grovel for mercy!

And speaking of members of his trine, where in Primus’ name was Thundercracker?! Useless piece of scrap-

“All right, that’s enough!” a voice called out from high above, a blue jet zooming down and transforming, landing a short distance away from his fellow wingmate and Commander. “C’mon, Skywarp, you’re going to kill him.”

“Am not!” Skywarp protested. “I’m just trying to lighten Screamer’s mood here! And from what I’ve seen, my method’s working!

Starscream tried to protest, yet had taken to tightening his lips as much as he could, strained whines coming from in between gritted, grinding dentals. Still, he managed to make out some words (though it was NOT a plea!). “G-Get him off!!! GET HIM OFF!!!”

Thundercracker sighed, crossing his arms. “You heard him. Get off.”

“Aww, do I have to?” Skywarp whined.

“Unless you want a report regarding your insubordination, I’d suggest you do so.”

The purple and black Seeker huffed and begrudgingly stopped moving his hands, Starscream immediately seizing the chance to scramble away, standing up and dusting himself off. Skywarp began to rise as well, yet Starscream pointed one of his cannons in his direction, eyeing his every movement.

“He isn’t going to bother you anymore.” Thundercracker assured.

“I should blast you in the face JUST for what you put me through alone!!!” the Decepticon SIC snarled.

“Hey, I was just trying to get something out of you that wasn’t complaining!” Skywarp countered. “You think you’re the only one that wants to be here on guard duty?”

“I’d much rather be in the company of Megatron at the moment rather than you two!!!”

“Hey, c’mon, that’s enough.” Thundercracker began, trying to cool things down, yet his Commander wasn’t having it.

“I’ve done nothing wrong to even be here!!! I was made Second in Command by Megatron himself!!! And, like it or not, that means I have the full right to question and propose any sort of adjustment or improvement to whatever backward, ridiculous, and foolhardy mission he’s got in mind!!!” Starscream shouted, clenching his blue fists. “And if that’s not enough, he had to stick me with YOU TWO of all bots!!!”

“Hey, c’mon!” Skywarp shot back. “We’re the only ones that can fly besides those damn cone-heads! And Primus knows they won’t put up with your bullshit.”

“I’ve had it up to here with yours!!!” Starscream retorted. “I don’t know why I even continue to allow myself to work with you two!!!” he then pointed to Skywarp. “You are an immature, idiotic thug that has been graced with a power that you clearly do not deserve!!!” he then pointed to Thundercracker. “And you…” Starscream paused. “You...you...well...you didn’t get here fast enough!!! I was under attack by one of my own wingmates, and here you were, lollygagging and taking your sweet time!!!”

Thundercracker was somewhat taken aback. True, this was typical of Starscream, ranting and raving about all the unfairness of the world and how he was slighted by whomever he decided had insulted him, yet the blue Seeker felt a twinge of anger flare up in his spark. “I was TRYING to keep back to make sure you wouldn’t clip a wing or something. You were behaving quite...erratically.”

“That’s no excuse!!!” Starscream countered. “I am your superior, and thus, am your utmost concern!!!”

“I was-”

“No, I’m not done!!!” the other Seeker interrupted. “You know what? You’re just as useless as Skywarp here!!! Only you’ve got no discernable skills or anything spectacular in your arsenal. I lack Skywarp’s little ‘talent’, but I come packed with null rays that can disable and render any machine, Earth or Cybertronian, useless. But you? What, the typical blaster? And such an outdated model too!!! Perhaps even one of the cone-heads would be better suited to be here in comparison to-”

Starscream got out no more before he found himself tackled to the ground. Thundercracker was on top of him and, at a blinding speed, as if in response to the SIC’s remarks regarding his skill and prowess.

“What do you think you’re-” Starscream shouted, yet soon felt his shoulder cannons being removed from his arms. ��H-Hey!!! Put those back!!!”

Thundercracker didn’t answer him, continuing his work until his Commander was relieved of his weapons. Then, the blue Seeker delivered a blow to Starscream’s face when the other Decepticon tried to rise. He was disoriented long enough for him to be seized from behind, Thundercracker having ducked his arms underneath Starscream’s own and lifted them up, holding them together with one hand clasping around his wrists, effectively keeping the SIC in place.

“Skywarp,” the blue Seeker began, voice low and emotionless, yet the other members of the trine knew well what such a tone meant when it came to Thundercracker. “He’s all yours.”

Skywarp beamed and made a motion of ‘cracking’ his knuckles (even if he had none). The grin on his face filled Starscream with the utmost dread and fear. “Y-You can’t do this!!!” he protested. “I’m your superior!!!”

“Yes,” Thundercracker responded. “A superior asshole.”

“A superior asshole that’s been getting on my and Cracker’s nerves,” Skywarp said, grinning. Thundercracker despised the nickname the other Seeker had given him, yet at the moment, what was at the forefront of his mind was his Commander’s “disciplinary” session. “And since we’re both done hearing you bitch and moan,” Skywarp raised his servos up, wiggling and making clawing motions with them. “We’re gonna hear you laugh it up instead!”

And then, he went in and continued where he had left off.

Starscream had no chance to brace himself, his focus torn between trying to get Thundercracker off of him and Skywarp’s advances. The purple and black Seeker dove down and traced his servo-tips all over the red and blue Seeker’s chassis, running along the curves and bends, dipping his digits in the vents situated on his chest, and down the midsection where his cockpit was located.

“N-No!!! No-hahahahaha!!! St-Sto-hahaha-p!!! Stop!!! I or-hoho-der you to STOP!!!”

“Not happening.” Skywarp responded, now skittering along the white waist.

“You-hoohoo dare defy an or-hoho-der from your Comma-hahaha-nder!?!”

“If said Commander is being a little bitch, then yes.”

“Th-This is ahahaha-assult on a supe-hehhehe-rior officer!!!”

“Fine then. Stop me.”

Starscream didn’t answer that, knowing well that, despite himself, he was effectively rendered helpless. Thundercracker wasn’t letting him go any time soon, and Skywarp was more than content to keep tickling the ever-living shit out of his Commander. He was completely at their mercy. But he would not surrender. He couldn’t! Not to them! They wouldn’t get one word out of him that was begging for mercy!

At least, that’s what he tried to keep in mind, all the while fighting against said pleas that were forming in his processor.

Skywarp continued to let his servos dance all over Starscream’s upper half, Thundercracker keeping him immobile. The other Seeker’s added weight made struggling difficult and sometimes near impossible, and the maddening sensations made his futile attempts to escape no better. Skywarp had gone for the SIC’s underarms, Starscream’s laughter raising in volume and his struggles increasing, yet Thundercracker held him firm. Skywarp spidered down Starscream’s sides and chest, even tackling the red sections that stood upward on his shoulders. The red and blue Seeker howled with laughter, Thundercracker keeping up his efforts to hold him tight. Despite his current predicament, Starscream could at least take comfort in that the three were clearly alone out here. The only downside to that was that it was Skywarp of all bots doing the torturing! That mech left no inch of his upper body untouched, making sure to give each and every portion of it equal attention. Odd that he would be so precise given how impatient and foolhardy he was.

Having decided that he had explored all he could in that area, the purple and black Seeker shifted his attention to Starscream’s hips, dragging servos along where it connected to his waist and squeezing the sides. The Decepticon SIC continued to release mad cackles from his vocal processor, Skywarp’s servos traveling down to his inner thighs, teasing the joints and cables he could reach. The purple and black Seeker went down the other jet’s legs and reached his knees, swiping servos behind the blocky sections that essentially served as ‘kneecaps’. He even dipped his digits in the vents that rested there.

Starscream was being driven mad, his frantic struggles weakening, though whether it was due to him losing strength or some part of him simply accepting his fate, he was unsure. Regardless, he was reaching his limit and frankly, beginning to lose his mind. “W-Wait!!!” the Seeker got out. “O-hoho-k!!! OK!!! You-hoohoo-’ve had your fun!!! Stop!!!”

“Not yet,” Skywarp said. “I’ve still got a little more of you to tend to.” he then turned to the blue Seeker. “Hold him tight. I gotta feeling this is going to send him over the edge.”

“What do you mean…” Starscream asked, yet trailed off when he saw Skywarp secure his ankles, the undersides of his peds and thrusters completely exposed. Oh no. Oh Primus, no! “W-Wait!!! WAIT!!!” Skywarp and Thundercracker were quite shocked at how loud their captive had gotten, both looking at him with wide, red optics.

Skywarp then smirked. “Oh my,” he glanced at one ped he had in his grasp. “This a particularly sensitive area?” as if to demonstrate, he ran one servo down the length of the side of it, Starscream trembling and straining to keep noises from exiting his throat. “Oh hot damn!” the purple and black Seeker looked to his comrade. “Look at this Cracker! Screamer here’s got sensitive tootsies!”

Tootsies? Was that a human word? Well, whatever. Thundercracker had to strengthen his hold on Starscream, the other Seeker growing even more erratic than before.

“Not there!!!” Starscream finally threw all pride and dignity aside and went to one of his desperate fail-safes: begging. “Please, not there!!! Anywhere but there!!!”

“Why?” Skywarp coyly asked. “Does it tiiiickle~?”

“All right fine!!! Fine, I admit it!!! I’m ticklish, ok!?! There, I said it!!!”

Skywarp stopped his teasing, yet still held Starscream’s ped in his hold. “And?”

“And…” the SIC couldn’t believe he was doing this. Megatron was one thing, but these two? He would NEVER live this down. “And…” he felt a servo place itself on the underside of the ped. “And I’m sorry!!! I’m sorry for everything I said!!! You’re not useless or idiots!!!” Starscream sighed, having gained both of the other jet’s attention. “It’s just...it’s just so frustrating.” He said, lessening his struggles. “Your position means nothing, and whatever contribution you have to give is treated little better than the ramblings of a fool. How nothing you could ever say matters…”

Starscream looked away from both of them for a second, his wingmates quite baffled and confused by what they just heard. True, complaining was one of the hallmarks of their Commander’s personality, yet it was quite a rarity to hear him display such raw honesty with them. It wasn’t a completely alien event, the two having heard these supposedly heartfelt (or in their case, sparkfelt) confessions before, but they were far and in between. Yet whenever they happened, despite their probable better judgment, they listened. And Starscream, even if he didn’t say it outright, acknowledged that they were indeed listening. These moments were always awkward and generally uncomfortable for all three of them, the mood not exactly being positive but oddly calm. And neither Skywarp nor Thundercracker could tell whether these were genuine or not. Their Commander was very much what the humans called a social chameleon. Oh sure, he had his distinguishing traits, yet it seemed that whenever he had to play a certain role (aside from a duplicitous usurper), he usually took it and made it his own. He could have solid strategies and plans, he could be deadly in combat and made use of his airborne advantage well, and when, rarely, Megatron’s plans aligned with his own, he would follow it to a tee. But whether all these were just an act to get what he wanted or a rare display of inner, truthful self (even if partway), neither of the Seekers knew. And in a way, Starscream would probably have it no other way.

Skywarp looked at his partner in crime, then to his victim. “You believe him, Cracker?”

Thundercracker was silent for a moment, Starscream looking up at him with wide, pleading optics. “I don’t know. You know Starscream.”

“Oh, you think so little of me, dear Thundercracker?” The SIC asked, seemingly hurt. “I merely let my own grievances with Megatron affect my sense of professionalism.”

“And?” Skywarp asked. “You sorry for being the King of the Assholes today?”

“King of the...what!?” Starscream began to protest, yet the sensation of Skywarp’s servo kept him in his place. “Yes!!! Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. I apologize. I apologize for everything that’s come from my vocal components.”

The purple and black Seeker looked and Thundercracker and nodded his head. “You know what? I believe him. How about you?” Thundercracker remained silent, yet when his hold was loosening, he noticed Skywarp look at him with a coy, calculating smile. “I think Cracker here forgives you too, Screamer.”

Starscream sighed in relief. “Yes, well...I suppose, as the humans say, to err is, well, human. But to forgive is divine.” He tried to get up, but still, found himself being held tight.

“Hold on there! Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.” Skywarp said. “I said I forgive you.” He then placed a servo on the underside of Starscream’s ped and dragged it down, noticing how his Commander’s face tensed up. “I didn’t say anything about letting you go. And neither did Cracker.”

Starscream’s red optics widened in terror, his fate had not been changed. “But...but you said that you forgave me!!! You have to release me!!!”

“And we will,” Thundercracker spoke up. “But, it would be bad form to leave Skywarp’s job unfinished, right?”

“Was that an actual joke from you?” Skywarp asked, genuinely surprised. It was just as, perhaps even rarer than Starscream’s “honest” moments, yet once in a while, the blue Seeker showed he was capable of humor, albeit mostly dry, but still, humor. “And yeah. I’ve only got one more place to cover. So I’d suggest you buck up and take the rest of it like a mech!”

Shit, Starscream thought, a part of him surprised that he had used a human curse. Still, the sentence had been delivered. He was doomed. “N-No, wait!!! You don’t understand!!! I can’t take it there!!! It’s too much!!! You’ll drive me crazy!!!

“Hmm...those are all rather bold claims. But you shouldn’t have told me that.” Skywarp said, eager to start his tickling torment up again. “Because now I’m going to have to see it for myself!”

And thus, Skywarp wasted no time in getting started, Starscream having no chance to maintain any semblance of self-control the moment he felt a servo quickly swipe itself back and forth on his ped. The reaction was immediate, Starscream having no chance to try and even contain himself. Skywarp traced down the entire length of the ped, the red and blue Seeker released loud and slightly hoarse laughter from his vocals, he desperately trying to twist his way out of Thundercracker’s grip.

“Skwarp!!!” Starscream hollered. “Ple-heeheehee-se!!! STOP!!!”

“Oh no, Mr. General Dickweed!” the Seeker answered back. “Forgiveness or no, you’ve been in dire need of an attitude adjustment all day today!”

“I sa-hahaha-id I was so-hohoho-rry!!!”

“And you lied to us about being ticklish. Shame on you!” Skywarp teased, continuing to scribble around on the underside of his Commander’s ped.

Starscream was in absolute hysterics, trying with all his remaining power to break free and escape his torment, yet it seemed that his fate was sealed. He was going to have to stay here and endure the continuous, soft, agonizingly light yet maddening sensations Skywarp’s servos created. Eventually, his struggles ceased, no longer having the energy to fight back. Or maybe, somewhere in his processor, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle and simply relented to those that currently had power over him. Skywarp then ceased tickling the peds, yet Starscream had no time to rest. Despite his hopes, pleas, and prayers (he hadn’t really considered himself a religious bot, yet he was singing praises to Primus at that moment in his head), Skywarp had discovered his Commander’s Achilles Heel. Literally.

“PRIMUS, STOP!!!” the SIC shrieked, living up to his name. Out of all the spots that could’ve been at the mercy (or lack thereof) of Skywarp’s servos, he knew well that one would be enough to make him go crazy. “YOU’RE KI-HIHIHIHI-LLING ME!!! I’M DY-HIHIHIHI-ING!!!”

Skywarp scoffed, yet he found this whole thing hilarious, his servos dancing along the lining of and inside Starscream’s thrusters. “Oh please. If anything, this is a spa treatment compared to what you usually get hit with from Megatron.”

“I’D RA-HAHAHAHA-THER TAKE THAT!!! OH PLEASE!!! PLE-HEEHEEHEE-ASE!!! I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE!!!”

Thundercracker glanced down at his captive, taking a look at the Seeker’s ever-present smile he had plastered on his features, yet also of how hot he was beginning to feel how warm he was becoming. His internal systems had steadily been heating up from all the exertion of energy, yet the fact Thundercracker could now feel the heat himself signaled to him that Starscream was truly reaching his breaking point.

“Ok, I think that’s enough.”

Skywarp looked up. “Aw, why?”

“Is your processor malfunctioning? Feel how warm he is!” Hmm, now that he thought about it, Starscream DID feel like he was heating up the further along he went. Still...did he have to? “Skywarp!”

“Ok, ok! Fine!” the purple and black Seeker groaned.

Begrudgingly, he ceased the movement of his servos and raised his hands away from Starscream, who was still caught in the throughs of laughter. Yet after a few moments, said laughter began to soften and decrease, the Seeker resting in Thundercracker’s arms mainly because he couldn’t do much else. Despite there being no need to take in oxygen, Starscream was quite appreciative of its abundance, his vents taking it in and filtering out the heat that had been building up.

“Oh, and here you actually had me...going,” Skywarp said, gesturing to Starscream. “See? He’s fine!” The word ‘concerned’ was about to exit from his lips, yet the Seeker kept them back. Like the Pit he was going to say that. Starscream then glared in Skywarp’s direction. “See? Totally fine. He’s already back to his bitchy self.”

“You…” Starscream huffed, sounding as if he were short of breath despite not needing to breathe. “You think you’re VERY clever, don’t you?”

Skywarp shrugged. “On occasion, I like to think so.”

Starscream only narrowed his optics. “The moment I get my strength back up, your termination will be slow and painful.”

Despite this threat, the Seeker wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. “Yeah right. I stopped believing you after the...what was it, the millionth-and-first time you said that?”

“Well...who’s to say I don’t mean it the millionth-and-second time?” Starscream questioned, beginning to reach for his null rays, yet ultimately, had tired himself out too much to even move from where he was. As the human said, screw it.

“Are you all right?”

The Decepticon SIC looked up at Thundercracker. “Oh, so NOW you care about my wellbeing?”

“I stopped him, didn’t I?” The blue Seeker asked, pointing to Skywarp.

“And you’re also the one that restrained and let him torture me.”

“...touche.” he then began to rise. “Come on. On your feet.” he slowly hoisted his Commander up. “You’re still cooling down, so it’d probably be good to wait for a klik or two before you take to the air.”

Starscream didn’t argue with that, yet he went over to retrieve his arm cannons. Skywarp soon found the Commander’s eyes looking straight at him. Yet still, his cannons didn’t fire, though whether because he was too tired to do anything or he actually didn’t have it in him (at least at the moment), to shoot Skywarp was unknown. Yet the result was the same.

“So...now what?” the purple and black Seeker asked.

“What do you mean, now what?” Thundercracker asked. “We go back to our posts! Slag, we shouldn’t even be out here anyway!”

Starscream dusted himself off, trying to straighten out his appearance. “As soon as this is over, I’m punishing both of you.”

Skywarp mockingly gasped. “Aw, why?”

“Why?! You know slagging good why!!!” Starscream responded. “And by the time I’m done with you, a session with Megatron himself will sound exceptionally pleasant in comparison!!!”

“Oooh, that’s pretty big talk, Screamer.” Skywarp chuckled. “And just how are you going to do it?”

Starscream didn’t exactly care for how close the other Seeker was. “I...I’ll find a way. I’ll find several.”

“Of course, you do realize you’re not the only one with an advantage, you know?” And before Starscream could ask, he felt a poke in his side, the red and blue Seeker recoiling from the touch. “Y’know, I can’t help but wonder how the guys would react to this when I tell them.”

Both Starscream and Thundercracker were taken aback by what Skywarp had just said. “Why would you tell anybody?” Starscream asked.

“Because it’s adorably precious and funny.” The Seeker answered.

“You had better not!!!” Starscream ordered. “Or I’ll make your punishment even worse than Thundercracker’s!!! I’ll…” he then went over and fell at Skywarp’s feet. “Please don’t tell anyone. Please. I’m begging you.”

“Relax, he’s not going to tell,” Thundercracker assured his Commander. “Right, Skywarp?”

Skywarp folded his arms. “Only if Screamer takes back his punishment threats.”

Starscream relented. “Ok, yes. Fine. No discipline. Ok?”

The Seeker smiled. “And since you’re feeling so cooperative, I’ve been meaning to ask you some...stuff.”

Starscream did NOT like the sound of that. “What kind of...stuff??”

“Well, c’mon.” Before he knew it, the Air Commander found his trine-mate’s arm slung around his shoulder as if he were a long-time friend. “We can discuss it on the way back to the space bridge.”

Starscream groaned, not liking where this was going at all.

Thundercracker only looked on, still trying to swallow everything that had happened. Suffice to say, he found himself feeling rather...odd about it. And he could tell Starscream held this sentiment as well. Truly, it sounded unreal: he had just held down their superior while his wingmate tickled him into near insanity. Had he not seen it himself, let alone participated in it, he wouldn’t have believed it. Frankly, he was beginning to feel quite embarrassed about how he had sunk so low to be involved in something so childish, but…

“Oh, come on! It wasn’t that bad!” The blue Seeker heard Skywarp say. “You were smiling the whole time!”

“Yes, against my will!!!!” Starscream retorted, folding his arms and, for lack of a better word, pouting.

“But don’t you feel just a little bit better?”

Starscream’s red optics widened. “No! It-“ had he been human, he would’ve been red as a tomato. Odd how the meatbag’s skin changed at just the slightest amount of extreme emotion. “Hmph!!! Well...I’m not talking to you right now!!! Or in the next few Earth hours. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or-“ he was interrupted by a poke, unprepared to contain the giggle that slipped out. “Do that again, and I WILL blast you this time.” He threatened.

“That makes a millionth-and-three.” Skywarp answered, unfazed.

Thundercracker continued to watch the two Seekers argue and banter with each other, noticing that, even if he would swear to Primus Himself that it wasn’t the case, since his tickling session, Starscream seemed...less irritable?

“Well, maybe that’ll be the lucky number. What’s that human saying again? Third time’s the charm?”

“I don’t think they have plus a million in there though.” Skywarp chuckled, Starscream huffing.

“Shut up.”

Thundercracker could only speculate. One could never tell with Starscream. But from watching him, he had a vague idea of what was going in his processor. And that he’d keep it a secret from everyone.

#transformers #transformers generation one #transformers g1 #starscream #thundercracker #skywarp #seeker trine #g1 seekers #seekers #sensitive #tickle #tickle fic #fanfiction #fanfic

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imasimpforshanks · 3 years

Note

Hello <3 Can I ask for Angst alphabet with Coby ?~ thanks a lot <3

Angst Alphabet - Coby

a/n: BRUHHHH HIS WAS SO HARD TO DO BC HES SUCH A SWEETIE 😭😭😭😭😭💗 regardless, I hope you like it! x

ALSO - please note reader is a civilian and not a marine (but coby is still a marine). It was just easier for me to write it this way !!

A- Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)

Coby wouldn’t exactly blame himself, but he would feel really weak. It would be lots of comments about his own worth and capabilities such as: “I’m still too weak” or I’m never going to be strong enough”. (kind of similar to Zoro in that sense).

B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)

He would try to be as honest and as upfront as possible, but he gets really anxious and just starts stumbling over his words ending every sentence with “ya know?”. In the end, he just uses every cliché in the book because he can’t remember or seem to find the ability to say what he really wanted to.

C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)

This dude is far too much of a sweetheart to ever make you cry. If you were to cry because of him, it’d be because of how much time the two of you have to be away from each other. He hates having to leave you because it’s always a lot of tears on both sides.

D-Death (how would they react to your death?)

He would be devasted. Crying in front of anyone and everyone he doesn’t care. Coby would also become really unmotivated and go through a little bit of an existential crisis like “What’s the point of this anymore?” “what am I even doing?”. Eventually he’d remember how much you believed in him, and how much good he could really do in the world – so, he’d keep going. For you.

E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)

Honestly, Coby is someone who is extremely open and expressive. He doesn’t (or maybe it’s more accurate to say he can’t) hide his emotions. That’s just not who he is. He expresses openly whatever emotion it is he is feeling.

F-Fight (do you two ever fight? How big are the fights? What do you fight about? Etc.)

He genuinely tries to avoid fighting with you at all costs. Nothing between the two of you ever escalates that far because Coby manages to talk the two of you out of whatever tension has been built.

G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)

It’s not necessarily guilt, but Coby still feels as though he owes Luffy his life. Because of Luffy, Coby was able to become a marine. It’s because of Luffy that Coby continues to work as hard as he does. Most of what has happened in Coby’s life is all thanks to Luffy and because of that, he feels as though he has a debt he can never repay (even though all of this happened because luffy was just being luffy).

H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)

Having to be away from you for long periods of time (obviously because he’s a marine) is really painful for the both of you. It can but quite a bit of strain on your relationship as long distance isn’t easy.

During a break-up, his mind would be all over the show. At work, he wouldn’t be able to focus properly which would cause many problems for not only himself, but others around him too.

I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?)

Panic mode: activated. All his focus is shifted to you. He forgets about everything around him and is set on trying to get you help. He doesn’t even try to take down whoever, or whatever, caused your injury. You are his one and only priority in that moment.

J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)

The sweetheart would feel so nervous. He’d keep to himself and try to avoid you for a while because he can’t stop thinking about how much better off you would be with literally anyone else.

K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)

Coby is definitely not the type to kill for revenge. He hates all the killing and death that happens in the world. He’s a person who is all about trying to stop the cycle of hatred. so despite the anger, pain and hurt he would be feeling he would put all of that emotion aside, and settle it a different way.

L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)

During Marineford when marines (and pirates) were dying left and right, Coby was shocked. It was far too much unnecessary death. Witnessing all that death was an emotional overload, but it did lead to one of the most pivotal moments of his life.

M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?)

Unfortunately, it was something entirely out of his control. But one time he had to leave for a mission with the Marines in the middle of the night. He couldn’t tell you anything about it or why he was leaving. He just had to up and leave.

N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?)

Sometimes Coby has nightmares about Marineford. The constant voices and cries of agony form an endless loop in his sleep, gradually getting louder and louder until he screams himself awake. After waking up in a panic he manages to calm his breathing. Then, Coby gives himself a pep talk “that is why you’re working so hard. To become strong enough to be fleet admiral so nothing like that will ever happen again.”

O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)

As with the fights, I don’t think Coby really gets mad at you. Probably over something minor like you ate the last cookie or something. It’s not anger, he just gets pouty until you say you’ll make it up to him.

P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)

Having to do your relationship long distance was a pivotal point for the both of you. For most, it can be a deal breaker and it comes with more negatives than positives. But, for the two of you, it was a wake-up call, and, it was the moment you both realized “I can’t live without you, we will make this work”.

Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?)

I wouldn’t say this is dangerous or toxic idk (???) but ANWAYSSSSS. Coby lacks certainty in his own decisions. He’s not so bad now, but it used to be a lot worse. He second guesses himself too much, which can be the difference between life and death in a high pressure situation.

R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around))

Being rejected by you would definitely impact his self-esteem. It’d bring up a lot of insecurities and feelings of inadequacy. (PLS DON’T REJECT THIS PRECIOUS BOY).

S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)

Coby does have a scar on his head. It’s not entirely certain when or where he received this scar, but it’s likely to be from his rough training with Garp.

T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?)

No, Coby has never broken your trust. In fact, your relationship is held up by the unwavering trust the two of you have in one another. It may seem funny to say that, because trust is a vital element of any relationship, but it’s particularly the case for you two. Being a marine means there’s going to be quite a few things he can’t tell you, but you know he can’t tell you and he really appreciates how much you understand that.

U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)

He’s had to learn to cope with not seeing you for long periods of time. But, despite all that practice it’s still unbelievably difficult. When he can, he’ll write you letters to keep you informed about his safety. He won’t ask, but he’d really appreciate if you wrote him back.

V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?)

I genuinely don’t believe he would lash out at you. He just wouldn’t. Maybe, he’s slammed a few doors, but other than that… (sorry I feel like this one is boring af ugh).

W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?)

Coby always felt weak and incapable in his abilities. Sometimes those feelings resurface. But honestly, he trues to avoid this by remembering how and why he is where he is. He thinks of all the people who have helped him along the way (Luffy, Garp etc.) and it motivates him to push forward.

X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)

He hates needless violence. He understands in some situations violence is necessary, but, then there are some situations (like the end of marineford) where lives are being lost for no reason whatsoever.

Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)

He wants nothing more than to openly be BFF’s with Luffy. Given the two different worlds they live in, it’s just never going to happen, despite Luffy being a genuinely good person. (I KNOW THIS IS MEAN TO BE ANGSTY BUT I COULDN’T HELP IT LMFAO)

Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)

Oh boy. There would be endless amounts of tears. Through sniffles and snot, he’d be trying to thank you for everything you’ve done for him, all the love and support you’ve shown him.

#coby one piece #coby x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #angst alphabet #one piece alphabet

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yoditorian · 3 years

Text

lacuna- part 3

din/reader

she’s dropping early because i have no patience and i’m extremely proud of the last 2/3rds of this. thanks as always to my darling @brothersdrxke for being encouraging and yelling with me 💛

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swears, overuse of italics, discussion of violence including graphic injury, mentions of scars (causes not discussed), one use of ‘their’ as a pronoun for reader, usual poetic smut, 18+ no babies thanks

You didn’t think you’d be back here.

Maybe ever, but definitely not after only a couple of years, and your smile is tight as you flick the lever to lower the small freighter’s boarding ramp. You’re sure it won’t come back if you drop it.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Qin’s teeth are sharp in his own smile.

“You’re not.”

His snarled response is cut off by Ran’s booming laugh before it starts. Your old boss claps him on the shoulder, saying something in lieu of a real greeting about how he’s missed your jokes. It’s a little tense, the way the men take you in for a moment. You didn’t wear your uniform, there’s not a thing on the ship that points any fingers towards the Rebellion, but it’s clear you’ve done well for yourself since leaving. Something they clearly have not, judging by the holes in the jacket tied around Qin’s hips.

“Thanks for letting me stay, system hopping takes a lot longer when your hyperdrive’s busted.” You relax a little, let your shoulders drop, let them think you’re more than comfortable under their scrutinizing gazes.

“We’ve probably got something laying around here you could use. For a price, of course.” Ran grins, in that predatory way that he always has. He seems so unassuming, but you know different. You know better.

“Your prices always land me on the wrong end of a blaster. I’ll take my chances in open space, thanks.”

He laughs heartily again, and you can breathe. At least they seem to believe you.

Ran had offered you your old room, something you’d graciously thanked him for, and left you to it. The station seems to run the same, more or less. He hasn’t hired anyone in your place, or in Din’s for that matter, but it’s difficult to find somebody without loyalties to any one side of the war. Leaving the spots open for now is probably safer for him. You’d raised a hand in greeting to Xi’an when you passed her in the hall, she’d hissed in return but any time she didn’t threaten to cut you is always a win. So at least you’re still in somebody’s good graces here.

Still, good graces don’t last long. And neither does your patience. It’s only a few hours into the night cycle on the station when you creep out of your room and towards the main hangar. Your old workspace looks exactly the same, a few bits and pieces missing, but mostly untouched by time and sticky fingers. Good. It takes less than an hour to completely gut the bench. Every single old motivator, circuit board, gear, and valve packed up neatly in the cargo hold of the ship. There’s still larger engine pieces that the base mechanics are in desperate need of, but Shara’s working on that lead. You find a black marker lying on a nearby workbench and draw a big smiley face on the dulled metal. For good measure.

It’s with a deep breath, and a prayer you never have to return, that you maneuver your ship up and out of the station. You ease it into lightspeed, the definitely-not-busted hyperdrive humming, and disappear.

“Did you think I don’t keep tabs on people, Mando?”

Din would rather go swimming on Mustafar, or get swallowed by a Krayt dragon, or be literally anywhere else in the galaxy than the hangar on Ran’s station. How he’d even known he’d joined the Bounty Hunters’ Guild is a mystery to him, but the call came through nonetheless. The new representative on Nevarro, a very theatrical man if their short contact was anything to go by, had popped up in the holo-com display talking about a special assignment and given him coordinates he knew all too well. Whatever it is, it isn’t good.

“You know, Xi’an’s still broken up about you leaving. Convinced herself that you and the pilot organised it, that you’re holed up somewhere together. But we both know that’s not true.”

Din says nothing. He doesn’t need to, Ran’s tone leaves nothing to be discussed. Whether he knows for sure that you went straight to the rebels or not, he has his suspicions. Xi’an can think whatever she likes, he’s just grateful he doesn’t have to deal with her trailing after him like a lost puppy anymore.

“They said you have a job for me.”

Ran gestures out for him to follow, leading him to a desk he knows all too well. Your workstation was always cluttered, always a tangled heap of wires and unidentifiable spare parts. Organised chaos, you said, it was about the piles. Except it’s been completely cleared out. There’s shelves underneath that he didn’t even know existed, and a big smiley face drawn carefully on the worktop. Din turns his head towards Ran, a wordless question.

“We had a visit from our old friend, a favour done out of the kindness of my heart. So imagine my surprise when we all woke up to find their room empty, and my hangar pillaged.” Ran’s laying it on thick, thicker than usual. Pillaged is a strong word, it’s clear you only touched your own bench, those parts belong to you as far as Din’s concerned. But it’s not his concern that’s the problem.

“So, what’s the job?” He doesn’t feel like playing games anymore. He doesn’t see what any of this has to do with him anyway.

“I’m putting a bounty on that little thief, it can be yours or it can go to the Guild. Or,” Ran hesitates, watching the way Din’s shoulders tense, “You can help me out. Help me with this one thing and I’ll drop it.”

Din doesn’t even ask what he needs to do, he only nods and finds himself trying his best to tolerate Qin’s chatter from the Crest’s passenger seat while he flies.

It should worry him, that he didn’t even consider his own safety. But something about it feels right, he’s sure he’d put anything on the line if it meant you were safe.

It’s almost boring, standing guard at the door as Qin ransacks some official’s office on a planet he’s already forgotten the name of. Ran mentioned something about a trade agreement, although given the largely illegal nature of his dealings it doesn’t take a genius to work out exactly why something like that would have been refused by any law abiding citizen. Although law in the Outer Rim is generally subjective to everyone’s personal code.

“One more office and we’re done.” Qin assures him as he exits the upturned office, pressing a drive into Din’s gloved palm. He pockets it without question, experience has taught him that wasting time asking will only get them in trouble.

Trouble seems to find them anyway. It always does.

He races through the beige hallways, following the blinking dot on the display of his vambrace with Qin hot on his heels. The security guards aren’t fast, they aren’t even armed, there’s no point in shooting when the two of them so clearly have the upper hand. Until a burly Trandoshan leaps out of a doorway and tackles Qin to the ground. But Din doesn’t look back, he just presses forward to the Crest.

Din hightails it out of there, jumping to lightspeed still in atmosphere. Just in case. And breathes his first sigh of relief since he stepped onto the station. He’s not sure what’s on the drive, honestly he doesn’t want to know, and he just hopes it’s important enough to Ran that he might overlook the tiny detail of leaving Qin to the guards.

Ran only seems mildly annoyed that Din comes back alone, more interested in the drive dropped into his waiting hand, and agrees to forget about setting a bounty. So long as you don’t turn up on his doorstep, lie, and steal from him again. Din promises to pass on the message.

You’re on Tatooine, arguing with a scrapper in Mos Espa over the price of a rusted laser cannon, when he finds you. The scrapper quiets when he appears over your shoulder, and nods reluctantly at your suggested fifty percent of the asking price. It’s hot and you’re tired, you don’t have the patience to pretend to be surprised when you turn to see him standing behind you.

“Help me with this?” You ask. Din watches a bead of sweat drip down your temple, tries not to wish it was his tongue instead, and nods wordlessly.

Between the two of you, you manage to haul the cannon to your docking bay and roll it up the loading ramp. Only once it’s secure in the hold do you take a moment to survey his armour, the way you did last time.

There’s no obvious new scratches, although the dust on this rock of a planet will dirty anything in a matter of seconds, but you find yourself relieved by the familiarity of his dark red armour. Nothing has been replaced since the last time you saw him, it seems. You’ve come a long way since then.

“You’re stealing from our old boss now?” Din’s voice breaks your careful study of his armour, and your brow furrows. You thought he might understand, out of everyone in the galaxy, but you don’t even know how he found out.

“We’re in a war.”

“You’re in a war.”

Your eyes snap up to his visor, and he has to physically plant himself so he isn’t rocked back by the intensity of your stare. You find his eyes every time, you always have. But yours have never held such a cold fury for him than they do now. It’s kind of terrifying, it’s kind of beautiful.

“This is not about me. This is so much bigger than just me. You may have grown up underground learning how to kill people with your thumbs but I grew up under imperial rule. I grew up building parts for star destroyers and running messages for rebels. All I know is this fucking war.” You’re rambling but you don’t care. He has to know, he has to understand that this is what you do now. The last couple of years have been the best of your life, you’ve found a purpose. Something that makes you want to get out of bed in the mornings and reluctant to go back to it at night, you’ve thrown yourself into the brewing fight and it feels like you were born for it. The names of all the friends you’ve lost to the Empire sit heavy on your tongue for every TIE you take down, every supply you steal, every bit of intel you scrape together. It’s for them, it’s for everyone who came before, it’s for everyone who will come after.

Din says your name softly, but the tears are falling and you can’t stop.

“I’ve been fighting my whole life so kids in the future don’t have to live the way I have. I think a few spare parts are worth that.”

You tell him your whole story, standing there awkwardly in the belly of the freighter. You tell him about the messages you ran between workers who resisted, who rebelled, who heard whispers of uprising and felt the roar of hope in their chests. You’d started young, too young really to understand the danger of what you were doing. But what about being young on Corellia was not dangerous? You tell him how the group started to grow, branching out from your factory line to the docks and the mechanics and further. The way they started to include you more as you got older, planning and whispering in darkened corners and safehouses away from the ears of the Empire.

Not that it did anyone any good in the end. You tell him how they stormed the house one night. No warning, no whispers. Blew the door out of the wall and started shooting. So you’d started running. Nothing but the blanket from your bed, the one you’d had since you were a child, around your shoulders and a younger girl’s hand in yours. You’d almost gotten her to the loading docks. To safety. Almost. You can still taste the blood in your mouth when the blaster bolt split her head open, but you’d left her where she fell and kept running. You tell him how you dove into the first open cargo bay you saw and hid. For days. How you’d cried when you felt it finally lift from the bay. How it had been Ran’s ship, one of his first trades. You hadn’t had the courage to leave the station until somebody had shown you it was possible.

Din doesn’t interrupt once. He only watches. Watches as the tears stop streaming, as you pull yourself back together again. He’s sure you didn’t want him, anyone, to see you so vulnerable. You’ve always had that mask of quick jokes and bright smiles, it’s only now that he realises it's a mask, and it’s oddly fascinating to watch you piece it together. You wipe at your cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket until there’s no trace of your tears and take a deep breath. In the blink of an eye, it’s as though you never cried at all.

Even so, the bags under your eyes don’t lie. He’s sure he’s got a pair to match.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asks quietly, and if you didn’t know better you’d swear he was concerned about you. But you do know better.

You shoot a glance over to the freighter’s sorry excuse of a bunk. It’s even worse than the last one he took you in, although you’re not sure he’s suggesting a good fuck will get you off to sleep. It’s very pointedly not been touched, starched sheets still stretched military-tight over the mattress. Not that it’s much of a mattress.

“Let’s find a room somewhere. I think a real bed might do us both some good.” He makes it sound like an offer, but you know it’s non-negotiable. And deep down, you really could use a good hour or two before you have to fly back to base. The pilot’s seat is definitely more comfortable than the bunk, just about. You dip into the cockpit at the last second to snag your old blanket. For comfort’s sake.

There’s not a lot in the room that an older Twi’lek woman hands you the keycard to. Only a desk with a chair, an attached refresher, and a small bed. But it’s big enough for the two of you. The suns start to dip below the horizon, and Din finally reaches out to touch you. Just barely, just a light stroke of his fingers along your shoulder. But it’s enough to convince you to take a shower, you’re sandy and sweaty and tired and it’ll take more energy to argue than it would to just take the shower.

You’re in there for longer than you intended, zoning out as your eyes lose focus of the little square tiles on the wall, and it’s dark outside by the time you’re dried and dressed in the spare clothes you keep in your go-bag. Din’s pulled blinds shut, locked the door, and piled his armour carefully on the desk. The ancient wood creaks under the weight of the metal. The man himself is lying spreadeagled on the bed, in only his underclothes and his helmet, the dull light from the single bulb in the refresher reflects off of his visor when he turns to look at you. It might make you laugh if you weren’t so tired.

“Better?”

You nod. Of course you feel better, anyone would after scrubbing what felt like an inch thick layer of sweat and sand off of their skin. You smell of the pleasantly neutral soap from the dispenser and, for the first time in days, you think you can breathe again. Although the weight of exhaustion threatens to drag your bones through the floor.

Din pulls himself to stand with a low groan, shoulders protesting when he rolls them, and tucks the sheet back far enough that you can get in comfortably. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s laid your blanket out beneath them, a thought that sits jagged in your throat. He approaches you slowly, carefully, as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast. But you take his hand the moment he offers it and leans around you to switch the fresher’s light off, let him lead you back to the bed, and follow him down onto it.

There’s the barest sound of metal brushing against his hair as he pulls the helmet off and sits up for a moment to set it down on the floor.

“Din?” Your voice is quiet, careful not to disturb the peace that’s settled in the room, but it makes him shudder all the same. He returns to you, tucks the blankets up around you both, and tugs you into him. The Armourer’s words, the ones that swirl in his head every time he thinks of you like this, are silent. Din finds he’s not even a little bit guilty.

Warm fingers trace your body, soft over your exposed skin, light as they dip under your shirt. He says nothing, only traces the scars on your back, on your sides, along your ribs. He doesn’t ask how they got there, running his touch along the raised marks you’ve collected through your life and leaving goosebumps in his wake. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel quite so empty.

You shift further into the warmth underneath you, a vain attempt to keep a hold of the last few dregs of sleep. But you feel rested, at least. That’s not something particularly familiar, and you bask in the feeling. A hum rumbles beneath you. Oh, that’s where you are. You’re not embarrassed, or shocked, like you thought you might be if this ever happened. If you ever thought it possible he wouldn’t leave you to wake up alone. But Din is solid under your head, under your arm, the soft fabric of his shirt clutched in your fist. He’s speaking softly, coaxing you from dreams. It’s still dark as anything when you finally open your eyes, so it can’t have been more than a few hours you spent snoozing.

It’s his story, you realise when your brain finally kicks into gear. He’s whispering about the memories he has from before, his parents. You’d always assumed he was born and raised Mandalorian, how he carries his Way so heavily on his shoulders, but the shake in his ribs as he recounts them tells you all you need to know. Your fist tightens in his shirt when you shuffle a little closer, press your face into his shoulder, a little more over the top of him. A human blanket.

Din likes it, the weight of you on him, your body helps him to keep focus. He never thought he’d tell anyone what happened to him. A dirty secret to be kept hidden away. But something about you pulls it out of him, something about the peace he’s created here with you in this little room makes the truth ease its way out of his throat. You’re not the only one who felt the wrath of the Empire as a child, you’re not the only one who wants it gone, he needs you to know that.

It breaks something inside you, to hear him so clearly struggle through the details of the attack and his rescue, and you can’t help but push yourself up further. Unwrap your hand from his shirt to find his cheek, press your lips to his softly, slowly. He’s suffered enough. You need him to know that you’re here, you have him. You’ll always have him. You let him lose himself in your body, and maybe your heart. He’s already made a home there anyways.

It’s careful, tentative, more so than the other times. The way you hold each other as though you’re made of glass. There’s no rush, no pressure of a goodbye, no adrenaline of a hunt. You have time. And, god, does it show. The way Din touches you is reverent, like you’re holy. You put everything you are, everything you have, behind every kiss, every touch, every whisper. It belongs to him, you’re happy to give yourself over. Just as he belongs to you, you’re sure of it. The fear that he touches someone else in the way he does you is soothed by the roughness of his voice in your ear, the way his teeth scrape against your throat, the way you hear the words without them needing to be said. Because he does, as you do.

You’re the first one to leave this time, blindly finding your clothes in the dark. You leave him a neutral comm, one you already have the pin saved for. He’ll know what it is. It connects to your personal pin without leaving a trace, and you can buzz him at any point. So long as he keeps it, you think he will. You take a moment to listen to him breathing, steadily in the dark, and raise your blanket to your nose. Din.

There won’t be a day goes by where you don’t think of him, of that you’re certain.

TAGLIST (lmk if u want on or off the list):

@brothersdrxke @remmysbounty @aq-vetina @1800-fight-me @mandos-co @kesskirata @sarahjkl82-blog @firstofficerwiggles @keeper0fthestars

#lacuna #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star war #fic #liz does words #obligatory prayer to the tag gods that they work #smut

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sortagaysortahigh · 4 years

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Not A Rebound | Topper Thornton

Idk what happened with this fic, there was no planning and it just kind of happened, but i live for Topper so it’s okay. If this doesnt make sense I’m sorry

Warnings: cussing, drug use (mary jane), mentions of violence, cheating, SMUT, choking, praise kink, spanking kink if you squint, idk theres a couple other kinks in this, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Word count: 7k (uh my bad)

Fem!Reader x Topper Thornton

“Your girlfriend is literally cheating on you! She’s afraid to fucking break up with you because she doesn’t want you to see her like she’s a whore or something. I’m so sorry for telling you the fucking truth” you snatched his keys out of his hand and shoved him out of your way. Making your way to his car, opening the door and grabbing your bag out of the front seat. Then throwing his keys back at him, watching him scoff while they hit his chest.

“Y/N! You can’t just storm off, how the hell are you going to get home!” you rolled your eyes at him “The same way I did when I was a fucking pogue, walking you asshole.” you flipped him off and started your walk back to figure eight. You knew the entire island like the back of your hand, having one foot in and one foot out of both lifestyles.

As a kid you were a pogue, but when you were twelve your father’s restaurant took off, becoming a tourist spot and before you knew it you were starting your first year at the kook academy, moving to figure eight and falling between two crowds.

When you noticed the jeep driving next to you, you rolled your eyes, keeping your gaze forward while walking on the side of the road. “y/n get in the car” you gave him the middle finger again and ignored him, but he kept driving as slow as possible to stay in tune with your steps. This was a recurring cycle in your friendship with him, after three years you’d think he would’ve known better than to raise his voice and argue with you for telling him the honest truth. But he didn’t, so he was back to driving right next to you while you tried to walk across the island.

“Shit! I’m sorry okay, please get in the fucking car” you scoffed at his apology, looking over at him raising your brows and challenging him. You had no issue in making him follow you the entire way, you’ve done it in the past and you were hardheaded enough to do it again. He groaned, his head hitting the steering wheel then looking back over at you. Walking with your head held high and ignoring him.

“y/n, the sun is about to set, please get in the damn car.” “I’m not afraid of the dark you asshole” “I never said you were, now get in the car” you rolled your eyes, picking up your pace, noticing a few cars driving by in the opposite direction, then you saw the van. The Pogue’s van, and when JJ Maybank stuck his head out of the window you couldn’t control the laugh that left your mouth.

“Hey! Y/n! Looking hot as usual!” you smiled and ignored the scoff coming from the car next to you. He was pissed, he hated the pogues, but he also hated when you were mad at him. He knew he lost his shit earlier and he knew he had been an asshole, going about things the wrong way, but he was hurt. His girlfriend cheated on him with a pogue, and he was in denial, until you told him. He was one of your closest friends and you thought he deserved to know the full truth.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I yelled at you, I’m sorry I was cussing, I’m sorry I lost my shit for a second, I know you mean well, okay I’m sorry, now please get in the car” You smiled at him and waited for him to stop the car, then you got in and faced him. The car smelt like salt water, a hint of vodka, and oranges-because you made him buy that specific vent clip. You always sat facing people when you were in cars, you liked to talk, and you liked to have your attention on the person you were talking to.

“It’s just, she cheated on me, with a dirty pogue-” you scoffed and cut him off “-Don’t call him a dirty pogue, did you forget that I used to be a pogue, do you want me to get out of the car again-because I’ll throw myself out right now” he rolled his eyes and gave you a warning look, it wasn’t the first time you’d threatened to jump out of a moving vehicle with him present-but usually you did it when you were forced to sit in Rafe’s truck with them.

“She cheated on me, with John fucking B, of all people, the guy who worked on her families boat, like is my life a shitty porno?” you felt bad for laughing but you couldn't help it, your best friend sure had a way with words. “Topper, don’t ever compare your life to a porno again, and honestly, you’re probably better off without Sarah, especially if she’s been sneaking around behind your back. Stop being such an angry asshole for ten seconds and think about this shit realistically. And i think I have something that’ll help cheer you up”

He glanced over at you, watching you dig into your bag, pulling out a small black box and grabbing a blunt and a lighter from inside of it. You shot him a quick wink then brought the blunt up to your lips, lighting it and taking a few hits.

“Eyes on the road Top” he hadn’t realized how long he was staring at you until your comment, then he felt you hold the blunt up to his lips, your hand on it being replaced by his while you leaned back into your seat.

You met Topper Thornton your freshman year at the kook academy, you were the new girl, and practically everyone knew you were a pogue so they liked to bring it up in conversation. When he tried to intimidate you by getting in your face and calling you a dirty pogue you raised a brow at him and kneed him in the crotch. His friends were laughing at him and the two of you ended up having two weeks of detention together, and during those two weeks you somehow became friends, looking forward to detention and getting to spend two hours cracking jokes with one another.

Everything's history from there, sure your friendship has its bumps in the road, especially because you were still friends with the pogues, being the peace-maker between your two friend groups, but you were thankful for Topper. He wasn’t as bad as he tried to make himself out to be, and you were usually the first person to call him out on his ‘douchebag’ antics. He was your first friend at the kook academy, then shortly after that you met Sarah Cameron and Kiara Carrera. When they had their drama you stayed out of things, spending more time with Topper, Kelce, and unfortunately Rafe.

You tried to stop them from fighting with one another, but some things were out of your control. One of those big things was Sarah and John B. You had no idea about the two of them until it was too late and you saw Sarah kiss him at Midsummers.

“Hey Sarah, you want a hi-oh shit” The two of them didn’t notice you walking back up from the beach with a blunt between your lips, but you noticed them kissing, and when they both heard your voice they immediately pulled apart. You had no idea how to react, you were watching your friends make out, when one of them was dating your best friend. If your mouth could’ve touched the floor it would’ve.

You watched John B walk-then crawl-then run away as fast as possible while you were still processing things. “Y/n I promise it’s not what it looks like” your brows furrowed and you nodded your head, waiting for her to continue talking-maybe John B kissed her first-maybe she had some type of explanation-maybe she wasn’t cheating on Topper.

You dusted the sand off of the blue satin dress you wore, holding the blunt between your lips, then grabbing it after taking a few hits. You blew the smoke out to the side while she looked around then ran her hands through her hair. She was panicking, and you knew she was panicking, because she knew you were big on being honest-you hated liars-and she knew that if she didn’t come clean to Topper then you would.

“Tell him for me” you scoffed at her. “You’re fucking with me right-like I know I’m high but this is a joke right?” she shook her head and walked up to you, placing her hands on your shoulders, you could see the pleading look in her eyes and you sighed, you knew she was serious and you knew she needed help. “I can’t be with Top anymore, hell this entire time this relationship hasn’t felt genuine, like we don’t connect-not like you and him do-and it’s like I know he’s suspicious-and I’m trying to break up with him-but I need you to tell him what you saw, it’ll make things easier for me” you sighed, you knew she was right, but you didn’t want to be in the crossfires or turn into the middle-man during their breakup.

You loved the Pogues, and you loved Sarah and the Kooks-although sometimes Rafe was questionable. You knew things were going to blow out of proportion if you didn’t say anything, you knew Sarah was-well she was a serial cheater-she had baggage and she had fears, she’d cheated on everyone she was with in the past and she wanted things to be different with Topper.

But they weren’t, she always talked about how she thought their connection was lack-luster, and that he didn’t treat her like he treated you, she would talk about your friendship with him and say she barely had a friendship with her boyfriend. She knew the two of you had been close, and she knew you were the only one who could help her in this situation.

You nodded your head at her. “Okay, but here’s the deal, I tell Topper, and you steer clear of him for at least a week. He’s gonna be-well he’s gonna be on edge, I’ll deal with the aftermath” she nodded and hugged you, you felt her sniffle and rubbed circles into her back with your free hand, the other bringing the blunt back to your lips, you had to finish it before going back to the party.

So as promised, you were dealing with the aftermath of it all, making sure to take his phone from him so he didn’t do anything irrational and call Sarah, and you forced him to spend the day with you. You knew if you let him out of our sight he’d probably drive to Sarahs and make a fool out of himself. You watched him take a few hits before passing it back to you, he coughed slightly making you laugh.

Everyone knew you were quite the pothead, that’s why you got along so well with Maybank, and you knew he was a sweetheart, he just had some shitty life circumstances, you were one of the few people that he felt comfortable confiding in, so everytime he needed to talk, you’d go see him, if he needed a place to stay, you offered him one of the guest bedrooms at yours, and if he just needed a level head to ask for advice, you were the girl.

Topper hated your friendship with JJ, but you always told him to pipe down-reminding him that if he wanted you to choose-you’d choose JJ over him. Everytime you said it, it hurt him, you knew it did, but it was the truth, JJ needed people in his life that cared about him and would look out for him. While Topper got things handed to him on a silver spoon, sure he had his qualms in life, but they weren’t nearly as bad as JJ’s.

You watched the Jeep pull into your driveway, Topper getting out and slamming the door. You sighed and forced JJ to stay on your porch, storming up to Topper. “So now you have Pogues over, that’s the real reason you’ve been ignoring everyone? Because you’re banging a pogue?” you shoved him back into the door of his car.

“Are you fucking kidding me Top? Stop being a fucking asshole. Even if I was fucking him-that’s none of your goddamn concern. I haven't been ignoring shit, just because I didn’t want to call you back doesn’t mean I’m ignoring everyone you asshole. Maybe if you stopped fucking inhaling all of that stupid fucking cologne and took your head out of your own ass you’d understand that you’re being a dickhead” He gave you a dirty look, then rolled his eyes, giving you a sarcastic smile and nodding his head while licking his lips.

“So my heads in my ass, when you have the same piece of shit that picked a fucking fight with me on your porch. All close to him now, cause you’ve been up under him, letting him sleep at your goddamn house, really y/n? Like I wasn’t going to find out? Do you not give a shit about our fucking friendship anymore? Does the pogue matter more?” you rolled your eyes and let out a hysterical laugh. You were pissed at this point, you hated when Topper overreacted, and when he tried to do the ‘us or them’ thing to you.

“The Pogue has a goddamn name, so fucking call him by it. I’m not fucking him and I’m not up under anyone. Grow the fuck up Topper. Asking me if JJ matters more, you’re both my fucking friends. And yeah he’s been sleeping here-in the goddamn guest room-y’know why? Because not everyone gets to bat their fucking lashes and get everything they want in the world.” you shoved him again and he grabbed your forearms looking at you like you were insane, making you scoff again.

“Seriously? y/n? So the pogues are more important right? Just say it. We all know it’s the goddamn truth” you looked at his hands grabbing your wrists and nodded your head, a look of frustration etched on your face.

“If you’re asking me to fucking choose between you and JJ, I’ll always choose JJ. He’s my fucking friend and he needs fucking help. Maybe if you decided to grow the fuck up you’d realize there’s nothing going on between me and him, and there never will be. But you’re too focused on your fucking social heirarchy to know that people need help. Go home asshole” You ripped your arms out of his grip and flipped him off, walking back to your porch. You heard his car door slam and you knew he pulled off.

“Trouble in paradise again?” you rolled your eyes at JJ and took the blunt from his hand. “He’s such an asshole sometimes, he makes me want to wring his fucking neck” JJ laughed at you and pulled you into a side hug. JJ loved that about you-even when people pissed you off you never hated them, and you weren’t one to immediately burn a bridge. He was glad he had a friend like you, someone who cared about him, even after you ended up a Kook you still cared about him and his well being. Picking him up from the station, giving him a place to stay, and a shoulder to cry on.

You loved JJ, he was an amazing friend. He’d never have any romantic feelings towards you, sure he flirted with you-but he flirts with everyone. He took the time to make sure you knew he wasn’t interested in you-in that way and he told you he needed you in his life. The two of you were ‘the local potheads’ and you were quite the duo when you were together.

Topper parked the car on the side of the road. You passed the blunt back to him and sighed, you knew he needed time. He cared about Sarah-even if he was an asshole sometimes-he genuinely cared about her, you knew he wasn’t going to react well to the news but you knew him and Sarah were better off without each other. She had someone who genuinely made her feel cared for, someone who kept her happy all the time. So you were happy for her-the circumstances of her newfound relationship did bother you, but you knew in the long run it was for the best.

“I just can’t believe she would cheat on me, she should’ve just fucking broken up with me.” you sighed watching him lean back in his seat taking a few hits from the blunt before passing it back to you and mumbling ‘I’m good’. His mind was racing-he was hurt-he was jealous-and he just wanted to understand why. Why would she cheat on him, he knew he could be an asshole sometimes, but he probably would’ve taken a break up better than getting the news she cheated on him from you.

“She couldn’t do it. I told you she was scared of your reaction. You’re kind of a piece of shit sometimes-no offense-actually full offense” He laughed at you and turned his head to look at you. He had a small smile on his face, he knew you were being honest with him, you were always honest with everyone. Honesty was something he knew you held deeply, if someone lied to you-even in the smallest way-you’d remember it. He always knew he could trust your judgments, you always saw things from everyone's point of view before jumping into a situation, you tried to be the peacemaker in a lot of situations, but in some, you definitely let him get his ass handed to him. You were the first person to clean him up and mumble an ‘i told you so’.

You were one of his best friends, if he had to rank his best friends, you and Rafe were tied. He knew you had a disdain for Rafe, but you played nice-most of the time. Sometimes you’d threaten to jump out of a moving car, punch someone in the face, choke someone-actually you were kind of violent. But he wouldn’t have you any other way, you balanced him out and you had the temper and attitude to go head-to-head with him.

“Why do you care so much about me” you shrugged looking at him. “Honestly, I dunno, the first time we met you were such an asshole. Then we had detention and you seemed sweet, I guess I got to know the real you without your dickhead rich boy facade. I know you’re not a bad person, but you definitely have done some shitty things, I guess I see the real you and I know there's a lot more to you than you let on” he bit his lip, listening to you talk, taking time to admire you.

From the way your voice sounds, to your bloodshot eyes, to the way your hair sat baby hairs along your hairline and the rest of it falling in braids with wooden beads and puka shells scattered throughout them, then to your face, pausing on your lips for a second, then moving to your body, and the way that his crewneck sat on you, the neckhole exposing your collarbone slightly, then his eyes trailed to your hips, then down to your exposed legs, the black shorts you wore hardly covered anything, seeing you sitting criss cross in the seat. He’d always known that you were a sight to see, but right now, he had to admire you. He knew guys had always wanted to get with you, hell he had to listen to Kelce and Rafe talk about how hot you were way too often.

“Nah she’s got one of the best asses in the obx, by far” “-plus that rack” “She’s the whole package, the ass, the thighs, the rack? I’d let her wrap those thighs around me any day of the week” “Why aren't you hitting that man?” “Because he’s pussy whipped for Sarah” “Shit I’ve never heard any guy complain about her-she’s gotta be a great fu-” “both of you shut the hell up”

“Whatcha thinking about?” you noticed his staring, your head tilted to the side slightly and you raised a brow. He blinked a few times then shrugged. He didn’t want to admit he was thinking about the way his friends talked about how hot you were, and how they were very right, and how in the moment you were making him think about what it would be like to sleep with you, were you quiet or loud? Do you like being choked-he assumed you did-it just seemed like something you’d like. What were you into? Anything you wanted he would do to you, but he knew he was wrong-because you were his best friend and this was a relationship he needed. He bit his lip trying to figure out something to say to you.

“Okay, spill. I don’t give a shit what it is, stop trying to avoid it and say it” He blushed at your assertive tone, he was flustered and his words left his mouth before he could fully process them.

“What are you into?” You laughed at his question, furrowing your brows at him “Like sex wise? Where is this coming from Top?” he shrugged and looked up at the roof of his car, you giggled seeing him blush, the light from the sunset brought a golden glow to his skin, and you bit your lip, admiring him for a quick second while waiting for his response.

“You asked me what I was thinking about-I was thinking about you-not in that way but like I dunno Rafe and Kelce are always talking about how hot you are and how great you’d be in bed and what they think you’re into and I dunno, you told me to say it so I did” the car was quiet for a minute while you processed, at least he was honest about it. Your laugh erupted from your chest and he let out a breath, not realizing he was holding it in. You had no issue in answering the question, hell the two of you talked about Tops sex life from time to time.

“Well, if I answer the question then you have to answer it too you jackass.” he nodded and mumbled an ‘okay’. He was trying not to look at you, because while he did want to know the answer to the question, he didn’t want to look at you and have to fight the urge to put the information to use in his backseat parked on the side of some backroad.

“I dunno, I’m into a lot of shit actually-surprisingly. I like being choked-but i feel like that’s some vanilla shit, uh I like my hair being pulled, not too hard tho-that shit hurts sometimes, I think I have a praising kink? Hmm what else-uh I had an ex who spit in my mouth-that was kinda hot, I like teeth-most certainly like teeth. What’s that shit called when you like to cum a lot-but like back to back-I like that shit. Uh-Smacking, not like on my face-well actually no-not too hard on my face. Uh I like guys to be vocal I guess? Sometimes I like being in charge-but i'm usually submissive I guess? Like I like being told what to do. Y’know I’ve never taken the time to think about my kinks” The two of you started laughing and you leaned your head against the window, waiting for his answer.

“I guess I have to answer now?” “mhmm” “I think I just like what my girl likes if that makes sense, y’know If she asks for it, I’ll do it. Uh, I mean rough sex is probably the best sex for me I guess-but I’ve told you that before. I like getting hickies and like having scratches on my back and shit like that-It’s kind of a pride thing. Oh but I have a thing for public sex-like the possibility of getting caught kinda turns me on, honestly a lot of shit turns me on. But I like asses, definitely an ass man.” you were giggling, your eyes closed leaning against the window, you shifted your legs so one was situated on top of the middle console of the car and Topper’s thigh, the other on the floor.

You thought nothing of it, but in the moment Topper was trying to ignore the fact that you were turning him on. He shifted in his seat hoping you wouldn’t notice and kept his gaze glued onto the ceiling. He didn’t want to make you think you were a rebound to him. You were his best friend, he cared about you and your opinion of him more than he’s ever cared about anyone. Hell he cares more about you than about himself. Hell it was probably the reason some of his fights with Sarah were about his friendship with you.

“Stop shifting Topper, you’re ruining my comfort and my high, I’ll kick you in the face” he clenched his jaw, everything about you was turning him on, and feeling you shift your leg closer to his crotch had him silently praying that you wouldn’t notice his growing hard-on and that it would stop growing. Hell he could smell your perfume and it was turning him on. He felt you shift again, and grabbed your knee, holding you in place, making you look at him.

He was staring at your leg like he wanted to fight it and you furrowed your brows. “Okay why are you spazzing, and you look like you’re about to murder my leg” he finally looked over at you, you noticed his jaw clenched and the flush that took over his face. He looked frustrated in a way and it threw you off. When he made eye contact with you, you noticed his pupils slightly dilated. Then it hit you, you gazed down to where your leg was and noticed his arm at the perfect angle to cover his crotch, so the curious part of you leaned forward and tried to move his arm while you laughed at him.

“Are you seriously horny right now? Topper what the hell” your tone was light hearted but when his arms shifted, one hand holding your thigh down and the other on your arm, holding it in place, you bit your lip. You’ve thought about Topper in the past-but it wasn’t something you spent a lot of time focusing on. It was more like ‘oh yeah he’s hot’ and a few wet dreams but that was it, you didn’t dwell on the thought of him and you were usually able to ignore your attraction to him. You always told yourself if you admitted your friends were attractive you wouldn’t be attracted to them, and for the most part it worked-hell ninety-eight percent of the time it worked, this just happened to be the other two percent of the time.

“I’m really trying my best here okay y/n, I can’t exactly control when my dick gets hard alright” you were still biting your lip, holding eye contact with him “trying your best to what?” you couldn’t stop the statement from leaving your lips, and you heard the low groan come from Top. He gave you a knowing look and you raised a brow challenging him.

“This isn’t something that you want y/n, we’re friends. Best friends. Okay-this isn’t-shit” you smirked at him, you had no idea what overtook you in the moment but you took your arm out of his grip, lifting your other leg over the center console and managed to straddle him-in the process you let out a few giggles and ignored his shocked expression. your hand found its way to the side of his face, the two of you held eye contact and you traced his bottom lip with your thumb. “How do you know it’s not something I want-that you’re not something I want” your voice was a whisper and Topper’s eyes traced your entire face. Your gaze focused on his lips.

“Because, I’m me-I’m an asshole, fuck-I don’t know-this isn’t a rebound thing-I don’t want you to think that” you smiled at him, nodding your head. “I know it’s not a rebound thing, and I know you’re an asshole-I like you that way” with that you closed the gap between your faces. His lips were soft. The kiss was passionate, it started off sweet, but things were heating up. Your free hand gripped his hair, tugging it-making him moan into your mouth. One of his hands sat on your waist and the other gave your ass a firm squeeze, making you moan into his mouth. He took advantage of that and slipped his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, he tasted like lemonade with a hint of weed.

You started grinding against his crotch, feeling his hardened member against you, moaning at the friction. When you felt a hard slap to your ass you pulled away from him, letting your moan out, your head resting against his shoulder, when he repeated his action you moaned into his ear, making him groan at the sound. You started trailing kisses along his neck, making him blush, when he felt you start to nip and suck marks into his skin he let out another groan. You smirked against his skin.

“Are you sure you want this?” you looked back up at him, he looked worried, and you rolled your eyes, taking off the sweatshirt and throwing it into the passenger seat. “You ask too many questions”. You kissed him again, this time your hands were unbuttoning his shirt. One of his hands trailed up to your hair, grabbing it and pulling you back slightly.

“T-Top, fuck-” he smirked at you, his worried look had faded and he was focused on you and only you. “Get in the back” you nodded and climbed into the backseat, feeling him slap your ass again. You kicked off your shoes and laid back, watching him lean down, his face inches away from yours. “Are we really about to do this?” “what? Have sex in the backseat of your car, abso-fucking-lutely” you pulled his face back down to yours, the kiss was short, you felt him start nipping and sucking marks into your neck, making you moan, when his hand wrapped around the base of your neck you felt your eyes slightly roll back.

His hand trailed down your abdomen, playing with the waistband of your shorts, making you groan, grabbing his hand, pushing him down. “You’re so needy” “shut the fuck up and touch me” The attitude in your voice turned him on, his grip around your neck tightened and you felt his fingers teasing you, rubbing back and forth over your covered core making you whine.

“Brats don’t get what they want baby” he went back to trailing kissed down your shoulders, moving his hand off of your neck for a moment to pull your tube top down, exposing your breasts to him. His hand massaged one of them while his mouth focused on marking the other, then his teeth grazed against your nipple making you moan his name, his other hand still teasing you.

“God you’re already soaked” you blushed at his comment, you felt the heat between your legs and you knew your shorts were on the thin side. When he started nipping at your other breast you moaned again, your hand finding its way to his hair, giving it a few tugs. “Please-” His smirk returned while he shifted again, leaning his forehead against yours, holding eye contact while his hand slipped into your shorts, finding your clit and rubbing fast circles into it. Your back arched off the seat and the moan you let out caught him off guard.

“So you are loud” you rolled your eyes, letting out small whimpers trying to suppress your moans. “Fuc-fuck you” you tried to keep a serious tone but your words came out as a moan, he laughed at you, leaning back, when his fingers left your center you were ready to beg for more, but you felt him slip your shorts down your legs. “No panties?” “shut up it was more comfortable”

“Fuck look at you” his gaze was focused on your glistening center, making you blush, you leaned back, shifting your weight to your arms and tried to close your legs. His hands immediately went to both of your thighs, holding them open. “I didn’t say you could close them baby” you bit your lip, looking up at him, eyes full of lust, swollen lips, exposed chest, and his hair was a mess-strands going in multiple directions.

“You think I should get her pierced” you couldnt stop the joke from leaving your mouth, you weren’t used to guys taking time to admire your-downstairs department-during sex and it made you nervous. When he laughed at you, you let out a sigh of relief. “Is that your way of dealing with being nervous because it’s a mood killer” you rolled your eyes at him, sitting up and shoving him. You knew he was kidding but of course he could find a way to make fun of you in a moment like this.

“Don’t worry, I think you’re beautiful” you scoffed at him sitting up, leaning against the door and pulling the tube top off because it was getting uncomfortable. Your face was red and he ran a hand through his hair, laughing at your embarrassment. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about baby, I’m serious” He leaned over, a hand wrapped around your neck again making you gasp. His fingers going back to your sensitive bundle, working at a fast pace, you already felt your orgasm building up.

“Topper I’m gonna-oh fuck” your back arched slightly and you felt yourself release, when his fingers kept working at your clit you moaned, you knew he was putting his newfound information to work. “God look at you baby-” two of his fingers entered you, making you gasp and moan his name “-you take my fingers so well don’t you?” you nodded your head “words baby” you tried to speak but a moan came out instead. His fingers were working at a rapid pace inside of you, and he slipped a third one into you, placing his thumb on your clit.

“Yes-fuck yes-please” the hand wrapped around your throat tightened, slightly restricting your airways, intensifying the pleasure you were felling. “please-Top-I’m so close-oh fuck” you felt your orgasm rushing through you, coating his fingers. But he wasn’t done, his goal was to make you cum as many times as you could, so his fingers picked up the pace, your legs starting to shake slightly while you moaned his name. The car windows fogging up, the sounds of your wetness and your moans were keeping him going.

“Topper, please.” he smirked watching you beg him, looking at your center, watching his fingers trail in and out of you at a rapid pace. “You’re already shaking and I’m just using my fingers, imagine how you’re gonna be soon” you tried to shove him but your nails just dug into his bicep holding onto him. When he felt you clench around his fingers he leaned towards you, kissing you, swallowing your unholy moans, your hands made their way to his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh while you struggled to kiss him back, falling into another orgasm.

His arms hooked around your thighs, pulling you down into the seat, making you groan slightly “y’know you could be more gentle” he rolled his eyes and looked down at you “it’s a good thing you like it rough huh?” you blushed at his comment, even after three orgasms he was able to make you blush. You watched him unbutton his board shorts, pulling them down slightly along with his briefs and pulled his throbbing member out.

The sight of it made your mouth water, and you bit your lip, watching his hand stroke himself a few times. He was thick and veiny, the tip leaking precum and you knew he was about to fill you.

“Like what you see?” your eyes trailed up his body and you held eye contact with him “I wanna ride you” he smirked at your request, shifting himself so he was seated, helping you straddle him. You bit your lip, grabbing him and teasing him, running the tip along your slit multiple times, letting yourself grind against him. He watched you, his eyes trailing from your face to your center. His hand around your neck caught you off guard, you felt him bring your body closer to his.

“Stop teasing me, remember who’s in control baby” you blushed and nodded, lining him up with your entrance, sinking down onto him in one swift motion, making the both of you moan, his free hand immediately went to your ass, squeezing it, and giving it another slap. You started riding him at an agonizing slow pace, but when he gave you a rather hard thrust you moaned, knowing it was a warning, so you picked up the pace. One of your hands in his hair, the other digging into his shoulder blade.

“You’re so tight baby, shit” you moaned his name in response, enjoying the feeling of him inside of you, at the perfect angle, everytime you sunk down onto him he’d hit that specific spot inside of you and it was driving you crazy. Your legs started to tremble but you tried to ignore it, keeping up the pace, but he noticed, his hand moving from your ass to your waist holding you in place, thrusting up into you. “Topper-fuck me please” your words dragged and his gaze was focused on where your bodies met, seeing himself coated in your juices.

“You’re taking my cock so well princess, look at you” his hand on your neck shifted to grip your jaw, bringing your gaze to him, he smirked seeing your hooded eyes and your parted lips, listening to the whimpers and moans you let out. His hand lightly tapped your face, making you groan and lick your lips. The coil in your abdomen was tightening and the pleasure was intensifying.

“Topper make me cum, please, make me cum fuck” he bit his lip, the way your voice sounded was making him harder-if that was even possible. He took his hand off of your face and started rubbing your clit again, making you almost scream his name. When he pushed you off the edge your head rested against his shoulder, he gave you a moment to rest but the feeling of him still inside of you-still hard was driving you insane.

“How are you still hard?” he laughed at you and gave your ass another slap. “Because I’ve got stamina” you rolled your eyes at his cocky tone and started to slowly grind against him, he let out a low whimper at the feeling. “You sure you can handle another one?” you sighed against his shoulder.

“I want you to fuck me and fill me” he let out a low moan at your request “how the hell are you this bossy after cumming four times” you laughed at him and shrugged. “Again with the questions Top” he rolled his eyes, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements, meeting you halfway, but when his pace quickened you couldn't match it, so you leaned down, kissing him, moaning into his mouth, trying to be the dominant one-but even now he was still in charge.

“Topper I’m close” your head was on his shoulder, but when he pulled your hair, bringing you back to look at him you did, holding eye contact with him, reaching down, rubbing your own clit, bringing yourself into your final orgasm. When he watched you fall apart-and felt you clench around him he moaned your name and you felt him fill you.

The two of you sat there and stared at each other. “Holy shit” he nodded at you, biting his lip, the same worried look returning to his face. You slowly lifted yourself off of him and groaned at the empty feeling.

“This wasn’t a rebound okay” you laughed at him, giving him a weak smile “I know Topper, I think it had a long time coming if we’re being really honest’ he furrowed his brows at you “Topper, you don’t fuck someone like that unless you’ve wanted to fuck them for a while” he blushed at your bluntness, he knew it was true, in the back of his mind-locked away-were his thoughts about you, they’ve always been there but he never acted on them.

When you heard his phone vibrating on the floor you reached down and grabbed it, seeing a facetime call from Rafe. You handed him the phone and raised your brows, waiting for him to answer. He ran a hand through his hair and answered the phone.

“Hey man Kelce is throwin somethin tonight-oh shit bro, did you just finish fuckin? Damn you’re in the 4x4 too” you couldn't stop the laugh that left your mouth when you noticed the blush come back to Toppers face. “Wait-is that y/n?-oh shit-Kelce man! He finally hit that, proud of you, oh and Hey y/n” you rolled your eyes at his voice.

“Hi Rafe” “Damn-he did a number on you-your throat sounds dry as fuck-” you reached around and hung up the phone. “I hate your friends” he scoffed “I hate your friends too”

“Are things going to be different between us now-cause-we-y’know-” “we fucked, you can say we fucked Topper” you were laughing at his embarrassed face and rolled your eyes. “You’re still my best friend Top, we’ll see where this goes”

“Shit I’d go anywhere with you” you rolled your eyes and hit his shoulder

“Yeah whatever Topper”

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lune-hime · 3 years

Text

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 5

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

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

Tulipa humilis ~ A tulip whose razor edged petals hold a sharpness akin to an ill-fated quarrel.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Soon the quaintness of the surroundings turned into the bustling hub he had glided through yesterday. The city’s steeples were untouched by gigantic palms and virgin to their bloodied bites. Your grandmother parked the cart along the main street and bid Levi a farewell with the promise of a quick delivery.

Levi hopped out of the iron carriage and landed on the ground with a satisfying clap of expertly paved brick against his boots. After successfully depositing his letter into the letter box outside of the post office, he silently observed the busy mid-morning rush. Bakers displayed their sweet aromatic fresh bread, paper boys cycled vigorously as their bikes spewed water from the night’s rain, and your grandmother was networking with the smartly-dressed representative across the street. Levi was enjoying watching a poor passerby being swatted by a stray cat when two children across the way caught his eye. He was mid stretch when he realized they were staring at him. They would steal excited, and blatantly obvious, glances at him.

The boy could not have been more than 10 years old. He was a stocky child who looked like he should be sharing some of his breakfast with the timid girl next to him. She was fiddling with something in her hand but through the fanfare of carts and foot traffic he couldn’t quite make out it’s identity.

He decided not to be creepy and went back to his viewing of the street fighter match in front of him; the cat now battling a church going woman in her Sunday best.

Cat was winning.

Levi was so engrossed in the brawl that he had not noticed the children snake through the street to come and tug at his pant leg. He stiffened at the unexpected touch and his head whipped towards the disturbance. His eyes narrowed sternly, but softened when he saw their elated expressions.

“Captain Levi?” The boy chirped, bouncing on his heels. Levi could feel the excitement radiating off of him like a firecracker.

“Yes.” He responded curtly. He wouldn’t deny that he was quite awkward with children. He didn’t dislike them but he didn’t know how to act around them. The little boy looked as if he was trying to hold back a scream, like a little sponge soaking up all of Levi. The boy motioned rapidly for the girl to approach. Her face lit up immediately and she pranced over from her spot a little ways away.

“I never thought I would get to meet you in person! My sister and I want to join the Survey Corps and fight for humanity just like you and the commander!!” He declared proudly, falling into a salute. Levi could tell the boy had been practicing by the precision of his limbs. The girl nodded in affirmation, clenching her little hand into a determined fist.

“Hey-Heidi you forgot to salute!” The boy scolded his sister and clapped her on the shoulder. She squeaked and immediately mimicked the boy’s position.

“Good for you.” Levi congratulated their enthusiasm and waved their vigorous salutes off. His praise put sparkles into the young ones’ eyes. Levi felt a pang in his heart for their romanticism that would be no doubt shattered by the reality of what is out there.

“Just you wait, I’m going to tear my sword up through all of their gigantic, shit-eating asses!” The boy yelled triumphantly, eyebrows knitted into a fixed line and his sword hand aggressively jabbing at the air. The child’s profanity left Levi a bit speechless, but he found it amusing. He liked this kid.

“Big brother, shh! Mom said that potty mouths are what make the streets so dirty.” The girl attempted to hush her brother with her hands, their height difference dooming her to fail.

“Where did you get such a flavorful vocabulary?” Levi questioned the boy who looked more than happy to answer any inquiry laid upon him by his hero.

“It’s what my dad always calls them.” The boy answered and Levi nodded in approval.

“Mr. Levi.” The girl finally spoke up, her voice as delicate as her auburn curls. Levi directed his attention towards her and watched as her plush cheeks turned rosy.

“You’re humanity’s hero! And mine too so-” She began and the boy snickered.

“Heh, she wants to marry you, you know.” The boy interjected. His comment caused the girl to wilt like a crimson tulip and she lowered her gaze. The hand she still held behind her back shot further into hiding as she now seemed to be reluctant to share.

Levi exhaled and ran a frustrated hand through his silken hair. He didn’t really know what to think, no one has ever so innocently and genuinely told him that he was their hero and that they wanted to be like him. Let alone marry him. Hell, not even you had said anything like that. Sure, people praised him, admired him, lusted for him and his position. But something was different about this little girl’s confession. His heart softened.

He kneeled down, sucking up all the joint pain to seem unphased in front of the kids.

“What are your names?” He asked.

“Fynn!” The boy pronounced with a beaming grin.

“Heidi.” The girl said meekly. She smiled too; not as wide as Fynn but still glowed with the same happiness.

“Fynn, Heidi. It’s wonderful that you want to help humanity, but right now focus on being kids and don’t grow up too fast.” He put a hand on their heads, albeit a little stiff, but they didn’t seem to notice. In fact they were absolutely thrilled. Levi could almost feel the pure energy vibrating off of their giddy forms and into his palms.

“Don’t worry about having to stick a sword up their disgusting asses just yet.” Levi added with a small half smile that made Fynn gasp in excitement.

“And Heidi-” Levi started gently, looking into her eyes and making her blush even more.

“What’s behind your back?” He inquired, nodding to the hand she still held out of sight. Heidi tried to hold eye contact with her idol, but didn’t last more than five seconds before she sent her eyes downcast once more.

Without meeting his gaze, she uncovered her hidden hand to reveal a crown of dandelions. For as young as she was, it was beautifully crafted.

“I was going to give this to my mother but...now I want you to have it!” She explained with determination and held it with both her hands extended outward towards Levi.

He took it to humor her and released it from her little grasp. When she still didn’t look at him, he cocked his head to the side to meet her downcast gaze. When her shy eyes locked with his he warmly smiled.

“Are you sure?” He asked and she nodded firmly.

“Thank you.” Levi said, causing her to giggle.

“Well hello darlings. Out for a day on the town?” Your grandmother’s voice rang with a candied sweetness. She was now standing next to Levi, hands on her hips with a wide grin that wrinkled her cheeks.

The children nodded happily.

“Yes! We are waiting for our father to get out of work so we can walk home with him. That’s when we spotted Captain Levi!” Fynn explained. Your grandmother chuckled at their peppiness and looked over to smile at Levi.

“Oh? What is this Levi?” Your grandmother craned her neck to get a better view of the floral headpiece in Levi’s hands. Still in his kneeling position, he held it up to her for her to examine. When she delicately took it from him he gruffly returned to his feet.

“Oh how beautiful. Did you make this sweetie?” She asked Heidi in a lovely tone Levi had not heard uttered from her lips. Heidi only nodded once more, swaying bashfully.

“Levi, why don’t you put it on. This little one worked so hard making it.” Your grandmother chided, placing the ornamental crown on his head without warning. Levi shot her silver daggers and she tried to hold in her impending laughter.

“Are you Mr. Levi’s grandma?” Heidi asked with an inquisitive knit to her brow. Before Levi could clarify anything he was cut off by the older woman.

“Oh sure, this is my grandson. Such a brave kid, just like the both of you.” She cooed, making the children glow with happiness even more. She moved to ruffle Levi’s hair to which he swatted her advances away. The children found this amusing and continued to giggle.

“I’m going to need to be taking him home now. I bet your father is probably looking for you as well.” She announced and the children deflated a bit knowing their time with their hero was up.

“Aw, but we just got here!” Fynn whined with a violent pout. Your grandmother chuckled at his infatuation.

“How about a little treat for the road?” She offered, reaching into her dress pocket and pulling out a chocolate bar whose golden rapper rivaled the sun. Both children gaped at the dessert. She broke the bar in half and distributed it to them. They chimed a chorus of thank yous through their practically watering mouths.

“Run along now.” Levi bid them a farewell with a casual salute. The children said goodbye with one final elated salute of their own and skittered back across the street. Levi watched them for a moment making sure they made it safely back to their waiting place.

“Don’t you look pretty.” Your grandmother snickered and drew his gaze from them. He then remembered he had just been crowned king of the pansies and ripped it off his head gingerly enough to not break it.

The cart ride home was filled with a pleasant silence. However, the thoughts within Levi’s mind weren’t so kind. The decadent aroma of your grandmother's chocolate and the interaction with the children earlier, as harmless as it was, resonated too similarly to an ugly memory he wished he could forget.

↞♞♘↠

Many go numb when they experience a loss so immense that it feels like their world has been yanked from underneath their feet. Levi did not get that pleasure. He felt like he was experiencing every sensation on the planet. Whatever he touched scorched his fingertips in icy flames, every time he opened his eyes the light seared his pupils, and each time the blaze of rum burned his airway it did not do a thing to subdue the absolutely immense feeling.

~~~

Levi’s heart sank with his leg as his boot squelched against the freshly moist ground. The only part of this kid that was outwardly identifiable was the wide open eye that stood out against the bloodstained face like a bright emerald sea. And even that wasn’t much to go on, Many of the cadets had eyes that color. Levi sighed and lowered himself into an awkward squatting position, grunting as he tried to keep the fresh splint on his right leg straight. He moved a gentle hand over the eye to let it rest and not be exposed to any more horror. The lashes dipped delicately into the remnants of skin that had been peeled back much like the rind of a citrus fruit. Levi’s fingers hovered over the splinters of ripped flesh and pools of gooey blood, the odor that seeped from them triggering his gag reflex. Every scout’s jacket was personalized with a name in the inner lining for this exact reason. He lifted the jacket by the lapel and looked at the embroidered letters.

Emilia Schrieber.

He kept a straight face as he picked up his folder and began penning her name onto the list of the deceased. He straightened himself up with another noise of discomfort and hobbled over to the next body.

Emilia’s neighbor was as equally as unlucky. Titan canines had sliced right through his waist, snapping his body in two and leaving behind only a horridly torn torso. However gruesome the boy was now, he was easily identifiable at least, Levi reckoned.

Shit this kid was the newest member of Hange’s squad.

As he picked through the rows of their dead, he mentally envisioned having to write the mind numbingly cookie-cutter letters of deceased to their families and how a piece of paper would never be a fair trade for being able to hold their children again.

“ My condolences Mr. and Mrs. Schreiber your daughter Emilia-”

Even when death is an old friend, when it visits its knocks never get lighter. He felt like he had failed. He was no god, no guardian of the hunt. But as a squad leader he was responsible for those of lower rank, and by being a second late he had let those gargantuan molars grind one up. And he even got injured in the process, becoming useless on top of everything else. He had felt the flames of his temper being fanned as soon as his leg had been bound so he had opted to do this work in solitary while the rest of the scouts recovered on the main grounds of the outpost.

‘died bravely on the battlefield. She-’ Levi could visualize the horrified expressions of the girl’s parents as their features contorted into uncontrollable grief. As the rancid smell of death emanating from the words on the parchment brought them buckling to their knees.

He was nearing the end of the third row when he just barely registered your voice.

“How is your leg feeling?” You asked softly, fatigue and something else he couldn’t quite place dragging your voice down. You hadn’t seen him for a few hours after helping Hange splint up his injured leg.

‘was awarded an honorable medal of exemplary service for her dedication to-’ This sentence disgusted him. As if some esteemed piece of iron would fill the vacancy of their lost daughter.

He looked up at you briefly, only slightly acknowledging your presence before going back to his morbid recordkeeping.

“It doesn’t hurt when I don’t move.” He responded curtly, not even grimacing as he lifted a sticky limb off of the soldier’s chest.

You hummed in acknowledgement, standing awkwardly aside him with your hands clasped behind your back. He wanted to be left alone, and you had respected it. But naturally you wanted to come check on him and give him some company.

You followed him silently for a few bodies when he dropped his pen during a struggled attempt to squat again. You caught him by the arm, feeling the stiff weight of his muscle as he tried to steady himself. He brushed you off gently and you bent down to grab the pen for him. Just as your fingers had clasped against the plastic, a small silver object fell from your shirt pocket. You blinked a couple times before smiling. You picked up the piece of chocolate, its metallic foil crinkling in your hand.

“Levi, remember that kid we met in town last week?” You reminisced, the lightness of your memory a stark contrast to the scene set before you.

“Mhmm.” Levi acknowledged your question but did not push you any further. You worried at your lip but took his silence as an invitation to continue. You hoped maybe something cute could lighten his mood.

“I forgot that I still have the piece of chocolate in my pocket he gave me.” You chuckled. It was a miracle to you how the little candy still resided with you after all that had happened mere hours ago.

“I would like to have a kid like him someday. Wouldn’t you?” You smiled as you popped the sweetness into your mouth. There was a pause where only the shuffling of Levi’s papers and the rapid beating of your heart after you had realized what you absentmindedly said were heard. You and Levi had never really touched on the topic of children, given the circumstances, even though you were getting more serious in your relationship.

Something in Levi switched, as if someone was turning on the lights to his office without his permission. The stress, death, and feelings of inadequacy from his injury were all suddenly blasting him at full volume. He didn’t mean to direct at you, but you were the only other living being there.

“Why would I ever want children when all of these kids are being sent home to their parents in pieces? Everyone should just stop having kids at this point.” Levi snapped, turning towards you with an anger that you had never seen directed at you before.

His response left you speechless and it took you a moment to collect your thoughts.

“I meant after . It was just hypothetical, Levi.” You could feel yourself caving inwards at the sharpness of his words, but you remained composed. You didn’t have time to be sensitive now.

“How can we afford hypothetical fantasies when we can barely keep these children alive?” He growled, looking back at the bodies.

“We did the best we could…”

“Yeah well, look where that got us.” Levi mumbled, the frustration that radiated out of him was palpable.

You could see now that this conversation was spiraling uncontrollably. You reached out to touch his shoulder but faltered, and drew your hand back. Rather than adding more fire to the flames, you held back.

“Are you alright?” You asked choosing your words carefully, hiding how his comment stung with a furrow of your brow.

“I just-” Levi exhaled and knitted his eyes shut. He wanted to snap at you the least of anyone.

You could see something was really bothering him. You opened your mouth to say something when the shuffling of boots and clanks of a harness turned your attention behind you. Jean approached you two with a swift gate.

“The horses are all saddled and we are ready to go whenever you are.” He said in an even tone, making eye contact with you and smartly avoiding the intense eyes of the captain. You nodded once and he turned on his heel to head over where your squad was grouping up by the rustic stable.

“ Oh fuck no you aren’t going where I think you are, are you?” Levi said in disbelief, almost with a laugh. He roughly stood up and straightened out in front of you, his leg quivering in whiplash.

You narrowed your eyes, starting to get annoyed at his chastising tone.

“If you mean taking my squad to recover those letters then yes.”

“That’s reckless Y/N.”

Whether or not that statement was true, it felt like a dagger into your gut coming from him.

“Well, I am a squad leader and it is my squad. So I can be the judge of my own negligence.”

Levi’s silence was disconcerting, a challenge for dominance you were not going to submit to.

“Levi, it’s going to be dark for a few more hours and those correspondences hold information about the Reiss’ that are indispensable to us. My squad is the only one that has all members uninjured besides yours. And you can’t ride properly with your leg. We need to try otherwise this whole-” You started passionately, gesturing to the field of decay. “Excursion will have been for nothing.”

“Were we at the same bloodbath earlier?” Levi scoffed. “Those letters are speculated, we don’t have concrete evidence that they were even worth losing more lives than we already have.”

One look at your makeshift camp and an onlooker could see that it had been a massacre. Few were left standing unscathed in some way after a reconnaissance mission to intercept letters went sour. A hoard of titans had torn a large chunk in your numbers with a precision and calculation that acted almost as if someone had planned it.

“Exactly, we can’t know for sure. Any information we can get on the inner dealings of our government is one step closer to ridding our cities of this plague!”

“You don’t have the experience I do, Hange does, or the other scout leaders. Compared to us you are a child. Alone out there, you will be exposed.” Levi yelled with exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air.

“ How dare you. ” You fumed. The way he said child prickled your skin. It was true that you had just become a squad leader and yes this was your first time leading them on an excursion. But you damn well wouldn’t let him call you a c h i l d.

“I am your superior officer and I don’t authorize this departure.” He ordered harsly, glacial like a vacant cabin buried in mountain frost. The uncomfortable squeezing of bottled tears against your eyes was replaced by outrage at how unreasonable he was being.

“Oh so now I’m incapable of making decisions on my own?”

“Not if they are as idiotic as this!”

“Oh seriously, fuck you. I don’t need a permission slip from you, Captain.”

Levi wanted to punch something. He wanted to pound his fists into the earth until they reached bleached bone. Instead he settled for mutilating his pen, the poor utensil snapping in two in his riled up grip.

“This is what I mean! You’re being just like every other brat in this corps. Just fucking take it and follow orders.” Levi’s temper had reached its summit and exploded outwards. His was breathing heavily now as you stepped towards him so you were inches away from his face.

“Just because I’m a child doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself. I’m a scout leader now for a reason. Why don’t you get your middle aged balls out of your ass.” Your tone bit with a deathly venom.

“Only if you get your delusions out of yours.” He replied darkly. You held his gaze in a deadlock, neither of you backing down until Levi broke the silence.

“Y/N do you want to get yourself killed?” His voice held the same harshness but was laced with a bitter plea.

“If it comes to that I guess you won’t have to worry about having children.” You sneered with a crack in your voice.

Levi said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on his broken pen littered in the grass.

As you left, you tossed him a spare pen, a parting gift that left him alone with his throbbing head and stiff limbs.

~~~

Erwin had instructed that everyone return to headquarters, having given your squad special clearance to return when the mission was completed. Levi’s frivolous anger had subsided into incessant anxiousness. That he kept to himself of course.

That night, the argument had replayed through his mind on a brutal and obsessive loop. The memory had an insatiable hunger and would eat every other thought that arose, persisting behind his eyes and enduring when they snapped open and viewed the ceiling.

Levi stood by his statement about children to an extent. But he didn’t mean to articulate it in the explosive way he did. Hours and hours of playing grim reaper had made him vulgar that night, which was no excuse to infantilize you, and Levi kept failing to come up with rational explanations for his icy behavior.

The only conclusion he circled back to was a desperate, broken man trying to keep his more than capable loved one from riding headfirst into carnage while he was unable to protect her.

And by the walls did he ever want to have kids with you.

If only parallel universes existed. Being a father terrified him almost as much as the bleak future of their pocket world. As he began to realize his feelings for you, though, a plethora of domestic scenarios that were so foreign to him had discretely danced through his brain. And now he might never get to talk to you about it again.

He didn’t close his eyes again that night.

The days felt blurry and Levi felt as if he was living in a haze. The tingling tendrils of grief were taking root and sending both his mind and body into a dull ache. His leg began to bounce frequently when he sat. His fingers grew weary at picking at their own skin. Guilt and self hatred became his constant companion, stealing his food and occupying his hours of rest. But meager seeds of hope still lingered under that skin and were not uet uprooted by his cultivating anxiety.

By night three, the only thing Levi obtained from the unsuccessful search party was taxed lungs assaulted by the frigid air. His voice cracked with overuse when Erwin called it a day, the internalized anger and frustration boiling over like water in a bubbling saucepan. Erwin was being level headed, of course, and he was right in calling off a grueling twelve hour search party by sunrise. But he did not attempt to fight Levi when he lingered at the site, Hange volunteering to stay with him. It was the first time she had ever seen him cry when the two of them found a tatter of your cloak snagged on a canopy branch. When his fingers started to go numb from his raw grip and the biting morning chill he wondered if you, too, were cold. Or if you could even feel autumn’s brisk kiss anymore. The sheer thought made him dizzy.

On the sixth day with no news or inclining to your squad’s whereabouts the darkness became increasingly tantalizing to Levi. As his eyes gazed dully at the intricate patterns of hardwood that made up his desk, he found himself contemplating joining you. If you were indeed already in the afterlife, that is.

Death’s sweet embrace had taken so many from him already, why not ferry him across as well? Why was the raven-feathered mistress torturing him so with vital puffs of air when she had continuously taken everything he cared about as he aged? These thoughts were most alluring when he left his head under the bubbles of his bath and felt the pressure caressing his lungs. Or when he sat alone at his desk with only the gurgling of his vile last words to you stabbing him between the ears over and over and over and over and over and-

And yet, the more he pondered this the more he realized he did have things he cared about still. He cared about eradicating the shitty government. He cared about making sure not another child had to witness their mother dismembered by the grinding of massive teeth. And you. He didn’t know if you were gone from this world yet, and even in death he wouldn’t be able to live with himself for abandoning you.

So,

He rose from bed and went about his duties as normal and ignored the stinging absence of you at the dining table. When someone tried to get his attention he would ignore the echo of your voice calling his name the last time it graced his ears, pained and burnt from his fiery temper. He led combat training. He talked to Eren. He ate dinner with Erwin, Hange, and Mike. He did paper work. He lived life as normal, yet everything was as tasteless as it had been before you and even worse than before Farlan and Isabel. Attachment breeds suffering, no matter how sweetly aphrodisiac it is. He found this at the forefront of his mind during your absence. But was that attachment worth the utter pain he felt? Your smile would keep telling him yes. He walked with an open wound in his chest, so gaping that he was surprised crows hadn’t come and began picking the flesh from his bleeding heart.

And when you returned that arid morning Levi felt a glimpse of what he believed the followers of the walls felt. A communion with his savior, an angel who had returned with hardly a halo atop her crown.

He barely registered how he arrived at the cobblestone precipice, for the moment Hange had uttered your name he had floated with the adrenalen of a thousand horses to the HQ entrance. When he laid his eyes on your rugged, but outwardly unhurt, form color flooded into his vision once more.

Six horses had returned, your steed at the front of the party. Jean was clutching to your waist, his eyelashes fluttering and fists balling at the fabric of your blouse as he struggled to remain conscious. Armin was also doubled up; in his care was a handicapped scout who no longer possessed the entirety of their right leg. Connie and Sasha looked the healthiest of the returning party.

Your horse was pawing at the ground as if he was aware of the urgency as Erwin helped Jean down first and into the arms of a resident nurse. Your expression was hardened with the repressive gaze of a squad leader, keeping your emotions and physical pains in check for the members under your control that relied on you.

It was this look that bombarded Levi with fierce waves of regret. Your body was harboring the soul of a poised leader. Only, you weren’t possessed at all.

It was you.

His foolish words meant shit.

Erwin then reached for you and you gratefully let his strong arms gently place you onto the earth. Your legs wobbled a bit from fatigue and you needed to steady yourself with a hand on the commander’s forearm.

You began collecting your bearings and allowed yourself to take in your surroundings. In an instant, your eyes locked with Levi’s and he felt himself begin to crumble. Tears began to stream down both of your cheeks like liquid stars.

He raced against the disintegration of his body like it was a ticking time bomb. It was like two comets colliding and bursting into galaxies of stardust when his body reached yours. The two of you melted together, the force of your cosmic union bringing you to your knees. He babbled incoherently through his hyperventilation and his arms grappled at any inch of your body he could hold. His body violently vibrated with all of the futures he wanted to have with you as he dry heaved over your shoulder.

Your tears pooled with his, now able to let the floodgates of the week’s trauma, anguish, and suffering free. You held each other as if an otherworldly thread had been tightly weaved around your embrace.

“I-” He hiccuped and buried his face further into your neck.

“I know.”

↞♞♘↠

The wheels screeched against the brake applied by your grandmother as the two of them arrived back at the estate.

“Levi.”

“What?” He hummed from the other side of the carriage. His head was barely visible to your grandmother, having just jumped off.

“Call me Oma.”

Levi’s eyes widened slightly in shock.

“Y/N calls me Oma, so please I’d like for you to as well.” She said, her tone uncharacteristically benign.

“Alright.”

Oma.

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