#i need to swing him in circles by the tip of his helmet like he's a ragdoll i need to do this at high speeds

[scrawnytreedemon]

I am gripped with the urge to grab Zant, throw him in the washing at full speed, spin him again, then tumble-dry him for three hours once more. I want to do writing but. Him. I need to wring him like a sopping wet dishcloth.

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 9)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4) (chapter 5) (chapter 6) (chapter 7) (chapter 8)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (semi-public fingering, specifically), angst... I think that's it

After your impromptu motorcycle drive you stayed out all night; exploring the empty city, ducking into dive bars if they were still open, dancing in the streets to music only the two of you could hear.

The city was so eerily empty at night, nothing like a metropolitan complex like London. But it was less creepy and more peaceful, especially when you were walking with Sebastian hand-in-hand along the cobblestone path. He started to swing your hand as you walked and it made you laugh.

“Teach me more Romanian words, please,” you requested, looking at him and struggling to fight your smile. “Română?”

“Eu voi,” he nodded, looking around and pointing to the ground. “Stradă.”

“Stradă... we call it the street,” you answered. “Or road. Road?” you prompted.

“Road,” he repeated.

“Good! Your pronunciation isn’t too bad either,” you grinned.

“Copac,” he announced as he pointed to a tree.

“Copac,” you repeated. “In English, it’s tree.”

“Tree,” he smiled. “Engleza este o prostie.”

He suddenly pulled you into him and spun you around in a twirl, making you laugh. “Dans,” he said as he stepped his feet in time with yours. “A dansa.”

“Yeah, dancing,” you smiled. “I haven’t danced in years, you know, except for tonight.”

He surprised you with a sudden kiss that was unexpectedly chaste, just a press of his lips on yours that either lasted longer than it normally would or just slowed time for a moment. “Sărut,” he whispered when he pulled back.

”Sărut,” you repeated.

“Aș putea să te sărut ore în șir. Ai cele mai perfecte buze,” he breathed, running his thumb over your bottom lip which had gone slack just from listening to him talk.

Your fingers trailed down over the portion of his chest exposed by his unbuttoned collar. “I didn’t know I could feel this way about somebody,” you admitted aloud to yourself. “I wish I could stay…”

His hands lifted your face to look up at him. “Nu face asta. Nu te mai ascunde în gândurile tale. Fi cu mine.”

“Sărut?” you requested, making him grin.

“Da, iubirea mea,” he cooed as he leaned in and kissed you again, smiling into it.

You really hadn't even liked kissing all that much before you met him… you just hadn't seen the appeal beyond warming up to more exciting activities, but now? This was all the excitement you needed; you could kiss him for hours and never get bored.

That said, apparently Sebastian had exciting plans of his own, because you found yourself being backed up against a brick wall, his hands exploring your body— subtle at first, just rubbing your arms and gripping your waist, but then it got less ambiguous as you felt his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, just barely grazing over your stomach.

His touch trailed higher, nearly reaching your breast but stopping just before: you didn't mean to whine impatiently, but you heard it muffled against his lips and felt him chuckle lightly, breaking the kiss and leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Atât de nevoiași," he hummed, nibbling on your earlobe as your thighs clenched together much too strongly when he'd barely touched you.

You clutched at his shirt, watching as his hand moved down to the top of your pants, the tips of his fingers just barely breaching past the fabric and starting to slide down.

"Here?" you gasped, finally remembering you were in public though you hadn't seen another person out here since you left the bar.

His hand moved lower down and your stomach fluttered with the forbidden nature of it all, feeling like a rebellious high schooler fooling around behind the movie theater when you both had curfew in ten minutes. But then he found your clit right away and it was nothing like high school.

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, shuddering and pushing your hips up to silently beg for more. He rubbed circles over your bud and smiled against your neck, already making it a struggle for you to stay quiet.

“Un alt cuvânt pe care ar trebui să-l știi,” he whispered, the pitch of his voice making it clear he was saying something beautifully filthy, “este dracu. Vreau să te dracu.”

“Seba, please,” you sighed.

"Dar nu cred că o pot face aici," he added with a soft laugh.

Two fingers suddenly pushed into you and didn't seem to struggle with it at all since he already had you soaked, curling into a tender spot inside you right away.

“Yes,” you whined.

“Yes?” he repeated with a smirk.

“Yes,” you said it again, “fuck yes.”

“Fuck,” he laughed, the word that was so familiar to you almost sounding foreign when he said it. “Spui asta mult. Cred că asta înseamnă că vei veni.”

“Your fingers feel so good,” you moaned, barely enough air in your lungs to get the words out. "Please… please don't stop…"

He kissed you again, open-mouthed and desperate as you both breathed heavily, his tongue sliding against yours as if to taste your moans. Hoping to stay upright now that your knees felt a little wobbly, you slipped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. That, in turn, led to you feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing against your thigh and you nearly melted right there, wishing you could feel him inside you now but figuring it probably wasn't worth the risk of being arrested for indecent exposure.

By now he knew you like the back of his hand, it seemed, because you were already throttling full speed ahead toward the edge, shocks of heat jumping up your spine each time he curled his fingers inside you.

"I— I'm gonna—" you stammered through your warning. He nodded, moving his fingers faster as you bit your lip a little too hard.

Just when you thought you couldn't help but cry out he kissed you one more time, rough and hungry, and muffled the sounds of you reaching your peak literally by his hand.

Everything that had twisted and snapped all at once began to soothe as you sighed and pushed his hand away slowly, feeling your walls spasm one more time when he slipped his fingers out and slid them right over your clit.

He pulled his hand out of your pants and brought his fingers to your lips; you dutifully cleaned them off for him, watching his lips twitch into a brief snarl when you took his fingers down your throat.

"Vom termina asta mai târziu," he promised darkly as he pulled you off of the wall and spun you around, and you wanted to return the favor but he stopped your hand from sliding up his thigh. "Mai târziu," he insisted, instead guiding you around the block and back to where his bike was parked.

Hopping on the back again as he started it up, you relished the change to cling onto his back tightly. He drove you through the empty streets, over sprawling hills and through stone archways, but just as you noticed this wasn’t the way to get back to the farmhouse, he slowed down and turned into a place to park.

“Why are you pulling over?” you asked, furrowing your brow as he parked the bike and motioned for you to get off with him. “Where are we going?”

“Ai incredere in mine,” he smiled as he took your helmet off for you and kissed you again, quickly, taking your hand and guiding you down a secluded path. You followed him down a few strange alleys, under clotheslines and sconces that started to dim with the oncoming morning light. Finally, he navigated you around a turn, through a tight gap, and out of nowhere you were on an overlook; one that gave you the perfect view of the sun beginning to rise over the city. “Wow,” you whispered, watching enraptured as soft yellow light overtook everything, the village and the woods in the distance beginning to come to life.

“Vremuri de genul ăsta mă fac să-mi fie dor de casă,” he sighed, before looking at you again from where he leaned on his elbows over the stone railing. “Îți faci mai ușor. Nu mai sunt singur.”

“This place is so beautiful, I’ve never lived anywhere like this before,” you admitted. “Maybe it’s just that it’s different that makes me like it so much… I guess I could say the same about you.”

Your eyes met his again, and the way he looked at you… it was like he saw right through you. Honestly, it was a bit terrifying. You'd never been so vulnerable to someone. You liked it more than you expected.

But it still scared you.

"Haide, hai să mergem acasă," he smiled as he stood upright again and took your hand.

"Let's get back to the house," you decided, but he was already leading you back to the bike where you rode through the countryside one more time, doing your best to memorize it all while you still had the chance.

You found tears in your eyes, though you didn’t remember crying, as you typed the final page of your manuscript.

It was a first draft, nothing close to a completed novel, but you were on your way to jumpstarting your career again. The only problem? You couldn’t have a career here. You couldn’t be published while living here, you couldn’t even edit this thing properly without a computer and you didn’t even have one here.

You needed to go home.

It killed you to realize that this was not a sustainable system: you living here— Hungary or Mrs. Alberti’s lakehouse— and falling in love with a near-stranger.

Sure, it was good for what it needed to be; he reminded you what it was like to be cherished and cared for, maybe you helped him break some dry spell (although you couldn’t imagine that this guy was anything but drowning in pussy all the time, but whatever). Regardless, it couldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to be anything other than… whatever it was meant to be.

You flipped through the pages of what you’d written already, admiring the journey that you saw on the paper— not just that of the characters, but your own as well. You could feel the weakness in your own voice in that first chapter, as if your hurt was right there painted on the page with the ink-pressed letters. You could remember shakily typing these words, hoping they would distract you from the fears and memories that plagued your mind.

A few chapters in, you could see the hope and optimism that built with the action of the story. You could feel your own love mirrored in the way you wrote your story, it was painfully powerful.

It brought a sense of closure, in a way; it gave you a chance to appreciate everything you’d learned from this, even if you knew you couldn’t take it with you into the next chapter. But this love didn’t feel like a subplot, it didn’t feel like a stepping stone onto the next adventure— it felt like what you’d been looking for your whole life. Maybe that’s just how it feels to be in the ‘honeymoon phase’ or whatever it’s called; maybe it’ll fade soon, with time and distance.

That was what you silently prayed for as you packed everything, folded your clothes, checked the nightstand drawers for those random trinkets they seemed to accrue. Funny how packing to leave this place took you longer than it did to throw your stuff together when you left Michael, and you’d been living there for years.

Then again, you'd known Michael so much longer than you'd known Sebastian, and yet it was Seba that meant so much to you now.

You weren’t sure what would be more difficult: leaving him, or knowing that you could never hope to explain everything in a way he would understand. You considered writing a letter and hoping that he would come upon a Romanian to English dictionary— but with everything you wanted to say, that would take him hours. After all that, would he find your words worth it? Or would he see it all as one last chore from a peculiar fling?

You were pretty sure he didn’t see it as a fling. But maybe he would understand that it was best left as a very unique rebound.

You left your room just to go get some coffee (or maybe something a little stronger, if it was available) and jumped when you saw Sebastian in the hall, causing you to quickly close the door behind you. “I didn’t expect to see you upstairs,” you greeted.

“Obținerea cearșafurilor curate,” he explained as he opened the door to the linen closet and pulled out some bedsheets.

“Oh, yeah, those could probably use a change,” you mumbled as you realized he may not have washed them since the last time you stayed in his bed.

“Vrei și tu câteva?” he asked, pointing towards your door and holding up the sheets.

“Oh, uh, I don’t need any more sheets,” you shook your head, “but thank you…”

His face curled into a mischievous grin. “Poate că trebuie să murdărim acele foi,” he purred as he set the linens down and stepped closer to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Seba,” you mumbled, but he must not have heard the hesitance in your voice as he leaned in and kissed your neck, making you sigh a little. He hummed contentedly and lightly bit your ear, and you were almost ready to just let him do it and procrastinate this conversation a little longer, but you had to sigh and push him back.

“Esti bine?” he asked, voice heavy with concern, as he straightened up and examined your face.

“Sebastian…” you started with a sigh, the words you’d been anxiously mulling over all night suddenly abandoning you. “What happened between us meant so much to me,” you continued slowly, “but the fact of the matter is, my first marriage isn’t even over yet. I mean, it’s over, but… I’m not really in a place where I can… start a new relationship…”

He looked back at you, that same blankness of incomprehension you were so used to painting his expression, and yet it was somber; he seemed to sense the tone, even if he was losing out on the specific ideas.

“It’s not fair to either of us, really,” you sighed. “I’m still mourning my marriage— and you were a really important part of that for me. So, thank you.”

You realized you needed to express your gratitude more thoroughly. Thinking quickly, you reached for his hand and opened it, placing his palm to your chest. He looked at you, a little confused.

“Thank you,” you repeated, looking him right in the eye.

He nodded slightly.

“Someday, somebody is gonna love you the way you need— the way you deserve,” you told him, stopping briefly to bite your lip in hopes it would stop quivering. “God, I wish it could be me. But it can’t.”

He held your face and kissed you, and much to your dismay it didn’t feel like a goodbye kiss. It didn’t feel like he knew this was the end. “Nu plânge,” he whispered. “Te iubesc.”

He kissed you again and you let yourself get lost in it like a complete fucking idiot, melting into his arms as he opened your bedroom door and pulled you inside with him. For a moment, it was like any other time, like any other perfect kiss with him, but then he pulled back and looked around and you had to watch his eyes as he realized. You had to watch his face as his smile fell away and his hope turned to despondence.

The whole room was packed. Heavy trunks on the bed, the sheets already stripped so Mrs. Alberti could wash them. Everything that made it feel like your room was gone, and it was just a guest room again, feeling bigger and emptier than ever.

All that was left was the typewriter on the table, because you still couldn't lift it.

“O să pleci,” he gasped, stepping back and releasing you from his embrace. “Chiar mă părăsești.”

You knew that look he was wearing on his face; beyond heartbreak— betrayal. You were all too familiar with it. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, “I would stay if I could, but I can’t, can I?”

A car horn honked outside, making you wince.

“That’s my ride,” you mumbled. “I have to go…”

You started to reach for your trunks and for a moment you thought that was really it. “Nu te duce,” he interjected suddenly, grabbing at your wrist and turning you to face him.

“I’m sorry— I have to leave—” you rushed, trying to grab your bags again.

“Nu te duce,” he repeated again desperately, pulling you close, cradling your face in his hands.

“Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you pleaded as your eyes began to water.

“Stay,” he begged, and you didn’t know that he knew that word. A tear fell; you wished he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I can’t.”

You stood up on your tiptoes to try to kiss him one last time, but he grimaced and pushed you away.

“Să trăieşti,” he said quickly, bitterly, as he stormed out of the room.

“Sebastian, wait—!”

But he was already running down the stairs; you heard the sound of the back door slamming a moment after he was out of sight, and another honk of the horn outside reminded you that you didn’t have time to chase after him. This wasn’t how you wanted it to end— really, you didn’t want it to end at all, and maybe if it had to (which it did) then this was as good a way as any. But you hated to leave like this when the last thing you wanted was to hurt him.

Defiantly wiping the tears from your face, you lifted the first of your trunks and made your way down the stairs, bringing them to the front door where the driver of the cab was waiting to carry them the rest of the way for you.

“Could you go upstairs and get my typewriter for me?” you asked him. “I can’t carry it well myself.”

He nodded and did as he was told, another small but painful reminder of your first day here. Mrs. Alberti came around the bend wearing a knitted shawl and a bittersweet smile.

“I hope you didn’t plan to go without saying goodbye,” she teased you.

“Of course not,” you smiled, “goodbye Mrs. Alberti.”

“I didn’t mean to me, dear,” she explained, making your heart twist.

“I don’t think he wants to hear it from me,” you admitted awkwardly. “I don’t think he can, literally.”

She just sighed and looked away, just as the driver loaded the last of your things into the trunk.

“So, this is it then,” you shrugged as you turned to face her.

“I doubt that,” she smiled. “It’s not a goodbye, sweetheart, just a ‘see you later.’”

“Sure,” you agreed, knowing she was wrong. You couldn’t come back here; you couldn’t leave him twice.

The driver shut the trunk and got back into the driver’s seat, leaving you to stare up at the house and take one last moment to soak it all in.

“You be sure to call me when your book is a big hit!” Mrs. Alberti instructed with a grin.

You were too choked up to say anything back, so you just waved and nodded as you got in the car and took a deep breath. “To the train station, please,” you mumbled to the driver, covering your eyes with your hand as you felt the car reverse and turn onto the road. You couldn't open them, or you’d look back, and you couldn’t look back.

Since your eyes were closed, you had no way to know that Sebastian chased after the car for nearly a block, giving up at the turn of the road, falling into the gravel and laying there for a while, repeating that one English word he couldn’t get out of his head: stay.

[mischiefmanaged71]

Turning Tables (1/8) - Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: The instances where Joaquin and Y/N try to express their feelings and the one time they did. 

Author’s Note: I may turn this into a series following the show’s timeline if enough people like it! So far, I’ve planned five parts. Please, let me know what you guys think. Y/N’s powers are ‘mimicking’ others talents and abilities, SIMILAR TO X-MEN’S ROGUE. Check out my other fic, ‘Bad Romance’ - its not related to the show’s exact plot but its pretty epic if you love action and romance.

Warnings: Fluff, canon-level violence, action, slow-burn

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem!reader

Word Count: 3K

“The criminal organisation known as LAF is targeting Captain Vasant, one of our military liaisons.”

The hum of the plane continued to drum in the background as they received their instructions.

“LAF?”, Sam asked.

“Yeah, they’re high powered. We lost contact with Vasant’s plane just after it took off.”, the Captain informed.

“We need you to make sure that LAF doesn’t deliver on their threat.”

You listened from the front of the hanger, strapping on your gear as Sam walked over. His hand gripped your shoulder, pulling your attention away from the straps of your boots.

“You ready?”, Sam asked.

“I have to be”

“I’m your only backup in the sky.”, you joked, winking at Sam.

“Vasant’s plane has already entered Tunisian airspace. US military cannot be seen operating out there.”

Sam knocks on a button, triggering the door’s release. A red light flares along with a siren as the hanger doors drop. You squint your eyes as you peer down at the drop.

“Got it. You guys fly low, drop us off, we fly up to intercept. No treaties violated.”

“How are our eyes on the ground?”, you ask the Captain, adjusting the com in your ear.

“First Lieutenant Torres, our intel officer, will be helping on the ground. And Sam, this has to be subtle.”

“Subtle. Got it.”, he said, before free falling out of the plane. You peer out into the open space as Sam falls before he initiates his wings, shooting him forwards.

You roll your eyes and breathe out a soft laugh.

“I’ll make sure he sticks to the plan.”, you assure the Captain.

You close your eyes, breathing deeply and searching for that spark within. It’s a growing feeling, one that existed from a long time ago, but it's still there. It remains just as the others have. 

Gripping onto it is like opening a new door each time, engulfed by a different skin which takes over. 

It shocks your system for a second and then quickly adjusts. 

Your eyes flash open, filled with adrenaline as you inhale deeply and an orange glow begins to overtake your sight. 

Your uniform whips against you as you creep closer to the edge and take the leap, diving head first with your legs and arms held tightly by your side. Pushing your hands and feet behind you, you’re launched up and against the wind. 

Adrenaline pumps through your chest as you soar past clouds, leaving the plane behind you.  You swoop down, spotting the red suit and wings from a distance as he circles around for the plane.

“Sam, (Y/N), Torres here. Sending intel to your HUD right now,” 

“I’ll be your boots on the ground.”, Joaquin spoke into his com.

“Copied, Lieutenant. How are we looking?”, you asked, following behind Sam.

“Stable so far. I can see Sam. Where are you?”

“Look up, Flyboy.”, you teased, sweeping in a curve and kicking your feet out, as you blasted off to catch up with Sam. A burst of air billowed off you as you’re launched forward.

You hear a low whistle through the coms as you slow down your descent. 

“Stop showing off for Torres, Y/L/N.”, Sam interjected.

“I got eyes on a plane. Any sign of LAF?”

“Nah. nothing yet. But I’ll keep tracking the chatter.”, Torres replied.

“On your left.”, you shot at Sam as you floated on the opposite side of the plane, hovering out of sight of the pilot. 

Laying on the windscreen, Sam glanced inside at the body in the co-pilot seat.

“They’ve already hijacked the plane.”

“Oh, we’re gonna need to call some people.”, Torres exclaimed.

“Just what I needed today.”, you chided, sighing. 

Suddenly, Sam shuffled back and shot his wings out, flying backwards and out of sight. 

“Subtly, at its finest, Wilson.”, you stated, circling around to follow around the back. 

“Tracking back.”

“Okay, switching to Plan B.”, Sam spoke over the coms

“Remind me what Plan B was again,” you asked.

“Red Wing, engage.”, detattaching from the suit, Red wing assaults the door with lasers, releasing it with a blast.

Sam retracts his wings and launches into the ship, kicking Batroc in the chest. Assaulting the pirate with a kick to the head, he takes on the next guy with a right hook to the jaw, throwing him into the wall. 

You glide into the plane, narrowly missing the fist flying at your head. Ducking down, you strike your knee into your assailant’s stomach, directing a fist into his face.  You slam your foot into his chest, sending him flying off his feet. 

Sam kicks one of them in the side, sending them towards you as you roundhouse kick him through the only exit.

Sudden light fills your vision as bullets rain down. Bullets ricochet off of The Falcon suit but the wings shield the both of you. Suddenly the plane tips forwards, sending you all flying up. Tucking yourself in, you strike the ground, manoeuvring to grab a hold of Vasant as the plane continues to drift downwards. 

Kneeling down, you placed your hands on his shoulders, tugging him into a seated position. 

“Captain Vasant, let’s get you out of here.”, you said.

Your next movements are interrupted with a kick to your back, forcing you into a wall. Groaning, you look at your attacker, backing up as he approaches with raised fists. 

Batroc lunges at you with a swipe but you dodge, aiming a kick at his knee. He swipes his leg in a circle to knock your off your feet and slam you into the floor. You’re quick to roll over and dodge another kick to the abdomen and cart behind him. Launching yourself on his back, you grip your legs tightly around his neck and vault him over you. 

Batroc huffs, jumping up to strike his leg down on you but he’s intercepted by Sam’s kick to his chest which knocks him backwards.

Now that Batroc was occupied, you pursued the men holding Vasant. Fire brewing between your palms, you form a lasso, sweeping and snatching the leg of the man gripping Vasant’s arm. Wrenching your arm backwards, the man smacks the floor and you’ve caught their attention. One of them tugs a gun from his belt, fire off a round which you flick away with a hand. A massive blast ignites, sending you hard on your back. Your ears ring as you grip your throbbing head. 

Glancing up, you see the remaining agents clad in gear, jumping with Vasant strapped to one of them.

Batroc empties his entire clip on Sam who dodges behind his wings. With a smirk, Batroc slips on his helmet and leaps from the plane. 

Only a glance shared between the two of you, you and Sam leap from the plane. Diving forwards, you flip and kick your feet together to soar towards the descending pirates. They continue to shoot at you but Sam swings around and pulls his parachute. 

You pursue Batroc, following as Sam propels with skill through the canyon. The gaps become narrower until you’re dropping to miss incoming helicopter machine-gunfire. Swerving around rock formations, a plane follows your path as another pursues Sam.

“All subtlety has gone to shit by this point,” your voice portrayed little of the anxiety now rising in your chest.

“Redwing, get them off our ass!”, Sam yelled as Redwing ejected and launched missiles at the helicopter’s engine, bringing it down with an explosion.

“Y/N, you alright up there?”, Joaquin’s voice filtered through your com.

“Well, I’m being trailed by machine gunfire so not too bad.”, you sarcastically retorted. 

Darting upwards, you jet yourself upwards to cart over the plane and behind it. Gripping your palms together, you position your index fingers in-line with the engine and a ball of energy explodes. The craft blows up in smoke and fire as you whoop.

“OH! Ha Ha”, Joaquin laughed in exhilaration, looking through his binoculars.

Finally spotting the last aircraft with Batroc and Vasant, you bolt for the craft, Sam behind you. The man beside them pulls out a missile launcher, you’re close enough that if you dodge, Sam will be hit. Bracing with your hands crossed, a light barrier shields you as explosion hits you. You’re blasted backwards, rocketing to the ground.

Sam ducks around the smoke, “Y/N!”

Your back collides with a rocky surface and an intense pain pulses through you as your vision clouds.

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”, Joaquin shouted.

“...Feeling a bit rough, gimme a minute.”, you whispered, rolling to lean on your elbows.

There are mere minutes before Batroc crosses the Libyan border with Captain Vasant.

“All right, heads up! You’re about to fly into Libyan airspace.” 

“And I assume they have a problem with that?”

“Yeah, yeah, a big problem. A big problem.”, Joaquin emphasised, nodding his head frantically.

“How long I got?”, Sam asks

“Ninety seconds.”

Missiles explode around Sam, knocking him from side to side. He’s barely dodging them when a pillar of flames zips behind him and through the aircraft, ripping it in two to reveal your hovering figure. 

“I said I had your ass.”, you chided with a smirk.

Joaquin’s voice shouts through the coms, “Sam! We got to call it off! We gotta find another way!”, Joaquin yells.

“I just did.”, he answered smugly as he retracted his wings and grabbed Vasant before the final missiles destroyed the craft.

“WOOH!”, you yelled as you descended to the ground.

You spot Joaquin cheering and pumping his fist in the air excitedly. Your smile grows wider as you chuckle at his excitement. Your feet meet the ground as you land, kicking up dirt with it.

“One hell of a mission, Torres.”

“You were incredible out there. Are you okay? You were quite literally hit with a missile. Then again, how are you even standing?”, Joaquin worried, gripping your shoulders.

“I’ll be fine. It’s my invulnerability.”, you brushed it off but your breath hitched as you gripped your back.

“Invulnerability or not, there’s no way you're getting back to base on your own.”, he guided your waist to the passenger side, opening the door for you to climb in. 

You sighed in relief as you sat, 

“Thank you, but I'd be fine to fly back, I’ve done it before.”

“What? You’ve been shot with a missile before?!”, he exclaimed in shock. 

You chuckled at the pure look of concern on his face, 

“Avenger, remember Flyboy?", you pointed at your chest.

“Yeah, how could I forget?”, he let out a breathy laugh.

*** 

Tunisia

Sat in an outdoor café, the streets are bustling with music and chatter. After the mission, you all needed a bit of calm. Joaquin returns with a tray of tea for you all.

He placed a cup in front of you.

“Thanks.”, you smiled up at him as he sighed and sat between you and Sam who was fixing Redwing’s circuiting.

Joaquin pointed towards the wiring, 

“You could try to reroute that to the other…”

“Hey, could you not?”

Sam nudges his hands away, eliciting a chuckle from you as you leaned your head on your palm. 

“Oh.”, Joaquin chuckles and backs off, making eye contact with you at Sam’s remark.

“I’ve been working with the Air Force for six months now. Every time ops touches him, he gets all glitchy.”

“Well, you know, those poor techs can’t keep up with a billion returning IP addresses and your sick-ass Stark level tech.”

You all laugh at that reality. The world you live in is stranger than just advanced tech when you can wield fire in one hand and break someone’s wrist in the other.

Joaquin looked at you, 

“You feelin’ better?”

“Yes. I’m fine, don’t worry. Sam, will you tell him, I’m fine.”

“She’s fine. I’ve seen the woman take on Iron Man’s pulsar rays head-on.”

But Joaquin’s gaze continues to flicker back to the open gash on your forehead.

“Hehehey! Avengers! Assalama!”, a Tunisian man approached your table, addressing Sam in Arabic.

What surprised you both was Sam’s response.

Joaquin pointed his phone at Sam, “He knows Arabic.”

“Your pronunciation is incredible, Wilson.”, you fired towards him, leaning forwards.

“Wait, can you say that again? Hold on a sec.”, Joaquin teased.

“All right. Come on.”

Joaquin let out a breathy laugh, rising from his seat to scan the area with his phone.

“These LAF crews, they’re tryin’ to take advantage of all the chaos and make some money. And that I get, but there’s…”

“Whatcha doin?”, you asked.

“Oh, bam! Right there!”, Joaquin stopped, leaning over you to show his screen to you and Sam. He was close enough that you felt flustered as your cheeks began to burn. Hovering on the screen was a red image of a hand holding the Earth.

“You see these guys? They’re guys you gotta worry about. I’ve been stumbling onto their manifestos on message boards. They're called the Flag Smashers.”

“I swear, everybody’s got a gimmick.”, you remarked, looking at Sam with a knowing look. You’d been in the game since you discovered your abilities at the age of fourteen.

“Is that a new thing? Bad guys give themselves bad names.”

“There’s a lot worse names than that one.”, Joaquin’s eyebrows  perked up.

You creased your eyes, wondering, how it could get any worse than ��Flag Smashers’. 

“But basically, they think that the world was better during The Blip. Trust me, it wasn’t.”

You sigh, eyes cast down on the table as you think over it. 

Five years. 

All of your friends and family who remained had moved on for five years without you, thinking you were dead. That was, until the living Avengers fought to bring everyone back. Although, not without losing a few in the process.

“Trust me. Every time something gets better for one group, it's worse for another.”, Sam stated.

“Yeah. Essentially, these people, they want a world that’s unified without borders. So you could see why a lot of people are into that.”

“Yeah, keep an eye on it. If anything gets serious, you let me know.”

A massive grin spread over Joaquin’s features,

“No doubt. I’ll...I’ll, uh...I’ll track the online chatter, see what they’re saying.”

You smile at Joaquin’s eager nature and pure smile. It was cute how he went from First Lieutenant to fanboy in mere seconds.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, urging your attention. You gripped Joaquin’s shoulder as you stood to take the call,

“I’ll be right back.”

Sam had a knowing look on his face as he looked from the hand you rested on Joaquin’s shoulder to the affection in Joaquin’s eyes as you drifted off to the side.

“This is Y/N.”, you answered.

Silence reverberated from the caller’s end.

“Hello?”

“Y/N...It’s...It’s Bucky.”

“Hey, how are you doing?”, you crossed your arms, still gripping the phone in one hand.

“I’m fine.”

“How’s therapy going?” 

“It’s going...The usual, you know?”

“Bucky...you know that I’m always here, right? Whenever you want to talk or just sit in silence, I’m there.”

“Yeah I know.”, he whispered on the other end, leaning against his couch on the floor.

“I mean it. My doors are always open. Not literally, but who’s going to mess with little ol’ me?”, you joked.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, 

“Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, Buck. Just take care of yourself, okay?”, you looked over at the boys who stared back at you as you crept closer to the table.

You heard Bucky sigh, 

“When do you get back?”

“Sam and I depart soon so I should be back in the States by tomorrow.”

“Alright, take care...Bye, Y/N.”

“See you soon, Buck.”, you ended the call.

“Was that Buckaroo?”, Sam asked as you sat down.

You rolled your eyes, 

“Yes, it was.”

Sam turned his head in confusion, 

“I’ve been tryin’ to get that man to answer my texts for weeks and nothing. How did you get him to call you?”

Sam saw the smile retreat from Joaquin’s face at the mention.

“I guess we’re closer than you are. Also, could be the fact you call him names like - Oh, I don’t know - Cyborg, Terminator, Barnes and Noble?”, you suggested with raised eyebrows.

“Nah, can’t be that.”, Sam dismissed it.

“Check it. We’re headed back to DC.”

“Alright.”, you grabbed your bag off the floor.

“Before I go. Joaquin?”

Joaquin perked up, his attention solely on you.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to keep me updated on the Smashers chatter. We make a pretty good team.”

“Alright, yeah...yeah, of course. I...Uh,”, he fumbled.

“You should probably give him your phone number so he can call you.”, Sam snipped from behind you.

Joaquin nervously laughed, 

“Having your number would make it a whole lot easier.”

You shook your head as you reached over and gripped his wrist, grabbing his phone to enter your details.

“Done.”, you handed Joaquin his phone back.

He slipped his hands in his pockets, 

“So...I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

A grin spread across your mouth as you tugged a bag over your shoulder,

“I guess so, Flyboy.”

“And I’m still here.”, Sam reminded you, earning a smack on the back of the head from you.

“Hey!”

***

Thanks for reading, lovely! Comment, tag and reblog! Let me know your thoughts and if you have any questions or prompts, don’t be afraid to ask! xx 

ALSO, tag me if YOU write any Joaquin Torres fics.

TAGS:

@remmysbounty @cjsinkythoughts @merceret @samscaptain @gryffindorwriter

[paellaplease]

Hi, I see you're taking requests! If it hasn't been done yet, could you do aspectabund with Revali please? I love your writing <3

2. aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

pairing: revali x reader

summary:  he knows you’ve been avoiding him and he can’t seem to figure out why.

  Shaking the snow from his feathers, Revali surveyed the layered red rock of Mount Agaat with a scrutinizing gleam in his eyes. The reconnaissance flyby over the ice covered peaks had proven successful, with him safely scouting out several bokoblin camps under the cover of cloud. 

Mindful of the tripwire, he entered the makeshift campsite to find you and the Gerudo Chief conversing quietly by the fire. You appeared in deep contemplation, and out of respect (and perhaps partial curiosity) he made no move to announce his arrival. 

Urbosa crossed her arms, turning to you with a sly smile adorning her lip. “You can’t keep dancing around each other forever.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, fiddling with one of your winter gloves. “It’s highly likely he won’t understand anyway.” 

“I’m sure his feelings on the matter are not as dissimilar as you think. Besides...” She leaned forward, whispering something into your ear. 

Warmth creeping up to your cheeks, your face was in your hands in an instant, body leaning forward as Urbosa let out a short laugh at your exaggerated reaction. Cute.

The mortified groan you gave in response made him chuckle, finally alerting you both to his presence. 

The Gerudo Chief angled her head and gave a brief nod in his direction, most likely having sensed his presence ages ago. In stark contrast, you quickly spun in your seat, mouth agape. 

Nearly falling from the log, Urbosa reached out to snag the hood of your coat, saving your face from smashing into the dirt ground. Revali tsked, you should really be more aware of your surroundings. 

"Revali!” Immediately, you bit down on your lip, schooling your face into something more subdued. “Welcome back." 

Tilting his head, he found it odd how difficult it was for you to maintain eye contact. Your cheeks were darker at this point, the tip of your nose slightly red. His wings itched to readjust the scarf wrapped loosely around your neck. Perhaps you were cold. That won’t do. 

"Did I miss anything?" He asked, looking pointedly at Urbosa. 

He would never admit it but the Chief maintained a steadfast poker face. “I have nothing to share.” Standing up, she moved to add more kindling to the fire. “No monster has dared approach us yet.”

Judging by the impressive blades hanging from both your hips, he wasn’t surprised. Rubbing at his shoulders, he swiped a wing over the rocky expanse before them. “Good. And thanks to me, we now have a greater chance of avoiding them on the way up.”

He didn’t miss the way your body froze when Urbosa offered for him to take her seat. Not seeing any issue and assuming it to be a response to the cold of the mountain, he acquiesced. 

The mission was completed without a hitch, the swing of your blade delivering the killing blow to the fierce lynel that guarded the peak of the mountains. Revali tried not to stare as you cleaned your blade on the snow, ignoring the errant beat of his heart as you turned to smile at him, skin still flushed from the heat of battle. 

“It comes to no surprise that you are the Gerudo Chief’s apprentice.” He nodded, unable to hide the hint of admiration in his voice.

Tugging at the sleeves of your flowing blue jacket, your eyes were wide and shining, mouth close to admitting something profound and important. Revali kept his beak shut, waiting for you to say what you needed, disappointed when all it came to be was a simple “Thanks.” 

You then proceeded not to speak to him for the rest of the week. 

It was a shame really, you were one of the few allies he could stand for more than five minutes. The Rito thought you were diligent; a fighter that could tame a tempest, and most of all a worthy opponent when it came to the odd verbal sparring match. 

Never had you shied away from a challenge, especially one posed by him. He was invested in your progress, secretly standing guard on the nights you would sneak out to train, ensuring that no person nor creature would disturb you. What's worse, a part of him honestly thought that you had begun to consider him as something close to a friend. 

And now...

“I’ll scout the area!” 

Revali sighed as he watched your retreating form once again, the remaining Champions looking at each other with equal confusion at your sudden disappearance into the forest. He didn’t know what your problem was, and honestly one more day of these mixed messages was going to drive him insane. 

Slipping past him like water, you evaded him at all costs. Taking your meals alone or with different people, changing the location of your training sessions, waking up unbearably early or extremely late. 

Then, on day eight of this madness, he found you sparring with a particular golden-haired knight that he couldn’t stand. That was the last straw. 

“Fight me,” he said to you, uncaring of the other knights on the training field that stopped to stare at him approaching. The sword in his wing, though blunted, felt foreign and heavy. Long has it been since he last held a blade like this. 

Taking off your helmet, you rubbed at your eyes to see if it was truly him. “Revali?” Funny, that was the first thing you’d said to him in days. “Where’s your bow? Ah, it seems you’ve forgotten.” You were already in the process of collecting your things. “Perhaps next time. It wouldn’t be fair if you had to fight me with a sword, after all…”

He scoffed, watching as you turned to leave. “Oh, so you plan on running away again like a scared fledgling?” 

The training sword sailed past his head, missing his cheek by only a fraction. You didn't give him a second to flinch. 

Revali side-stepped away, making a move to swing his sword at your back. Feet sliding, you blocked it with ease, sword already there to intercept his own even before it completed its arc through the air. 

Experimentally, he pushed back on the blade. Dead still, it refused to budge. He tilted his head to capture your eyes, thrilled to see the burning embers behind them, all passivity long abandoned. There you are. “Nice to see you,” he grinned wryly. 

Both of you separated quickly. Circling each other, his eyes took in the determined clench of your jaw and the steady rise and fall of your chest, waiting for when you’d launch yourself forward again. 

"Not bad," you smirked. “Another one from that bag of tricks Chief Kamori taught you?” Your confidence in the moment was rather enthralling. Once again he found himself memorizing the planes of your face, reveling in the way your emotions would flit past—clear as day. 

“Just you wait til I’m in the air with a bow in my hand." 

"That's surprising!" You grinned, teeth sharp. "Didn't think the Great Revali was so reliant on keeping to the skies.” A cloud of dirt was kicked up as you propelled yourself forward. Taking the hilt with both hands, you raised your sword to strike heavily down on his head. “But isn’t it pretty when he finally comes down to your level.” 

With a grunt, Revali barely had time to strengthen his stance, bringing his blade up to block your attack. The clashing of swords sent his talons skidding back on the dirt, the muscles in his arms straining against the weight of the blow. 

“You’re insane!” He laughed breathily. “That could have cleaved my skull in two.”

“I knew you’d block it.” 

The fight soon became the only other sound in the training field, many of the knights having left to complete their drills somewhere else. Even that quiet Hylian was no longer there, taking his leave once confident you could hold your own. 

Of course they can defend themselves. He wanted to call out in mocking arrogance. And if they ever were in trouble they wouldn’t need you anyway. Because I’m here. 

Taking a deep breath, you launched yourself at him again, delivering several attacks in a series of sweeping motions. Revali found himself having to focus intently on each one, blocking one after the other, eyes following the movement of your arm in an attempt to anticipate where the blade would next appear. 

As such, he doesn’t notice the sweeping motion of your leg, the action sending him falling backwards into the ground. 

Unlucky for you, the Rito had known the feeling of falling all his life. And before you had the chance to step away, he discarded his blade, reaching out to drag you down with him. 

The air was knocked out of him as you landed painfully on his chest. Your sword slipped from your hand, clattering to the side. Revali pushed it further away when you tried to reach for it, trapping you against him with his other wing. 

Stilling, he could feel the rush of your heartbeat against his own. From on top, you glared at him. “Let me go, fights not over.” 

“Call it an intermission, darling.” You went red at that, smushing your head into his chest so as to hide the wild blush on your cheeks. “This fight is on hold until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me this whole week.” 

“Because you’re…”

“What was that?” He said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Because you’re you!” You finally let out. An angry scream left your throat, except because your face was still pressed to his front it came out as muffled and rather adorable. 

Revali rested his head on the ground as he exhaled, finding peace in the never ending sea of blue stretched out above you both. “Well,” he said, interrupting the little breakdown you were having. “Of course I’m me, there’s no one else really.  Unless you’ve met another Rito of the same name with razor sharp wit and devilishly good looks.” 

You huffed a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at him. This close and he could see the fan of your eyelashes and the kiss of the sun on your cheeks. It took everything in him not to reach out and trace the line of your mouth, wondering if your lips were as soft as they appeared. 

“I’ve been avoiding you because I like you, silly bird.” Blinking, you gazed at him with utter softness and sincerity. “And I apologise for running. I intended to tell you earlier— on the mountain. But self-doubt got the best of me and I didn’t want you to stop being my friend if you didn’t feel the same.”

Revali’s wings fell to his sides as you shifted, propping yourself up with both your arms. “Guess there’s nothing to worry about now that it’s out in the open.” A watery laugh escaped from your lips when he said nothing. “Come on, Revali. Say something. Or at least stand up so I can kick your ass.” 

His arms were around you once again in an instant, crushing you to him in a tight embrace. “Rito, if this is some kind of trick to knock me off my guard I swear…” He could feel your smile as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. 

“I like you too.” He shook his head, poking you in the side and smiling when you yelped in response. “You are amazing and skillful. I enjoy every moment I spend with you. Though you overthink too much. Alas, but the curse of one so perceptive.” 

“Still don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.” You mouthed into his neck. His feathers raised at the feeling of your warm breath against him. “Though I’m extremely relieved that Urbosa was right.” 

Revali thought back to the mission at Mount Agaat, wondering what exactly the Gerudo Chief told you back then. “Right about what?”

“That you can’t take your eyes off me, even if you tried.” 

[watermelonlipstick]

Dean’s Jeans 2

What better day to post a sweet little family oneshot than Mother’s Day? This is the same setup as Dean’s Jeans, just a different late summer afternoon on your cul-de-sac with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and their cousin DJ. I already have bare-bones drafts of a few other installments for these cuties, especially considering this one got a little deeper than I had intended. Stay tuned!

Title: Dean’s Jeans 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5561

Summary: Spending the afternoon working on the driveway with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and nephew.

Warnings: fluff, some family angst, minor injury, little dollop of smut at the end

           It was a big day for driveways and garages.

           You had been sitting in the apron of Sam’s drawing loopy pastel paths with DJ and your eldest daughter for your youngest to roll her cousin’s old matchbox cars down, watching adoringly as everyone’s palms and knees got covered in chalk dust. When the concrete was relatively full and the older two started getting a little antsy, you decided to try to stave off any bored bickering ahead of time.

           “Babe, is our garage unlocked?” you called over to Dean where he was trying to snake an extension cord out of Sam’s front door and down the porch.

           “Should be. Why, what’s up?”

           “I thought maybe DJ could take Picasso here over to the park to break in her new bike.” You turned to your nephew, sitting with his arms resting on his knees. He was just barely starting to fill out around the delicate Winchester features that had made him such an angelic looking child, the angle of his jaw seeming to sharpen every day, growing rapidly though you might still be able to throw him over your shoulder in a pinch. Hopefully it was a sign that he wasn’t destined for the late puberty you knew had frustrated Sam so much when he was younger; at least he could have one gift from his other parent, lost otherwise to the wind without as much as a periodic birthday card. Not the time for that thought, you reminded yourself, refocusing on the child’s glossy hair, carbon copy of his father’s with sun-lightened tips this late into summer. Dean would’ve taken him to get a haircut about a month ago, but as you and Sam both reminded him: not his hair, not his kid. It made you smile and likely made Sam proud that at his age, where so many kids were rebelling against their parents, DJ didn’t mind looking exactly like his dad. Somehow you had a hard time believing Sam would want to rush that process of teenage rebellion along. “What do you think, Deej?”

           Your elder daughter squealed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him onto the driveway. “Please please? Maybe Sarah and Davey can come too.” Her inclusion of the Fiore siblings into the mix was smart. They lived between your cul de sac and the park and were pretty similar in age to DJ and your older daughter. You suspected she thought on some level that DJ was on the cusp of being too cool to hang out with his baby cousin, but hanging out with the Fiores as a group gave them a little more social grace. Hopefully she’d realize, as you had, that DJ absolutely adored her and would likely rather catch some flack from his peers than drift apart.

           “Yeah but I’m not carrying your bike up the hill if your legs get tired,” he grinned at his cousin, who immediately took off across the street to get her bike from the garage.

           Sam and Dean had to move their whole setup from in front of Sam’s garage door so DJ could get his own bike out, the step ladder, extension cord, and electric drill going into the lawn next to the rest of their project, the basketball hoop. He almost got to the end of the driveway, swinging his leg over the seat, before Sam stopped him. “Nice try. Helmet, please,” he called out after his son, who reluctantly dropped the mountain bike onto the pavement and trudged back into the garage to pull a sticker-covered helmet out of a box and throw it on his head. By the time he made it into the street his cousin had done the same, yelling out over her shoulder for you to Mommypleaseclosethegaragethankyou as she tried to pump petite legs to keep up.

           You were thankful that your youngest seemed to be fully engrossed in the chalk patterns on the driveway and hadn’t seemed to notice the other kids’ leaving, not interested in having an argument about whether she was too little or not to go with them alone. Trusting the older kids or not, she was small and curious in a way that led to her sometimes running off to explore, and you didn’t want to add that into the mix. After a while, she picked up the green again, moving up the driveway to draw a picture of a dragon and immediately swipe hair out of her face, covering it with fluorescent dust. She got to her feet, and the amount of colorful powder on her made you beyond thankful that it was Dean’s turn to give her a bath that night. Crossing the driveway in a few skittering steps, she wrapped herself around Dean’s legs, practically leaving a silhouette imprint of herself on his jeans as he ruffled her hair. The way they had worn out and lost much of their dye over the years highlighted the contrast.

           “Daddy, come look! It’s a dragon!”

           Dean and Sam exchanged a smirk and Dean winked at you. “A dragon? Sounds scary.”

           “No, he’s a nice dragon,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the driveway, leaving Sam to drill holes into the wood above his garage door.

           “A nice dragon, huh? What’s his name?” Dean asked, grinning as he let her lead him.

           “Maurice,” she said, so matter of fact it made you laugh out loud. Sam did too, pulling the drill out of the wall to keep from wiggling the holes. “Can you do the fire?”

           “’Course I can, princess. How big are we talking?” He eased down to sit cross-legged next to Maurice The Dragon, accepting when you offered him yellow and orange sticks of chalk. You leaned back in the afternoon sun with a lap full of matchbox cars listening to the radio Sam had brought out to the porch, the chalk scratching on the concrete, and the rhythmic drilling of holes into siding for a few minutes.

           “Dean?” Sam asked, backing down the step ladder.

           “Got it,” he answered, putting a little flair on a lick of fire that went around Maurice’s nose and handing your daughter the chalk. “I need to help Uncle Sammy for a minute but I can come right back, sound fair? Your mom is better at scales anyway.” The girl seemed to consider it for a second then pouted her lips out in agreement, tilting her head to the side just like her dad did all the time. Dean got up creakily and brushed off his hands on his back pockets, the orange joining the other stains like an abstract painting.

           “You guys need any help?” you called over to Sam, who was trying to stabilize the hoop with long arms and struggling a little bit to keep it balanced in the light wind, powerful muscles rippling in his forearms and impressing upon you how heavy it must truly be if even he was having trouble with it.

           “Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he chuckled, jerking his chin to Dean to suggest his brother help him hold it up. He did, grabbing one side and having to reach up to his tip toes to match Sam’s stretch.  They were both standing on a kind of bastardized stool Dean had thrown together for this purpose, a few planks of wood balanced on some huge cinderblocks that had been in the garden holding up one of Sam’s compost setups. “It’s just those 12 screws, holes should already be lined up.”

           You climbed up on the ladder with the drill, having to crane to reach over even with the added height. When the last was in, the Winchesters carefully removed their hands. Seeing that it didn’t immediately fall, Dean grabbed the bottom corner and tried his best to rattle it to no avail. “Good job, babe,” he said, lightly smacking your ass as you backed down the ladder.

           “Watch out,” Sam said over your shoulder, and you saw him walking backwards a handful of steps down the driveway, being cautious to avoid his niece and her drawings.

           “Dude, there’s no way you can—” Dean started, cut off by Sam taking a running jump and leaping into the air, catching the rim of the hoop like nothing and doing a baby pull-up on the metal.

           “Can what?” Sam cackled, punching Dean’s arm playfully as he dropped to the pavement. “Don’t be jealous, old man.”

           “Jealous of Sasquatch? You can practically reach it standing, Lurch.”

           “Yeah, okay. Let me know when you can get up there without a stool and a trampoline.”

           You were giggling as Sam and Dean started putting all their tools way when DJ’s bike came flying around the corner. Neither he nor his cousin were wearing helmets, and she was wrapped around his chest like a novelty monkey backpack, her legs circling his waist and her arms clinging to his neck. He had to arch around her to see, but you could tell from the half-block length away that he was saying something to her. By the time they got close enough to get reprimanded for the lack of helmets, or for one of their dads to ask where the other bike was, you could hear the crying.

           Sam crossed over to his son in long, purposeful strides, holding his handlebars so he could dismount without letting go of your daughter. “What happened?” he asked, taking the girl from DJ’s arms and smoothing her hair back with a soothing palm. As he turned, you could see the blood trickling down her raw knees and elbows.

           DJ was visibly rattled, trying hard to calm his breathing down and tensing his bottom lip when it began to quiver. “Davey and I went down that big hill and, she—she was going too fast, and, um, she fell—I, I told her we could practice later but these guys were saying only babies couldn’t do it, I swear I didn’t know she would—” and then his voice broke, fat tears finally breaking through and crashing down his face. Sam nodded to you and Dean, murmuring some comforting things to your eldest as he carried her up the porch steps into his house. At the exact same time as if practiced—that same rapid, implicit communication they’d had on hunts now used to coordinate hugging their children in tandem, you thought to yourself—Dean wrapped his nephew up in a big bear hug, cradling the boy’s head and sweeping his hand up and down his back.

           “Hey, come on, you’re okay. She’s okay, she’s just shaken up, kid. Shhh shhh shhh, hey, come on, deep breaths. You’re okay,” he hummed into DJ’s hair. He gave you a tight nod over the kid’s shoulder to keep drawing with your daughter. Only a few steps away, you could still hear him as he continued. “I’m so proud of you, Deej. Got her all the way home on your bike, that’s pretty badass.” He waited for a few moments of silence until his nephew caught his breath a little. “Probably scared you, right?” he asked, his voice low and calm as DJ nodded through tears into the growing wet spot on his uncle’s chest. “That’s okay, chief, I would’ve been freaked too.”

           You noticed he was rocking a little, almost like he did when he was trying to get the girls to sleep as babies, and it really emphasized the way that no matter how wise DJ seemed or whatever signs of puberty he might be showing, he was still a child, still the same baby you’d fallen in love with when Sam had gotten that call however many years ago. It took a few more minutes for the crying to subside to hiccupping breaths and seeming to sense that the moment had passed in some way, your baby girl grabbed your hand gently. “Mommy, is DJ okay?”

           “Yeah, sweetie. He was just scared for a minute.”

           “That’s why he needs a hug?”

           “Exactly. Everybody needs hugs sometimes.” Just as she had before when considering your ability to draw cartoon scales on a dragon named Maurice, she tilted her head and pouted in agreement. When you realized what she was about to do next you almost had to wipe a quick tear away yourself, watching her get up to hug DJ and sandwich him between herself and Dean.

           “It’s okay, DJ,” she whispered, the high tender pitch of her voice like one of those unsettlingly extreme medieval harmonies with her dad’s but so much sweeter, the bright welcome sting of lemon juice in a dense poundcake.

           A moment later, Sam came out onto the porch with his eldest niece. One of her knees was wrapped in gauze but the other and both elbows had what looked from the driveway like a collage of Spiderman band aids. Sam appeared to have a matching one on his forehead, and both of them were giggling, though her eyes still looked a little puffy and red.

           Dean looked up and turned DJ to see both of them, cradling the back of DJ’s head in one palm. “See? She’s okay, just needed a couple band aids.”

           Sam winked at his brother as he walked over and patted his son on the back, taking the band aid off his forehead as he went. “Buddy, we’re going to go grab the bike and your helmets. Is there anything else you think you left at the park?”

           His son shook his head up at his dad and leaned back from Dean’s embrace to rub his eyes. “Are you mad at me?” he croaked.

           “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” Sam asked, crouching down to a squat to look up at DJ. You had noticed he tended to do this in sensitive moments with all the children, trying his best to seem less looming. The first time you’d identified it, it made you a little sick to your stomach, realizing it likely wasn’t part of how inherently good he was with kids but because he knew what it was like to have an angry man towering over you. Thinking of it now had the same effect, especially compounded by the emphasis Dean had put on telling DJ he was proud of him even if his daughter had gotten hurt, that he too knew a protective kid was still just a kid.

           DJ sniffled hard once more, finally able to take a truly deep breath. “I didn’t wear my helmet home because I couldn’t see arou—”

           “Aw, DJ. No way am I mad at you.” Sam hugged his son and stood up, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m proud of you for getting both of you guys home safe. That was really smart, to get her on the bike with you like that.” You caught DJ’s tiny smile of pride at his father’s praise, watched it deepen a touch as Sam kissed his hair again. “So just the helmets and the bike?”

           He nodded and rubbed his eyes before peeking around Sam a little bit to see your daughter. “You’re really okay?” he asked, as though he didn’t trust the adults to be telling him the truth and would have to ascertain her safety for himself. You wondered if Sam and Dean would find that nice or insulting, that ultra-fierce, trust-but-verify loyalty.

           She nodded sort of sheepishly. “Sorry I didn’t listen about the hill, DJ.”

           “It’s okay.”

           The moment seemed a bit heavy for a half-second before Sam wrapped a big hand around your daughter’s shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go find that bike.”

           After helping Dean get his wheels back inside, DJ went up to his room. You had to resist the urge to follow him, cuddle up with him like you used to when he was small enough to tuck into your lap. If he wanted to be alone, he was old enough to decide that for himself. Dean put the rest of the tools and things from putting up the basketball hoop away and walked over to you where you were laying on the ground so your youngest daughter could trace your body with chalk.

           “I think we need a pick-me-up around here. How do you feel about i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m for dinner?”

           You smiled, knowing you only had a bit longer of these spelling secrets left as your baby got closer and closer to proficient reading age. “Works for me. I think we have 2 or 3 kinds in the garage freezer.”

           He smirked down at you. “Can you bring him over in about 15 minutes? They should be back by then.”

           You tossed him a thumbs up and watched him walk across the street, the way the denim draped around his bowed legs as he went.

           It was only five or six minutes later when Sam came up to the driveway, jogging alongside your daughter with DJ’s helmet in his hand. Of course Sam would know that she needed to get back on that bike right away, and of course he’d come up with something to make her laugh all the way home, even if that meant he had to run the entire distance on a late summer afternoon. He was slightly out of breath when he helped her dismount in the driveway.

           “My kid okay?” he asked, taking the other helmet so your daughter could go back to what was becoming a pretty spectacular chalk surrealist piece spanning the driveway.

           “He’s in his room, I think he will be. Your brother’s got a very Dean style plan for dinner in a few minutes if you’re hungry.”

           Sam looked down at his watch. “Yikes, I didn’t realize we were even close to dinnertime. Let me go wash my hands and grab DJ then we can go over together?”

           “Sounds perfect to me. And hey—Sam? Make sure he knows everyone thinks he did the right thing.”

           He nodded, and you watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallowed hard. Sam reached down and squeezed your hand, saying thank you without reopening the situation in front of the girls.

           They came out a few minutes later, Sam in a fresh t-shirt and DJ looking a little more cheerful coiled into his dad’s side. You bundled up the girls and walked over to your house, tipping your head in thanks as Sam opened the door. The girls were the first to see the spread and took off squealing into the kitchen, where Dean had effectively set up a tiny ice cream shop on your kitchen island. Sprinkles of all different kinds, those 3 tubs of ice cream you’d been right to remember were in the freezer, syrups and whipped cream and cherries and bananas and even chopped up peanut butter cups and Butterfinger bars from the stash Dean hid from the kids. He was already handing out bowls before you got into the kitchen.

           “Ah, ah! Hands need to be washed before anyone gets ice cream,” you insisted, shooting Dean a look of teasing reprimand.

           He rolled his eyes to your oldest daughter, sending her giggling conspiratorially to the kitchen sink. DJ, presumably having already washed his hands at his place, helped your youngest daughter reach by picking her up to the faucet when her sister was done. You crossed over to Dean, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing his hands for inspection. “Babe, you’re literally covered in chalk.”

           “You should be happy about me getting some extra calcium,” he winked, sticking out his tongue at you as you grabbed his ass on the way to the sink. “Mrs. Winchester!” he said in a faux-scandalized voice.

           As you washed your hands Sam manned the ice cream scoop, doling out much bigger bowls than he would normally, seeming to know as Dean did that a little levity might help the events of the day pass faster. After all the kids doctored up heaping mounds of ice cream and toppings to beat the band, you and the Winchester brothers stood around the island while they piled onto the couch to find a movie they could all agree on.

           “How’s our champ?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

           Sam shook up a can of whipped cream as he spoke. “He’s okay. Just feels guilty, I think. He says he should’ve stopped her from going down the hill.”

           “You think any kid of hers would’ve let someone tell her she couldn’t do anything?” Dean ribbed, accepting the gentle elbow you hit his side with.

           “I know that, but you know what it’s like. I think once he sees she’s really okay and no one blames him then he’ll be fine.”

           “Poor guy. Feels like that Winchester ‘weight of the world’ thing must be genetic.” You were partly joking but also partly not and they both knew it, looking pitiful and pitying for a beat before trying to cover with smiles. “He’s a great kid, Sam.”

           “Pretty much feels like you guys raised him as much as I did, I should be thanking you,” he murmured, drawing a lattice of butterscotch syrup over his whipped cream.

           You snaked an arm around his waist and gave him a sideways hug. “No, we’re lucky you let us know him.”

           Sam bent over and pressed his lips to your hair. “Seriously, thank you. I’m—I don’t know where we’d be if we didn’t, you know, I mean if we—”

           “Don’t strain yourself, Sammy,” Dean smiled affectionately, giving Sam a merciful out. “Tell you what, I sure wouldn’t have made it in damn Themyscira without you two around.”

           Sam chuckled down at the counter while you disentangled your arms. You took the chocolate sprinkles from in front of him and scattered a few in your bowl. “Themyscira? The hell is that?”

           Dean set down his ice cream exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes so hard he put a backwards bend in his spine, holding onto the island to keep his balance. “Babe. Themyscira. Home of the Amazons? Wonder Woman?”

           “Riiiight. I forgot I was married to such a dork.”

           “As long as you don’t forget how this ‘dork’ makes you screa—”

           “Dude, enough,” Sam groaned, exasperated. Dean waggled his eyebrows at you as his brother followed into the living room with the kids, taking the opportunity of temporary privacy to slip his tongue along your neck where it sloped into your shoulder.

           “Dean,” you hissed playfully, pushing his chest away from you. “They’re in the other room!”

           “You taste like chalk,” he smirked, before holding your gaze for a gooier beat than you would’ve expected. His eyes softened and he glanced down. “Thank you for letting me—letting us—take that, today. I know you’re better at the Mommy Dearest stuff or whatever, but it sometimes feels like, ah, getting a redo?” He cleared his throat where it had gotten a little thick. “You know, um, like proving that it doesn’t have to be the same?”

           It was a specific vulnerability he doesn’t often let you see, but you could tell by the softness both he and Sam had with all the kids, how they beat themselves up for days if they raised their voice for even a second, that they both thought about it all the time. In so many ways they were still those same little boys who wished they could’ve drawn on driveways with their parents, that their dad could’ve given them Spiderman band aids and told them everything was going to be okay.

           He didn’t have to explain further, and you gripped his hand to tell him so. “They needed you two, not me. For what it’s worth, I think you guys were a pretty great team today.”

           Dean smiled, and it was almost like the sleepy thankfulness he had on those nights when he got home and you’d charitably done a couple of his chores for him. He closed his eyes in invitation and you leaned forward, meeting his lips with the smell of ice cream in the air. “So come on, Super Dad. Let’s go watch a movie with these great kids everyone keeps talking about.”

           The ice cream had gotten put back in the freezer immediately to keep it frozen, but the toppings had all been left out during School of Rock. Sam and DJ had left a bit after the movie, playing a round of LIFE that had been pretty ambitiously started, considering the time, and ultimately abandoned when all the kids’ yawns started to sync up. You came downstairs after trading with Dean for bath/shower duty to get out of cleaning up all the sticky dishes, the girls falling asleep too quickly for a bedtime story after you’d made sure they were thoroughly scrubbed clean and any wet gauze was replaced.

           He was rinsing some bowls in the sink, the majority of the toppings slid to one side of the now wiped-down island. You sauntered up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Your jeans are still covered in chalk,” you sighed into his neck.

           “Your kid was practically using them as a napkin, so I’m not surprised.”

           “Like father, like daughter.”

           You felt the rumble of his laugh through your chest where you were pressed up against his back. “Can’t argue with that. They asleep?”

           “You’d think I drugged them.”

           He chuckled again, putting down the last bowl in the sink and shutting off the water before drying his hands on a dishtowel deliberately. When he turned around, his face was inches from yours. “Is that right?” he asked, and his voice was as smooth and silky as any caramel drizzle you could’ve eaten that night. You nodded into a smile as Dean slid a washing-warmed hand to the nape of your neck and wound into the hair there, pulling you into him where he leaned against the sink and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like maraschino cherry and chocolate and you pushed up into his kiss hard, jamming him into the counter in a way that made him groan into you, tug that hair tighter. “Careful, baby. Been thinking about scandalizing the mother of my children for hours,” he growled, smirking through a voice rough like the sandpaper calluses of his hands.

           You bit his bottom lip and dragged it back, leaning away from Dean just enough to reach over to the island behind you, finding the whipped cream and starting to shake it fast. “That’s funny, because I’ve just been thinking about sundaes,” you purred into his ear, nipping at his earlobe before tipping back. Dean’s eyes practically glittered as his pupils blew wide. His shirt was off so fast you almost didn’t see it, feeling like you blinked and opened your eyes to him already yanking his belt open to shuck off those chalk-covered torn jeans. Before he could, you turned over the whipped cream on top of his collarbone, dripping a stream of white foam down his chest and letting it drift for a second, melt down his skin then lapping it up with a tongue flattened wide.  You shook the can again, draping a strip onto Dean’s stomach that trailed to his belly button and laying a palm on his chest, leaning him back to the counter on his elbows to watch as you licked the whipped cream with lazy swirls until you were at the hem of his boxers, sinking to your knees and taking them down his legs along with his now-opened jeans. He was already hard as rock when you took him in your palm, laying one last spray of whipped cream along the length of him and humming in delight at the “holy shi—” that punched out of Dean and fizzled into the ether when you sucked it off.  

           It was only a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore, bending down to kiss you rough and dirty, tongue darting out to get the little dribbles of cream around the corners of your mouth and dragging you to your feet. With one hand Dean flicked open your jeans, using the freed slack to dive into your panties, middle finger dipping into you as he held your jaw with the other palm. He breathed hot and sticky along your jugular. “Not even close to how wet I want you.” The viscous pour of his words onto your neck sent goosebumps spreading over your skin in a delicate fan and you couldn’t help but smile as he scooped under your thighs and lifted you easily onto the island, slipping the denim off your legs as the same time he stepped out of his. You relaxed onto your elbows, watching those long eyelashes drift open and closed as his kissed a path down your abdomen, gripping handfuls of your t-shirt to get to skin. A lazy hand offered Dean the can of whipped cream.

           The smirk he gave you, bare shoulders between your thighs as he kneeled on the kitchen floor, might as well have been through a time machine for the way it made you see the cocky playboy you’d first met over a decade ago, before the faint wrinkles of years in sunny cars and staying up nights with colicky babies that accessorized his big doe eyes now. It had the same effect on you in a t-shirt that was older than DJ as it had when you were pounding through shots with eyeliner artfully smudged by the power of hangovers: pooling all the blood in your stomach and making you lightheaded. He slowly bit his bottom lip. “You taste way too good to be adding anything,” he rumbled, and when you threw your head back in a shaky laugh his tongue reminded you exactly why smudged-eyeliner girl was ready to drop her independence, jump in the Impala and follow that mouth to the end of the world.

           Dean built the earth up and cracked it into pieces beneath you twice perched on that kitchen island before grabbing the counter edge to haul himself up. “Were these tiles always so fucking hard? Feel like I just took a hammer to the kneecaps.” He shook out each of his bare legs, spring of his erect cock as he did looking silly and out of place with the glisten of his lips and chin, the sultry cast of his eyelashes on angled cheekbones. The juxtaposition made you laugh, breathy as it was with muscles that had been turned to jello, thrown in a blender, and scattered about the room by the deft movements of Dean’s tongue and fingers.

           “You’re thinking about your knees right now?”

           “That’s how hard these fucking tiles are,” Dean chuckled, deep and still sexy somehow, bending forward to catch your lips. When you reached down to stroke him, a hand wrapped around your wrist. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, I’m nowhere near done with you,” he murmured through kisses, a shade of playful challenge in his throat.

           You giggled, leaning back as he dragged a wet path of suction down your neck. “I don’t want to torture those legs, old man.” Running a hand through hair you’d sent spiking in all directions in your writhing, you dragged Dean’s head back on his neck, giving you a chance to meet his eyes, still the same dusted olive they’d been since that first wink. Long past the honeymoon stage when it was appropriate to do that kind of thing, you’d been content to spend hours searching them, cataloguing every spindly muscle of iris for posterity, trying to gather up every grain of him for when he inevitably was lost forever to a hunt or the solitude of the road.

           But here he was still.

           Here you were still. Living a life—living two selves—you never thought you’d get, lucky to have grown in and around each other like mangrove roots. Those eyes still every inch as beautiful, every spark of that electric heat still there now cloaked in layer after layer of what you’d built together: the complete trust and fanatical admiration he had of you flowing out like fountains of sunlight, strong enough they streamed through any raunchy waggle of his eyebrows.

           No time to think about it now with a hungry coil of desire tightening in your stomach. You traced the length of him with your fingertips, feather-light and teasing. “If you give me fifteen seconds to get my sea legs back I’ll show you who’s got tougher knees.”

           “All right, that’s it,” Dean said. He tipped his head forward and bit your bottom lip with that impossible pressure that made you whimper. “I’ll show you how old these knees are.”

           Before you could react, he’d put his shoulder below your sternum and thrown you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When you squealed he smacked your ass. “You’re going to wake up the girls,” he buzzed, starting toward your bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, you draped over his back.

           “Dean, Jesus Christ,” you giggled. “Get the clothes at least!”

            “Don’t need any jeans for what I’ve got planned—quit—squirming—or I’ll give you something to squirm about,” he continued, lowering his voice to a lascivious whisper and giving one of your upper thighs an impish bite as he headed up the stairs.

-

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[the-stressmushroom]

AFTG Headcanon #2

(I’m gonna be doing a few more of these for writing/idea practice)

TW: canon typical violence, blood

Neil, while being very attractive, does not have a perfect face. And I don’t mean the scars. Whenever I see fan art of Neil, he always has this super symmetrical and straight nose, and I just cannot believe that is the case.

Neil’s nose is crooked and has a large bump in the middle.

He first broke his nose when he was 8. He had been running around the kitchen, experiencing a rare moment of genuine childlike joy in the Baltimore house. His father was away for business and had taken Lola, Romero, and Patrick with him, leaving Neil alone with Mary and only Jackson guarding them. Neil didn’t pose much of a threat so Jackson stayed practically glued to Mary’s side. There was soft music playing throughout the house and Neil, Nathaniel then, was happily humming along as he did laps around the kitchen island. However, as one song bled into the next, he heard Mary shout followed by a big crash. As he whipped his head around to find the source of the noise, he lost his balance and fell headfirst into the marble counter top. His nose cracked, and he felt himself begin to cry. Mary had told him to stay out of trouble though, and he didn’t want to make her mad, so he went to the bathroom closest to his bedroom and locked himself inside. He tried desperately to keep the blood off of any light materials and sat prodding at his injured nose for about an hour before he squeezed it tightly, and tugged it straight. It hurt, but not nearly as much as his fathers hands or lolas knives. The bleeding stopped, so Neil did his best to clean up his mess and carry on with the rest of his day. His mom didn’t even question it when he came down for dinner that evening with swollen eyes and a purple nose; she couldn’t really talk with the bruises around her throat left by Plank.

The second time he broke his nose, it wasn’t his fault, and his name was Stefan. They were driving through the Swiss alps when a member of the Moriyama’s syndicate caught up with them. The roads were snowy and the 1972 Volvo they were stuck with did not make the best get away car. Despite Mary’s skill, the car spun out after hitting a patch of black ice on a particularly winding road. Neil couldn’t remember the car colliding with the tree, but he could remember the feeling of his mother’s freezing fingers snapping the cartilage back into place. He could remember the scream he tried and failed to bite back, and the slap he received for making too much noise. The slap jostled his nose and though it had been properly reset, that break never quite healed properly.

There was a third, fourth, and fifth time; all on the run as well, but the first time he broke his nose as a fox was different.

It was the second game of his Sophomore season. The Jackals had put up a hell of a fight, but the foxes had managed to pull out a win. When the final buzzer sounded, Neil pulled off his helmet and shook out his sweaty hair before looking to the score board; the 8-5 he saw there put a smile on his face. If he hadn’t been quite so distracted, he might have noticed the angry looking backliner for the jackals watching him. He might have noticed the ball being tossed in the air, and he might have noticed the racket swing that sent the ball hurdling towards his face. Andrew noticed. He noticed immediately but didn’t quite make it to Neil in time to push him out of the way. The court rang out with a deafening crack as the ball connected directly with the bridge of his nose. Andrew was over him as soon as he hit the ground, muttering a quick yes or no before pulling Neil’s head into his lap. The other foxes had thrown themselves at the Jackal player in question as soon as they saw Neil fall, but Andrew couldn’t be bothered. He gently touched Neil’s nose and dabbed at it slightly, trying to stop the blood from going into his mouth. Neil groaned and sat up, leaning back on his hands. The fight between the jackals and the foxes had ended with the offending jackal player being benched for the next two games thanks to a much deserved red card.

As his teammates began to circle him, checking in, asking him questions, Neil put a hand up to quiet them.

“Guys, I’m fine, I swear,” Neil said before reaching up and resetting his broken nose without so much as a flinch. “See, all good.” The foxes went deadly quiet.

“Neil,” Matt said softly, “that’s not all good. How do you know how to reset a broken nose?”

Neil blinked at Matt owlishly before responding, “cause I’ve done it a dozen times? To my mom and myself. Couldn’t go to hospitals while on the run and the nose is a very delicate part of the body.” This wasn’t the first time the foxes had heard something like this from Neil, but it didn’t make it any less heart breaking. Neil began to shift around in discomfort from all the eyes on him, and Andrew, as always, noticed right away.

“Come on junkie, you and I are doing press duty.” Neil nodded, his face blank, but he found himself able to breath easier thanks to the distraction. Andrew always knew exactly what Neil needed, always.

As the press conference came to an end, a lingering journalist asked for Neil’s opinion of the Jackals player who had, quite literally, taken a shot at him. Neil’s composure slipped slightly and he let out a laugh at the question before answering,

“If only they had aimed that well during the game, they might have won”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh beside him and grabbed Neil’s wrist before pulling him out of the press room, leaving the wrap up to Wymack.

“207%”

“Okay, but was I wrong?”

“208%, thin ice junkie.” Andrew said, before turning and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Neil’s very crooked and very swollen nose. “It’s time for you to go see Abby.”

Years down the line, Neil is having a particularly bad day and Andrew sits down next to him in their shared bathroom. He had found Neil on the bathroom floor with a hand mirror, a box of black hair dye and a fifth of whiskey, and decided enough was enough.

“Neil, you look nothing like your father.”

“Yes I do Andrew. Every time I look in the mirror, I see him. His eyes, his jaw, his hair-“

“Neil, I have an eidetic memory, I know what he looks like and I know what you look like. You do not look the same. The nose is all wrong.”

This puzzles Neil, he’d never really taken the time to look at his nose. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your nose is completely different from his. It throws off the resemblance completely. You do not look like him, and you never will.”

Neil signs, letting his head drop between his knees before bringing his fingers up to dance carefully across the bridge of his nose. “It is a little crooked isn’t he?” He says with a slight chuckle.

“Yes,” Andrew responds before taking Neil’s chin in the palms of his hands and bringing his face up so their eyes meet. “It’s perfect.”

Neil smiles at that, a soft smile that is typically only reserved for Andrew.

“Yes or no, Neil?” the words are softly muttered into the mere inches of space separating their lips.

“Yes,” Neil murmurs in response, closing his eyes and leaning forward into Andrew’s space. He’s expecting a kiss on the lips, so is surprised when Andrew delicately kisses his nose instead. He smiles and Andrew’s lip twitches upward in response.

“511% junkie.”

[crystalessenceswrites]

congratulations!!! <3 you deserve it. also, would you do prompts 8 & 52 from the “more nsfw” list for boba?

Thank you lovely anon!! Thank you for the request. I was hoping to have this out yesterday for May the 4th but honestly Revenge of the 5th seems a bit more appropriate for Boba anyways.

Boba Fett x fem!reader Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Warnings: Swearing, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, implied d/s relationship, some exhibitionism (don’t ask me where the fuck that came from), bratty reader and Boba being a bit of an ass

#8 “I don’t give two shits that we’re in public and people are watching” & #52 “use your words like a good girl”

You had never gone to Boba with the intention of acting up; you were familiar enough with his punishments and scoldings, and never willfully brought them upon yourself. There was just something about the bounty hunter that brought out your bratty side. Maybe it was the smug ego of his that always managed to get a rise out of you. Or maybe, deep down, you had a penchant for getting into trouble, pushing the boundaries he laid out for you. Either way, when you had made your way down to the throne room that evening, it had been with completely pure intentions. Boba had been away, taking care of business off world for a couple of weeks, leaving you to occupy yourself at the palace all by your lonesome. Normally after such trips Boba would return home to you and your shared bed. Neither of you would leave till both of you were properly sated and satisfied. For some reason Boba had not deemed that necessary today. Instead, he was off holding criminal court, overseeing his underground empire instead of fucking you into your mattress like you so desperately needed.

If he would not come to you then it left you no other option than to seek him out, or at least that was what you told yourself as you slipped into the smokey room. The party of the evening was in full swing, loud and crowded, with Boba spread out on his throne above it all. He swirled a glass of glowing spotchka in one hand, more for looks than anything, as he had yet to remove his beskar helmet. His dark visor did not venture in your direction, but you doubted he failed to notice your appearance.

No one dares to approach as you make you way up to the dais, slinking up to your lovers’ side as your gauzy dress flutters around you. His helmet tilts slightly as you settle onto the arm of the throne, but he remains silent, gaze fixed on the crowd.

He leaves you alone in your rooms, so you come down to see him, dressed to the nines and your best smile and he has the audacity to ignore you? It was like he wanted you to act up for him. Pouting, you drag one hand up his arm till your leaning on his pauldron, “Boba.”

“What, Princess?” he hums, helmet still fixed forward on the hazy room.

“I missed you Boba,” you would have batted your eyes at the man for extra effect but he’s not even giving you the time of day. “I was lonely up in bed all by myself.”

“Then maybe you should go upstairs and wait for me like a good girl, cyare.”

“Wait? I’ve been waiting Boba,” you whine.

His helmet tips up ever so slightly. He’s rolling his eyes at you. Kriffing ass. “I’ll be up soon.”

“Sure,” you puff, “soon.” Before you can go to stand and make a dramatic exit the world spins around you. One armor covered arm drags you down into the mandalorian’s lap. He situates you laying across him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other resting dangerously close to the apex of your thighs.

“Such a needy brat, whining and pouting in front of everyone when you don’t get what you want.” His condescending tone is low in your ear, crackling through his modulator. “Coming down here all dressed up just to distract me from my work. What am I going to do with you, brat?”

“I’m only needy because someone’s ignoring me so he can act like a big bad bounty hunter,” you snap back, arms crossed as you try to turn away in his hold.

“So we’re taking back now, are we?”

Your stomach drops at the dark shift in his voice, regret washing over you. That was a button you should not have pushed and here you were running straight into it.

“Boba-”

His grip tightens, warning you of your precarious position. “I don’t want to hear anything out of that pretty mouth of yours unless its an apology for your behavior.”

The idea rubs you the wrong way, he was the one trying to draw a rise out of you, per usual. Lips pressed into a line you shake your head. Screw Boba and screw his apology.

Chest rumbling, one gloved hand drags up the inside of your thighs. Warm leather brushes against your panties. “Someone needs a lesson then.”

“Here?” You don’t have to look out over the throne room to know your arrival had drawn the attention of most of the criminals in the room.

“Yes, brat. Here. I don’t give two shits that we’re in public and people are watching. Someone needs to remember who’s she’s talking to.” Shoving aside the soft fabric his thumb attacks your clit as one thick finger sinks between your lips. The first burning stretch draws tears to your eyes, pearling along your lashes. His hand may be buried under the layers of your skirt but its still painfully obvious to anyone who looks what the mandalorian is doing to you.

The thought is thrilling and terrifying as Boba continues to work you open on his fingers. Mewling you bury your face into the space between his helmet and pauldron. The two of you were not always discreet when it came to your relationship. More than once Boba had taken you in storage closets, down darkened hallways where your cries echoed out for anyone nearby to hear. Once he’d finger fucked you under a table in a cantina during a meeting with an informant, but this was something else entirely. This was an audience. While the thought of him staking his ever-possessive claim on you in front of the galaxy’s worst scum had you gushing around his gloved fingers it wasn’t what you wanted tonight. You wanted you and Boba, wrapped around each other in the dark safety of your own bed.

Bleary eyed you pull away from the comfort of Boba’s chest, “Boba…”

“Oh? Is someone ready to apologize now?” Helmet cocked to the side he slips a second finger into your sopping hole, his ministrations never ceasing.

Biting you lip to suppress a cry at the sudden addition you nod up at him, trying to meet his gaze through the dark T staring back.

“So, use your words like a good girl. You had so many of them earlier.”

You can picture the smirk behind the helmet, of so proud of himself for getting you to crumble around him so easily. It takes all the self-control you can muster not to snap, to not push back against that damned ego.

“I’m sorry I talked back to you Boba… and I’m sorry I was being a brat. I just missed you… a lot.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it, Princess?” he coos, rubbing his free hand along your sides in soothing circles.

“No, Boba…”

“Well then, why don’t we go upstairs at let me show you how much I missed you, pretty girl.”

Who were you to argue with that?

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if... Part2

(Amazed and honoured at the reception of this one! So very happy y’all enjoyed this little AU that I was NOT going to write xD And thank you for the reblogs and comments, you wonderful people you! <3

 For the record, I still blame you @phrenic-a and @mountevey And I see you encouraging them @novembermurray ! )

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if...

Part 1

Part 2

She’s lost her mind. Dulsissa has thought this very thought many times during these last three months, but stars above; she really must have lost her mind now.

The Mandalorian, Davarax, is a complete stranger. She doesn’t know anything about him, only some fragments about his children that she has a feeling are real but might as well not be. And here she is holding her son’s hand and following this man to his ship, fully prepared to board it with him and go some place she has no idea where is to stay with a people she has no clue who are.

“This is your ship?” Corin asks with slight disbelief when they come to a halt in front of it.

Like Davarax’ armor, the ship has seen better days.

Embarrassed by her son’s words, Dulsissia gives Corin’s hand a warning squeeze and sends him a stern look that makes him shrink a little and shuffle his feet.

-Think it, don’t speak it, she’s told him countless times. His honesty will cost him one day.

Davarax snorts an amused laugh, saunters forward to reach out and place an affectionate hand to the ship’s hull. He pets it a couple of times like it’s a living creature. “She might not be the fanciest, but..” The helmet turns to look back at Corin. “I can promise you, Corin, you won’t find a better ship in the Galaxy. The Razor Crest is tough, fast and loyal. Treat her right and she’ll look after you.”

The disdain in Corin’s eyes is replaced with awe. “Really?” He whispers.

“Really.” Davarax confirms, giving the ship a final pat before lowering his arm to press a button on his vambrace. There is a click and a hum and the ship opens a side door, lowering a ramp for them to enter. “Let’s go.”

Dulsissia smiles a little as she follows Davarax inside and how Corin now is pulling eagerly at her hand to make her hurry up. A magical ship is irresistible to a little boy, while she tries hard to ignore the scorch marks she sees on the hull and the ominous weapons attached to it.

Inside, the ship is a lot roomier than she expected it to be. The cargo area makes for a great playground for Corin. The sleeping quarters are narrow, but she doesn’t require much space and Corin even less so. The cockpit is fascinating, she’s never been in one before.

And neither has Corin.

“Baby, no.” Dulsissia reaches out to pull Corin away when he walks right up to the control panel after Davarax has found his place in the pilot seat and watches with utmost amazement as he starts flipping switches and pushing buttons to bring the ship to life. “Come here. Don’t bother Davarax.”

“It’s okay.” Davarax reassures her. He glances over at the boy. “You want to help, young sir?”

Corin nods, too overwhelmed to talk.

“Flip that one.” Davarax points at a tiny switch and Corin instantly reaches out and flips it. “Good job. And now press that button.” He lifts the boy up so he can reach the button in the ceiling.

Dulsissia bites her lower lip to keep from getting too emotional as she watches her son eagerly obey instructions and soaking up every bit of encouragement and praise from the Mandalorian, starved for both after all the years his father gave him none. It hurts to watch how such simple kindness from a man stuns Corin but it is also so good to see her son this happy. Maybe she didn’t lose her mind when she decided to go with Darvarax, maybe it was the one good choice she’s made since deciding to leave Macero? She hopes.

“Okay, ad’ika.” Davarax says. “The Razor Crest is awake. Time for you to get in your seat.” He nudges Corin, who reluctantly wanders over to the one seat left after his mother claimed the one behind Davarax. He climbs, with a little difficulty, up on it, and settles. A tiny boy in a big seat.

Dulsissia moves over to buckle him in and frowns. He’s too small. It won’t keep him safe at all.

Without looking over at them, Davarax makes some final adjustments on his panel. “Next to the seat. On the left. There’s this box he can sit on. I use that when I bring Din or Barthor along.”

Dulsissia blinks. It’s not something she’d picture a mercenary to have on his ship. But a peek down the side does indeed reveal a box and once Corin is sitting on that, he gets a better view, to his delight, and the belts actually fit him instead of choking him, to her relief.

The ship takes off and sets course for the darkness above. Dulsissia is not sorry to leave this place.

Now all she has to worry about is what Nevarro is like and how the Mandalorians will react to Davarax bringing home a stray and her offspring. She wonders if the other Mandalorians are like Davarax, if she will get to meet his children and most important of all; will Corin like it there?

-

The journey to Nevarro will take two standard days. It’s strange how two days on a small ship with her husband or her friends would have driven her insane, but the hours on board the Razor Crest feel safe and almost enjoyable as Davarax’ patience with her son’s continued craving for his attention and praise.

Every time her boy butts into whatever the Mandalorian is doing, calls for him to look at what he is doing instead, Dulsissia feels a stab of dread, waiting to hear the sharp annoyance that would always follow his attempts to reach his father, but every time Davarax replies with mild amusement and eternal patience. He even brings Corin along to ‘help’ with some repairs in the cargo area and leaves her to just rest or whatever she feels like doing.

With there being no place for the man to run off with her child, it’s not like he’ll jump into space with him, and a growing trust in Davarax, Dulsissia ends up sitting in the cockpit like an idiot and having no clue what to do. It’s been almost five years since she didn’t spend every second of her day hovering over Corin.

After what feels like a small eternity of just sitting there, listening to the muffled voices from the cargo hold, Dulsissia notices her reflection in the transparisteel and slowly lifts a hand to her blond locks. Oh, she looks a mess. No wonder Davarax had decided she needed help; she looks like a wookiee.

When Davarax and Corin returns to the cockpit, she has eased the final hairpin into place and her sweet boy lights up at the sight of her. He runs over, places his hands on her knees and looks up at her with a smile so bright it makes her smile as well. “Wow. You look really pretty, mommy.”

Davarax ruffles Corin’s hair as he walks by him on the way to the pilot seat. “She always does, ad’ika.”

Her face burns for some reason. Dulsissia pulls Corin up to sit on her lap and she changes the topic. “What does that mean? You keep calling him that.”

“It’s from my language. Mando’a.” Davarax replies, fidgeting with something on the panel to see if the repairs were successful. “It’s what we call our youngsters.”

Smiling, oddly pleased with the answer, Dulsissia looks down and sees Corin has gotten oil on his face and starts the battle of wiping it away while he tries to squirm free.

It’s not just Corin who gets to learn new things. On the second day, while her boy sleeps, Dulsissia takes out the blade Davarax had given her and tests the weight and feel of it. Wearing a dress restricts the movement of her legs a bit, so she’ll need to have a good idea of how to use her arms. Make the most of what she can use.

She feels stupid, waving the blade around, pretending to stab an invisible opponent, but Dulsissia gets so into it that she’s entirely unprepared for a hand suddenly gripping her wrist.

Startled, she flinches and almost drops the knife.

“Not like that.” Davarax’ voice says from behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach.

His gloved hand slides over her pale one and helps her turn the blade so she holds it in a reverse grip instead.

“Like this. It will give you more options during an attack and more power. More power to do more damage. Plus,” Davarax steps closer and slides his other arm loosely around her waist in a slight mimicry of how those men had grabbed her, “you can do this.”

The hand on hers adds a little pressure and makes her lower her arm in a careful swing until the blade goes by her thigh and the tip comes to a halt against the front of his thigh.

“And when the blade is in, you twist.” His voice is so calm. And so close. If not for the helmet, she suspects she’d feel his words on her neck. “Understand?”

Dulsissia gives a quick little nod. Her eyes probably as big as Corin’s tend to get around this man.

“Good.” Davarax lets her go and circles to stand in front of her. “Now, if someone approaches you from the front, what you should do is-”

She still feels silly, waving the blade around and Davarax letting her practice on him when he could disarm her without even looking her way, but at the end of that first session; Dulsissia knows where to aim and how to do as much damage as possible.

Also, when the Mandalorian hands out praise, she can’t blame her son for wanting more because she realizes that she hasn’t heard too much of that in her own lifetime either and it feels really, really good to finally think she’s not hopeless at least.

-

When they land on Nevarro, Dulsissia can’t help but to feel nervous again. She picks up Corin, who allows it with a resigned sigh, and holds him close while following Davarax off the ship. The journey has been another respite before facing her difficult situation, but it’s over now.

Time to find out what will be next for her and her baby.

Davarax leads her through the dusty city, Dulsissia places a protective hand on Corin’s head and shields him from seeing leers and sneers sent their way, and they finally reach a door that brings them underground to the hidden Covert of the Mandalorians.

It’s dark below and it takes a while for Dulsissia’s eyes to adjust so she doesn’t see them until she’s walking right by the other Mandalorians, who stand there, staring at her with emotionless t-visors.

Flinching with a startled sound, she jumps forward and nearly bumps into Davarax’ back.

“They won’t harm you.” Davarax says, not turning around or even slowing his walk. “You’re safe.”

Looking around as they walk, Dulsissia hopes he is right, because there are quite an amount of armored people there and they aren’t exactly rolling out a welcoming committee. “If you say so.”

In the depths of the tunnels, they approach what appears to be the seat of power, judging by the decorations and respectful behaviour of the ones there.

They have taken one step inside the room, it appears to some kind of a forge, when Davarax stops and Dulsissia follows his example. “Stay here.” He says. “Only speak when spoken to.”

She then watches in silence as he steps forward and walks over to kneel down in front of the forge where a Mandalorian in a golden armor and a fur cloak is working on something. Minutes pass and Dulsissia has to hoist Corin a couple of times as the boy really is getting heavy, but they all wait for what has to be the leader of the Mandalorians to finish whatever they are working on.

Finally the one in the golden helmet puts the hammer down, lingers and walks over to where Davarax is kneeling. “Did you complete your mission?”

Davarax reaches into the pocket of his belt, fishes out a handful of valuables and places them on the ground as an offering.

The leader looks at what he has brought, gives a thoughtful nod and then shifts her attention to Dulsissia. “And you have brought something else to the Covert as well.”

“They need a place to stay. Somewhere safe.”

“A foundling is always welcome.” The leader replies in a neutral voice. “This other one does not look like a warrior.”

“She has the makings of one.” Davarax counters in an equally neutral voice. “She will be my responsibility. Both of them.”

“Very well.” The leader says, but she does not sound pleased. “This is the way.”

“This is the way.” Davarax echoes. He gets up and walks out of the room, only pausing to give Dulsissia’s arm a light touch to signal her to follow him. She does.

Once they are at a certain distance from the room and the leader, Dulsissia hoists Corin, who she suspects is too scared by these new surroundings to say anything, and voices her thoughts. “She doesn’t want me here.”

Davarax does his little trademark huff of a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dulsissia sighs and hoists Corin a little again. Her arms are burning. She does not expect Davarax to come to an abrupt halt, forcing her to stop as well, and turn around to hold out his arms.

“Give him to me.”

Dulsissia clutches Corin a little closer and stares at him with surprise at his betrayal.

His helmet tilts a little and Davarax is the one to sigh. “Just until I can show you your room.”

She hesitates for several seconds. What convinces her is Corin pushing away from her and reaching out to him, and only then does Dulsissia hand her son over to the Mandalorian and awkwardly wraps her arms around herself instead.

Corin quickly settles on Davarax’ arm and looks around with bright, curious eyes from his new and taller perch.

The Mandalorian reaches out his free hand and gently touches by her shoulder. “Come.” He says, not unkindly. “Let me show you where you’ll stay.”

-

The door slides open. Stepping inside, Davarax following her with Corin, Dulsissia looks around and finds it small and modest but far cleaner and inviting than some of the inns she and her son have stayed at during these last weeks. There are no windows, but there is a light in the ceiling.

There are two beds, a rickety looking table and some hooks in the wall to hang clothing on.

“It’s not much, I know.” Davarax sounds a bit awkward. “But it will be yours.” Dulsissia looks over at him with a grateful smile. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Davarax turns sideways and points at the door they can see across the hallway. “That’s me. If you need anything.” He puts Corin down on his own two feet and lets him run over to climb into the closest bed and start jumping on it.

“Corin, baby, no.” Dulsissia says, meeting the defiant look he sends her way with a stern look of her own and feels a smug sense of victory when the boy sits down with an annoyed huff. She can then turn her attention back to Davarax. “You have done so much for us already. How can I ever repay you?”

He seems surprised by her words and it takes a second before he shakes his head. “There is nothing to repay. You don’t owe me anything. Neither does your boy. I just want you two to be safe.”

Dulsissia has to turn away to hide her eyes flooding with tears. She’d given up on there being decent people in the Galaxy and then she had to stumble across the most noble of them all?

“I’ll, uh, give you some time to settle in. Get some rest.” Davarax mumbles, backing out of the room. “I’ll be back later. I’ll see if I can get you some spare clothes. I know there are some for Corin. And then I’ll show you two around. Sounds good?”

“Will you show me the training room?” Corin asks with badly hidden hope.

“Absolutely, young sir.” Davarax replies with a bow that has Corin giggle with delight.

When the door slides shut behind the Mandalorian, Dulsissia walks over to sit next to her sweet boy and combs her fingers through his thick, dark hair. “We are going to stay here for a while, baby. Okay?”

Corin nods eagerly and gives her another gap-toothed smile. “Yeah! Dav’rax gonna show me where he trains to fight bad guys. Maybe he can teach me too?”

“We’ll see.” Dulsissia replies, unwilling to make any promises on behalf of the man. While she’d prefer her son to never see battle in his lifetime, she’s not stupid. Once she chose to leave Seswenna, she condemned them both to an existence where they both will have to learn to defend themselves.

She and Corin explore the room, discover there is a barely visible door on the western wall that leads to what has to be the Galaxy’s tiniest refresher room, and they play-fight over who gets which bed, but in the end there isn’t all that much to do but wait for Davarax to return.

When there finally is a knock on the door, both Dulsissia and Corin eagerly jump to their feet and is equally pleased to see the now almost familiar Mandalorian. Dulsissia is fairly certain she’d be able to recognize his helmet and armor in a sea of others at this point.

Davarax holds out a small pile of clothes. “This will at least give you something to change into.”

Accepting the gift, Dulsissia manages another smile, despite once again feeling the bite of humiliation. She thinks about the gorgeous dresses she used to wear. The adorable outfits she had made for Corin. She’ll probably be the first Motti to ever use second-hand clothing… Then she snaps out of it and clutches the clothes close with a sense of appreciation instead. “Thank you.”

“And you, ad’ika, are you ready to check out your new home?” Davarax asks Corin.

“Yes, sir!” Corin replies, back straight and eagerness barely contained.

The Covert, as she understands it is called, is a complicated network of hallways and tunnels. It used to be the old sewers of Neverro, Davarax explains and Dulsissia tries not to shudder. At least Macero won’t think to look for them here.

The other Mandalorians are still staring quietly at her, but the ones Davarax introduces her to give her a polite nod at least. They don’t seem hostile, but they aren’t exactly brimming with hospitality either. Dulsissia suspects that maybe they don’t get too many visitors in their underground home.

She minds her manners, tries to not offend anyone and considering that none of them draw their frankly intimidating blasters says she might not be doing the worst job of it. Dulsissia used to be so very good at socializing. She was the queen of all the balls back on Seswenna. Now she’s only hoping not to offend.

“And I saved the best for last.” Davarax says with the excitement she usually hears from her son. He stops by a door, turns to face her and lets his hand over over the button to open. “My kids.”

Dulsissia has just enough time to feel both surprise and nervousness and then the door slides open.

-

Lined up in a neat row, clearly having been given firm instructions to be followed when Davarax brought her and her son, four children stand in the middle of what looks like a training room and stare at the new arrivals.

The one of the left has to be Paz. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was sixteen, not eleven. He’s a lot taller than the others, but lacks the lankiness that would usually follow such an early height growth. He has the powerful bones to carry the height, but a child’s face. Paz’ dark hair is cut entirely short except for the unruly spikes on top, his mouth is a thin, disapproving line and his big hands are clenched. Next to him, barely reaching his team-mate’s shoulder, is the one that has to be Barthor. He has curly, dark hair that is getting a bit long, scarecrow shoulders and sharp eyes that are locked on Dulsissia like he’s seeing her with a crosshair on her forehead. Next to him is definitely Raga. Like Barthor, she’s small and skinny, but she has the most amazing hair Dulsissia has ever seen. It is a wild mess, but the volume and the curls are stunning. Too bad the glare behind the mane warns her that she’ll get her fingers bit off if she so much as tries to touch it. And then, half hidden behind Raga, is the one Davarax keeps referring to as ‘little Din’. He’s not especially small for his age, but he appears to be a lot more timid than the others. He is very cute, though, with silky dark hair and soulful eyes.

Davarax walks over and starts introducing each child. Dulsissia is pleased to hear she’s guessed right about their identities and gives a brief curtsy. “Pleased to meet you. I am Dulsissia.”

Silence.

Davarax reaches out and pokes a finger at Paz’ head. “Hey.”

Paz’ nose twitches, like a hound about to bare its teeth, then he reluctantly steps forward until he stands in front of her and he reaches out a hand. “I’m honoured to meet you.”

Trying to hold back an amused smile and failing to a certain degree, Dulsissia takes his hand and he shakes hers with a stern look on his little face, trying so hard to act like an adult. She has to stop herself from hugging him. It’s so cute.

Barthor gives her a nod, which is good enough for her but gets an annoyed sigh from Davarax. Raga moves forward, Din following her like a tail, and she seems more interested in something behind Dulsissia.

What… Oh. Right.

Dulsissia reaches back and ushers Corin out from his hiding place. “This is Corin. Say hello Corin.”

“Hello.” He says in a tiny voice, looking from one to the other and probably feeling like prey. She doesn’t blame him. He hasn’t really played with other children before. Macero didn’t think it would be good for him to mix with others. And these ones are already being trained to be warriors.

Paz frowns and crossed his arms. “Are you going to take the Creed?”

Corin blinks. “I…”

“They are going to stay with us. That’s all you need to focus on, Paz.” Davarax replies.

“Is he going to train with us?” Barthor asks, his eyes still too sharp for someone so young.

“We haven’t decided that yet.” Davarax says and glances over at Dulsissia.

“He should play with us.” Raga says, her lip curling in something that could be a smile but is mostly a flash of teeth. When Corin shuffles to partially hide behind Dulsissia’s leg, Raga doesn’t move but her eyes move with him.

“He is going to play with you.” Davarax says and stalks forward until he’s standing next to Raga, towering over her. “And you’re all going to be nice to him. Understand?”

The girl scowls up at him. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re not.” Barthor scoffs.

Raga’s mess of a hair bounces as she snaps her gaze over at him and he shuffles over to partially hide behind the still stern-looking Paz.

“She’s going to be nice to my son,” Dulsissia says, her voice sweet and her eyes not, “because he has a mother who will have words with everyone who isn’t nice to him.”

Raga shifts her scowl over to Dulsissia, scans her, scowls harder, but when Dulsissia doesn’t give her an inch, she sighs and her little body relaxes. “Fiiiiine.”

And while all of this is happening, little Din silently watches Corin from his hiding place and Corin curiously looks back at him from his.

-

“I told them to behave.” Davarax grouses as he’s bringing her to where she can find food for herself and Corin.

Laughing, Dulsissia glances down at where her son is walking next to her, holding on to her hand and looking around with curiosity, not fear. “I think it went well.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Davarax sighs and there is actual sadness to the sound. “The others call them lost causes. Troublemakers. I know they are difficult, that their manners aren’t like Corin’s, but.. They are good kids. They really are. I wanted you to see that.”

Dulsissia reaches out and places her hand on his upper arm where there is no armor. And she speaks the truth. “I did see that.”

Davarax comes to an abrupt halt, she does the same, and despite the t-visor she can feel the look of surprise on his face.

“You… did?” There is a fragile hope in his voice that doesn’t match his rough exterior.

Dulsissia nods and smiles. “It’s like you said, Paz watches over the others like they were ‘his’ children. He did not hesitate to protect Barthor from Raga. Barthor, who would not let Raga lie and trick my son. Raga, who didn’t care that my son was an outsider and just saw him as someone to play with. And sweet little Din who despite his fear wanted so much to say hello. I think he and Corin will get along so well. And…” She hesitates, looks down at her son but finds him distracted by staring at something down the hallway and has no excuse not to say what else she saw. Dulsissia looks back up at Davarax, who is waiting for her to finish. “And I saw just how much those children love you.”

Davarax stares at her.

“You are the world, the entire Galaxy to them.” Dulsissia says, remembering the look of pure adoration and love in their eyes as he mildly chastised them for acting like tree monkeys in front of their visitors. She doubts he understands how important his role is to these children. How their happiness hangs on his words. How they will do anything for his approval. “My parents ruled our house with an iron fist. But these children? They don’t obey you because they have to or because they fear you. They do it because they love you. Because you see them.”

He shivers and the only reason she knows is because her hand is still on his arm.

“Dulcy, I…” Davarax reaches up and covers her hand with his.

“I know bad men, Davarax. I know monsters pretending to be men. But you?” Dulsissia looks over at how his hand is holding on to hers, so gently despite the strength she knows he must be capable of. “You are a good man. You are the kind of man I wish Corin had for a father.”

Davarax takes a step closer, is suddenly very close and the muscles in his arm tighten under her palm. “Is he the one you are running from?”

Dulsissia tenses up and looks down at her son. Corin is still caught up in whatever he’s staring at.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Davarax says ever so softly. “I just want to help you.”

“I know.” Dulsissia whispers. She doesn’t want to say Macero’s name. It’s stupid, but she fears if she does; it might summon him. “That is what makes you a good man.”

A light touch to her chin and Davarax’ other hand lifts her face to look up at him and there is a slight smile in his voice when he speaks. “I’m not ‘that’ good.”

Dulsissia giggles. She hasn’t giggled in years. And her face flushes.

“I’m hungry.” Corin declares.

Davarax jumps back a step and Dulsissia jumps in place and they both look down at the little boy like guilty teenagers.

“I-I’m sorry, baby. We’ll get you something to eat now.” Dulsissia stammers, her face heating up even more.

“Food. Yes. This way.” Davarax clears his throat and gestures for them to follow him.

They enter the room where food is stored, Davarax shows them where the fires are so she can cook if she feels like it and basically where all the other necessities of the Covert are.

By the time the tour comes to an end by the door to their room, Corin is exhausted and Dulsissia knows she won’t struggle finding sleep either. Still, she’s almost a little reluctant to part ways with Davarax when he pauses outside their door.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asks.

“I was hoping that you might want to bring Corin by training.” Davarax says. “He can observe for a while. Maybe try some exercises. Training is the best way for the children to burn off their energy and learn skills as the city above is not safe for them.”

Dulsissia nods. “I will bring him.” She hesitates, knowing he must be tired of hearing her say it but still has to; “Thank you.”

Davarax shakes his head, reaches out and gingerly tucks a golden lock behind her ear. “No thanks required.” He backs up a step, nods and spins around to march over to his door. He keeps pressing the button to his room so the door opens and shuts twice before he can actually get inside.

Late at night, curled up on her side in her bed, looking over at the barely visible silhouette of her son’s back in the other bed, Dulsissia knows she made the best decision ever by coming here.

[nakedmossy]

Golden Hour ☼

A Triple Frontier Story - Part 1/?

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Molly [reader] has been living on the beaches of Mexico for the last 3 years since being honourably discharged from the army and leaving her fiance back in Texas. Riddled with PTSD, she went on a bender, ending up in a small coastal farming town in the Yucatan. Forced into early retirement despite being the best sniper in her company and all the trauma that came with that responsibility, she has worked hard to obtain peace in her new life. She was closer than ever to fully achieving it, that is, until her ex-crew member and lifelong friend, Will Miller, showed up with a proposition to bring her out of retirement for one last job with the boys. -----------------------------

The sun was hovering around the horizon, beating down on the beach as the water lapped the shore. You rolled the dirty cup around in the dishwater absentmindedly, scrubbing the dried coffee off the sides, letting your hands soak. It had been an easy day, a 5am rise for a morning surf, a bike ride to the market to pick up some fruit, and a mid day Dive to a wreck site with some tourists. All-in you had pocketed around $50, including tips, and a complimentary phone number from the bachelor who had tried to frisk you while you filled the tanks on the dock. It would get you enough food to last through to the weekend, and if it didn't, well, you could always call the bachelor tourist for dinner.

You were caught up in a daydream when you heard something rolling in through the bush, the sounds of the studded tires reverberating off of the rock and palm trees, the sand and jungle brush cracking and moving, the dull hum of the engine. You tipped your head closer to the window over the sink to see a slick black motorbike come to a stop near your hitch, a large muscular figure hooking his helmet on the handlebar before jumping off and walking towards your trailer door. Your hand hovered over the sidearm you kept loaded on your kitchen counter.

“Hey Sweet Cheeks” The voice shouted, the silhouette keeping its arms and hands visible.

Your stomach dropped. No way. The voice belonged to the boy who had pinched your ass as a kid, annoyed your ass as a teen, saved your ass as a new recruit in the army, and more than once grabbed your ass at the bar while you squeezed your ass into a tight dress. You froze for a moment before you looked out your window and saw him standing at your trailer door, waiting.

You opened it abruptly, swinging it hard enough that it hit the side of the trailer with a loud clank. You kept your arm out to keep it wide, surveying the sight in front of you with a shocked expression, your chest rising and falling in shallow, tight breaths of disbelief. He did the same, his eyes travelling up from your bare feet, along your tanned legs, to your jean shorts and your braless tank top, all the way to your shaded eyes.

“Will Miller” You spoke, his name like a muscle memory in your mouth. “What the fuck are you doing here.”

You took three long seconds before you smiled, then you practically jumped out of your trailer and into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist, laughing uncontrollably in surprise and excitement. He squeezed you tight, one hand around your hips, the other on the back of your head, compressing you into his muscular frame. He let out a low growl of contentment while he nuzzled his head into your hair.

“Good to see you Molly” He mumbled.

You squeezed him with as much strength as you could muster before he let you slide down, your feet hitting the sand below. You brought a hand up to shade your eyes, the sun beaming directly in your eyes from behind his shoulder. You knew his face like the back of your hand, you had grown up with it chasing after you with spiders and nerf guns, then spent 10 years in active service being chased by cockroaches and real guns. You hadn’t seen him since you moved to Mexico.

“What are you doing here, man!” You laughed, you couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t changed at all, aside from a few new laugh lines around his mouth. His smile was reserved as usual, but unabashed.

“Oh, you know….I was in the area” He winked and looked around, snickering. Your end of the beach was cut off to tourists and hardly even accessible to locals. You weren’t even sure how they got a trailer there in the first place. It was as visibly remote as you could get in the Yucatan these days.

“How did you…find me here?” You watched him watching you closely, like he was looking for something.

“A local kid working at the market. I asked for directions to the little local Turkey with yellow hair and he practically drove me here himself.” He grinned with mischief and dodged my hand as I smacked him. “He seemed to know who I was, too.” He looked at you expectantly, which made you giggle to yourself.

Your friends son, Erik, was one of the few kids who spoke clean English and visited often. You had helped him with his math tests last year and he had agreed to cut you firewood for a year. He had seen the picture of you and your crew in your trailer and demanded stories around the fire every time he came by. He asked about Will the most.

“I can’t believe you’re here right now.” You said, stricken with shock again and unable to gather yourself. “Whats it been…2, 3 years?”

“2 years and 5 months” Will said quietly, smiling at you. “You look younger somehow”

“Yeah, well, that’s the tequila and the saltwater for ya. Stick me back in Iraq and strap a rifle on my chest, ill age 10 years in front of your very eyes”

Will nodded with a knowing smile and looked around, checking out your decaying trailer and old truck, his eyes settling on the boat overturned on the beach, which you were in the midst of patching and doing engine maintenance on.

You shared a quiet moment together, taking each other in, before he smiled again and open his arms for another hug. “Come’ere kid”

He squeezed you again and this time found your butt, pinching it.

“Fucki-OUCH” You wailed, pulling away and smacking his chest. He laughed like a little boy and bounced away a step, stretching his arms and sighing, relaxed.

“So,” You said after a few moments of silence, before stepping back and pacing in a half circle once. “You want a drink?”

He smiled at you and you felt your head spin. It was the same familiar smile he used to give you when you were kids and you couldn’t reach something or you needed his help lifting something. Not patronizing, just…pleasantly amused.

“Yeah, a drink would be nice.”

“Grab a chair, i’ll be right back” You motioned to the seats surrounding the fire pit that was on the edge of the sand. He turned and walked towards them and you felt your chest tighten. You could never calm down when he was around, staring at you, his physical presence was overwhelming. Even still, after all this time. After everything that had happened in the war, your breath caught when he smiled.

When you came back out with two glasses of bourbon, neat, he had his feet perched toe to heel and was leaning back, enjoying the view of the ocean.

“Pretty okay view to wake up to” You said, handing him his drink. You saluted each others glasses and he smiled, looking back out at the water.

“Unreal. I wouldn’t leave.”

“I don’t” You winked.

“So how did you end up here anyways” He took a drink and savoured it, balancing the glass on the armrest.

You took a long, deep breath and leaned back in your chair before exhaling quickly and looking around.

“I came down after Pete and I.…after I left. He took the house, I took…my shit, and I split.” You laughed bitterly, rubbing your eyebrow. “I don’t know. I went rogue for a bit and woke up here one morning after a bender, just never left.”

Will was quiet for a few moments, considering what you said, before speaking.

“Did things end badly - with Pete?” He was watching you intently.

You held his gaze boldly, amidst your discomfort regarding the topic, your face a blank canvas.

“No” You lied, forcing a smile.

His eyes narrowed slightly but he looked back at the water and took another drink.

“What’re you doing to make money?”

“Lots. Pole dancing, escorting. Selling drugs.”

You were mostly kidding about the last part, but you had sold a couple bags of weed to some of the local teenagers after you found out they were buying it from the cartel - trying to keep their names out of the streets as long as you could before they inevitably got recruited.

He was looking at you again, his face dark now, a shadow of the light hearted kid you had gone to prom with.

“Seriously, Mol. What are you doing down here.”

“Getting interrogated apparently. Calm down, Ironhead. Nothing illegal.” But when he didn’t budge you continued “Im a Dive Master, I take tourists out to some of the reefs every couple of days to pay the rent, and I help out at some of the farms on the off season.”

Half satisfied by your half answers he swirled his drink and took a sip.

“Enough about me, care to explain what you’re doing down here? Turning up at sundown like an old friend?” You watched him closely, observing his posture, noticing the hilt of his sidearm poking out the side of his t-shirt.

“Working” He said bluntly, returning your snarky smile with an equally shaded answer. “Recruiting.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you sat deeper in your chair, unbelieving how crassly he was owning up.

“Unbelievable. Just right down to business eh? You turn up here after 2 years, sorry, 2 years and 5 months and you don’t have the courtesy to wait 10 minutes before you pull this shit? No.” You said firmly. “No. Im retired."

He nodded, then leaned forward and downed the rest of his drink, placing the glass at his feet and resting his elbows on his knees. He watched you with such an intensity that you shifted in your seat and looked away.

“Mol, look at me.”

You sneered and looked at him, your hat shading your eyes from the setting sun, but barely.

“Its a 2 day job at most. 1 day and a single shot if we’re clean-”

“No” You cut him off, leaning forward to stand up.

“Its 5 million USD” He said quickly, stopping you from walking away. “Each.”

You took a deep breath and waited, considering sitting back down. You stayed standing. You tilted your head to the side and lifted your hand to your mouth.

“Who” You said quietly, not wanting to give him the impression you were seriously considering it.

“Juarez.”

You choked you had laughed so hard and so quick. You sat down abruptly on the edge of your chair, looking at him like he had two heads.

“No way. Not a chance. Are you kidding?”

He said nothing, just watched you and raised his eyebrows, the words ‘5 million’ written across his forehead like a banner. When it was clear he wasn’t joking you leaned forward, matching his posture, ducking your head down until you had his eyes squared with yours.

“Listen to me. There’s dangerous, there’s what we did in the army, and then there’s that.” You waited for a reaction that never came. You pressed on. “Will, I have been down here for 3 years. Living, working, fucking with these people. Juarez isn’t just a cartel boss who cuts fingers off and mails them to the victims kids on their birthdays. He systematically brings down monarchies. He beheads children. That man is a fucking monster.”

Will sat firm, his jaw set, not breaking eye contact. He was challenging you, as he had a million times before, only this time neither of you were in uniform and both of you had level playing ground. He wasn’t your superior officer, and you weren’t his sniper.

“We’ve dealt with worse.” He said finally.

You broke eye contact and looked at your bare feet planted in the sand, your tanned skin smooth and warm. No scars, no combat boots, no dust. Freedom. What you had worked for your whole life.

“Its 5 million, Mol. One target, one shot. Nothing more. Freedom for the rest of your life.”

“I already have that. Look around” You put your arms out, the whole of the beach and your paradise encapsulated in them, rage tickling under your skin. “5 million aint worth giving this up, 5 billion wouldn’t even be.”

He looked around and back at your trailer, at the rusting metal and the fraying tarps, before setting his gaze on your arm, on the scar that ran up it, and finally back to your eyes.

“Hows the Physio down here.” He said darkly. “Your off season farm job’s health insurance covering it?”

You flinched like he had hit you, your eye flickering as the memory of the bullet cutting through your arm and shattering the bone blazed like fire in your peripheries.

“Fuck you, Will.” You said finally, your voice cracking when you said his name. You stood up and pushed past him, walking towards your trailer. Subconsciously you held your arm and rubbed it, the phantom pain lingering. The deep and permanent damage had bothered you every day since you obtained the injury 6 years ago, on one of the last missions you had done with Will and the crew before they retired.

“Molly” Will grabbed your arm from behind, pulling you to a stop, and you winced. Not from pain, more from recognition. “Im sorry” He said intently, his eyes searching yours.

“I can’t” You said finally, your posture strong and your eyes set. You were still muscular and built like you were in active duty, but so was Will. “Even if I wanted to - I can’t.”

Will took a step closer, his breath almost on your face now.

“Why not” He pushed.

“Because” You spit back at him “I can’t use a scope. Or Binoculars. My heads fucked up.”

Wills eyebrows knit together and he looked over your head with his gaze, face taught with confusion.

“What’you mean?”

You shrugged and licked your bottom lip, looking away from his prying eyes.

“I had an accident a few years ago. I got a concussion that fucked with my equilibrium, haven’t been able to use binoculars or a scope properly since.”

You took a breath and straightened your back, setting your jaw. If he was going to play hard ass, then so were you. Fuck his intimidation tactics, you had learned how to deal with those in elementary school. He would have to try harder.

“Service?”

You shook your head, your lips pursed.

“After I left”

“What happened?”

Your eye flickered again, the memory of Pete attacking you and knocking you down a flight of stairs, your head cracking off the banister, still as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

“I fell.”

Will, visibly agitated now, shifted his weight to his other foot. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know, probably because I didn’t expect you to come down here and try to recruit me to whack the leader of my neighbourhoods biggest cartel?”

“Mol, im your friend, you shou-“ He started, but you backed up, shaking your head.

“Oh yeah? And where have you been? Last time I checked a prerequisite for friendship was checking in once in a fucking blue moon.”

Will bared his teeth in frustration and took a deep breath, looking down at his feet with his hands on his hips.

“Was it Pete?”

You didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Will’s hands covered his face and he groaned audibly, rubbing them into his hair in frustration.

“Molly. I have like 5 minutes left in me before I pull the fuse line to your propane, light a match, and drag your ass out of here on the back of my fucking bike. Come for drinks. Hear us out. Please.”

“Us?”

“They’re all here, waiting at the bar.”

You shook your head, smiling bitterly. Of course they were.

“There are better soldiers out there. Better snipers out there. Go recruit one of them.”

“Not true. You never missed a shot.”

“I missed once” You started, your voice lowering reflexively. “And you know what shot I missed.”

He held your eyes as the memory lingered in the air between you, the sound of the bullet hitting the body of the child behind your target would be something you took to your grave. It haunted every minute of every day.

“Molly, come on. Look at you. You’re living in a dump trailer with a half broke boat and a fucking peddle bike. You’re better than this and you know it.”

“Im not better than shit. Don't feed me that 'we were warriors' crap. I was a girl who was good with a gun, and I killed people. And now i'm broken. Thats the truth."

“MOL, I NEED YOU-” He yelled now, his hand shaking. The outburst took you off guard and you stepped back, your face slack. Will grabbed his hand and rubbed it, turning around and sighing deeply before facing you again. “Molly, I need you to hear us out. Come have a drink in town, listen to Pope’s plan. Please.”

You were still on guard from his outburst but you closed your mouth, your eyes dropping to his hand, which still shook lightly. PTSD was a tricky motherfucker.

You blinked silently a few times before raising your eyes to his again, a silent moment of recognition passing between you. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t seriously asking for help, and the rest of the crew wouldn’t be waiting if there wasn’t already a good plan in place.

“They’re all here? Redfly?”

Will nodded, his jaw tight.

“Fine” You said then, swallowing your pride and knowing you would regret it. “One drink.”

“One drink” Will repeated, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“But Will,” You interrupted his budding smile and took a step so your faces were close again. “I wasn’t joking. Im not the shot I used to be. If we do the Recon and I tell you I can’t do it, that’s it. Im out. Full stop.”

Will blinked a few times as his eyes drifted down your face to your mouth and back up, his eyebrow twitching.

“I understand, Mol” was all he replied.

----

[lordabovehelpme]

Hello Lordy, I hope you are well ❤ Since apparently Din is Mandalore's ruler and he and Bo-Katan must fight to the death for the Darksaber and the power over Mandalore, what if the Reader fights Bo-Katan but to take Din's hand in marriage? Reader wins and lets Bo live or whatever you want it to end

Marry Me?- Din Djarin x Reader

A/n: Okay, so I kind of made an AU for this. Practically, Mandalore is still under control of the mandalorian monarchy. And so, Din is king and the elders are like his advisors. Hopefully this makes sense. If this is totally not what you had in mind, please reach out and I can do something else. :) 

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

The sound of your knock echoes through the hall. A gruff “come in” greets you from behind the closed doors. Slowly, you slide between them and shut them after.

“Good morning, my King.” You bend at the waist and lower your head to him. He turns to look at you and behind the helmet a smile breaks loose.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Din?” He walks over and places his gloved fingers below your chin, pulling your head to look up at him.

You smile, willing the heat in your cheeks to freeze. “Probably a handful more.” The two of you just look at each other for a while, his hand never leaving it’s spot. But then the event of the day breaks your trance. Pulling away from his touch, you walk over to his closet. “What do you want to wear for this big day?”

His head tilts slightly, “Big day?”

“Yeah, all the fun ladies are going to fight for your hand.” Throwing him a mischievous glance, you pull one of his capes from its hanger and wrap it around you. “Oh King,” you throw your hand over your forehead and make your voice two pitches higher. “Please my King, marry me. I’ll warm your bed and stand next to you all pretty.” Grabbing his crown from off of its stand, you place it on your head. “Let me wear your crown and steal all your money.” Clutching your hands together, you bat your eyes at him.

“What are you doing?” You don’t know it, but behind the crossed arms and low baritone of his voice, his heart flutters with the idea.

You turn to him and gawk. “I’m being your future wife. Din, as much as I love you, any woman who is going to fight for your hand wants your money and your power. Come on, is this another one of those moments where your brain goes all…” your hands frantically move in the air, trying to form the word on the tip of your tongue, “mando on me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shrugging your shoulders, you hand him his crown.

“I don’t know, I just… There are moments where you are the most brilliant man and yet here we are, hours before women go around battling each other to be your wife. There just seems to be better options for this.”

He sighs and places the crown atop his helmet, pulling the cape from your body and letting it fall from his shoulders. “You know this is the only way. This has been the way since the beginning of mandalore. I can’t just change it because you think it’s terrible.”

Frowning you look at him, “I think it’s terrible? You don’t?” When he offers you no response you throw your hands up in frustration. “Maker Din, we’ve been friends since childhood, I thought I knew you, but apparently not.” Walking over to the doors, you turn and glare at him. “People are going to die today, unnecessary bloodshed, and even though you can stop it, you won’t. Fine, my King,” Your voice is laced with malice, “do what you want. But don’t you dare come crawling to me when your wife gives you a run for your money.” Slamming the doors behind you, you walk away from his chambers, tears starting to run down your face.

***

“Don’t talk to me, I’m still mad at you.” Sitting down beside him, you glance down at the arena below.

“You know I can’t do anythi-”

“You can, you’re just too scared to do it.”

He turns, his visor trained on your face. You can tell he wants to say something but the loud sound of a horn interrupts him.

Female warriors line up, but the one that really strikes you is Bo-katan. She’s known for her ruthless style of fighting. You swear she’s never even heard the word mercy. Biting your lip, your stomach turns in nausea, something bad is going to happen.

Her eyes lock onto yours and she lifts her chin, trying to dominate you. She is the last person you would want for Din to marry. The other women can be tolerated, in fact, even a few you would be happy if they won, but not her.

Even when the horn blares again, her piercing gaze never leaves yours. Finally, she puts her helmet on and walks out of the arena, preparing for her own fight.

“I hate this.” Two females enter, each given a spear of beskar. Their names are announced by one of the elders of the kingdom. The mandalorian next to you, does nothing to show his acknowledgment. The women bow and erupt into a fast dance for dominance.

The clang of beskar on beskar rings through the area and makes you bite your lip harder. As soon as it starts, it ends, the larger woman is on the ground, the other holding a spear to her throat. Thankfully, you watch as the woman holds her hands up in defeat and walks out of the arena.

Another warrior walks in, grabbing the spear and bows as the elder tells her name to anyone who will listen. Just as before, they bow and start their own waltz.

***

It’s down to the last two women. A younger female who you have crossed paths with a few times. From those times you know she is nice and sweet, however a little too heart driven for your taste. But it's the woman who stands across from her that makes your blood pump and your heart stop.

Bo-katan.

You watch as her helmet turns to you, her visor trained on you for a second longer than you’d ever like, and she turns back to the other warrior. They bow and the crowd roars, but not even the cries can cover the sharp clang.

Both women fight violently and strongly. Din’s elbows rest on his knees, allowing his head to be held up by his hands. But then, a cry of pain echoes throughout the arena, making your heart clench.

Bo-katan has directed a nasty stab to the woman's thigh, making her kneel onto the ground.

You watch in horror as she kicks the woman onto her back, knocking the spear from her hands. Using her foot, she lifts the helmet from the fallen warriors head. Her eyes are blown wide in fear. The entire kingdom has grown silent, on edge for Bo-katan's next move.

She raises the spear above her head, tip angled for the woman's forehead. Your body moves before your mind even comprehends what is happening. Flying from your seat, you jump into the arena. Grabbing the discarded spear, you sprint for the women in the center.

The sun glints off of Bo-katan's helmet as she pierces the spear down, throwing all her weight behind her swing.

Clang!

No one moves, even the birds stop their song. Your chest heaves as you push against her attack. You’ve placed yourself atop the injured female, spear held horizontally. Somehow you made it in just enough time to spare the woman's life. Both beskar spears are held against each other, neither one attacking or retreating.

Bo-katan brings the spear to her side and backs a few steps away. She starts circling you as you stand. Looking down at the hurt woman, you flash her a quick smile. “Go, please, while you can. You fought bravely, just please, leave.”

She nods her head, before grabbing her helmet and running as fast as her legs will carry her with the gash in her thigh.

“Well look who we have here, the King’s play thing.” She looks up to Din and the elders by his side. Yelling up to them, she exclaims, “You need to put her back on her leash, no use having a pet who won’t respond to you.”

You glare at her, holding your spear ready for her attack. Knowing her, it will happen as soon as you let your guard down. Your eyes flicker to Din. He is standing, talking to the elders by his side.

One of the elders says something to him and Din sinks down into his seat, worry written all over his body language.

“So, I defeated them all, when am I handed the crown?” Bo-katan wipes blood from the tip of her spear and your stomach does a flip.

“You have one more warrior to defeat, Bo-katan. She has entered the arena and so you two must fight for the King's hand.” The elder informs.

“What?” Both you and her cry out.

“Please go to the beginning position and carry on.” The elder, not wanting any more questions, sits down and claps his hands.

Bo-katan’s helmet flies to meet your gaze. She sighs, “Guess I’ll just have to kill you.” Walking back over to the center of the arena, she gets into position to bow.

Giving one last glance to Din you walk over to face her. “We’ll see about that.”

She begins to bow and so you follow. Although the warrior might be stronger than you, you’re smarter. You easily predict the fact that she would attack you during the bow. It’s a cheap and dirty trick and yet you’ve seen her use it a thousand times.

“Thought that’d work, huh?” You dodge her jab and spin to your right. She growls, and you two just circle each other. Her waiting for you to drop your guard, and you gauging her next move.

A slight shift of weight gives her attack away, and as she swings for your head, you slip between her legs, jabbing the middle of her back. She stumbles forward, before regaining her footing.

“Just because you got one hit one me doesn’t mean you’ve won, pet.”

You don’t respond and it just makes her even more mad. The crowd no longer cheers or screams, they all just sit on the edge of their seats, watching in silence. Her comment flows to every pair of ears in the arena, Din’s included.

There, there it is.

A fault in her confident steps, a slight misstep and you pounce. Throwing your body weight at her, you use your spear to sweep her feet and she plummets to the dusty floor.

You swing the spear around and place the tip just before it can pierce the skin of her neck. Her chest moves up and down with her heavy breaths. Using your foot, you kick her spear out of her hand and her reach.

“The winner has been decided!” The crowd explodes in cheers. It’s almost deafening, but you stare down at her, and she up at you.

Slamming her fists down on the ground beside her, she snarls. Bringing the spear back to your side, you offer her a hand. She grabs it and you help her up. Bowing, you turn away from her and start to walk back out of the arena.

A cry comes from her as she charges you. Stepping to the side, you move just out of her reach. Looking down you just frown. “You should learn to not be so transparent with your thoughts.”

This time, you leave her on the ground and climb up back to the balcony where Din sits. He just watches as you approach, not capable of moving.

“I told you something was going to go wrong. Just be glad I could fix it this time.”

He watches in disbelief as you walk away to your chambers.

***

You skipped dinner, not really in the mood to see anyone. Looking out your window you watch as the sun sets and the moon rises.

Taking a long bath, you think over the mess you’ve created for yourself. You don’t regret saving the woman's life or beating Bo-katan, it’s just the thought of being Din’s wife that stumps you.

Any person would be lucky to have him as a husband, and you should be happy. But the two of you have been friends for years, there is no way Din likes you like that. There's no way he likes you the way you like him.

You’ve kicked yourself for years for falling for your childhood friend. You’d be lying if you said you weren't jealous when the elders announced that he needed a wife.

A knock sounds at your door and you're confused. Who would be up this late?

“It’s unlocked.”

The door opens and slowly closes. Looking up you see the mandalorian just standing. His hands clench and unclean slightly, showing his discomfort.

Shocked, you close your robe tighter around your body and will your heart to beat at a normal pace. “What’s wrong?”

“Why did you not come to dinner?”

“Oh, um I just wasn’t very hungry.” You look down at the floor, tension thick in the room.

“I-uh…” He walks over and grabs your hands. “You were really amazing out there.”

“Oh, thanks.” Chuckling, you try to ease the tension in the room, but your comment only makes it worse. “I guess I’m your wife now.”

“About that-”

“Din, I want you to know that you obviously don't have to marry me. I mean like we’ve been friends forever. And plus, I’m sure some girl has caught your eye. I just couldn’t stand there and let Bo-katan kill that woman, it wasn’t right.”

His finger reaches up and tilts your head to look at him, an action you should be used to and yet it still makes your stomach flip. “Just let me speak for a second.”

You nod, biting your lip and cursing yourself for rambling.

“Look,” He sighs, “I- I was so excited when the elders said I needed a wife.”

Feeling your face fall, your mind screams at you for being so dumb to think he’d ever like you.

“But I realized something this morning after you yelled at me. You were right. There is only one person I know who would never use me and would just love me for me.”

Your eyes leave his helmet and look down at the floor. Curiosity gets the best of you and you quietly ask, “Who is it?”

A chuckle falls from his lips before he says, “You.”

It takes a second for your mind to process the word. Your eyes widen and your head snaps up to meet his gaze. “Me?”

“It’s always been you cyare. Ever since we were young I have always liked you.”

A smile forms on your lips as memories of the mandalorian and you playing as kids flash through your mind. “The whole time?”

He nods, “The whole time.” He pauses before saying fondly, “Well ever since you caught that fish with your bare hands.”

Both of you laugh now. “I can’t believe you remember that!”

“How could I not? You threw the dang thing at me.”

Giggling, you remember the look of horror on his features when you tossed the flopping fish at your new friend.

“Cyar’ika, on a serious note. You don’t have to, but…” He stops, and you watch as his head sinks into his shoulders.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.” You wrap a hand around his bicep and squeeze in a comforting manner.

“Will you marry me?”

Smiling, you launch yourself into his arms. “Of course.”

His arms wrap around you and his hands trail along your spine. “I love you cyare.”

“Love you too.”

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

Anyway, I hope you liked it and this is kind of what you had in mind! 

Feedback is always appreciated.

Love, Lordy :) 

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If you want to be added to my taglist, just give me a holler! 

[moonlightsolo]

Drunken Pursuit

pairing: the mandalorian x reader (kind of platonic, kind of not)

warnings: angst and MORE ANGST also numerous drops of the f bomb

wc: 2.6k

a/n: hope ya like it cuz i do ;)

-

The familiar robust stench wafts into your face once you open the door to the cantina you’ve grown so fond of— Stale liquor, cheap cologne and sweaty bodies.

As you slyly stalk around the bar in the middle of the room, your eyes roam the countless people drinking inside. You’re not sure if you’re looking for a particular person or an empty seat to slide into.

When a large horned humanoid stumbles away from the bar with the stench of alcohol on its body, you slip your way into the now free spot.

Your pants stick to the tacky leather stool as a bartender slides around to take your order, “One blood sour and two shots of mijura.” You slide the memorized amount of credits to the bartender and the droid begins to shake up your drinks.

It’s become a routine for you to visit this hole-in-the-wall at late hours of the night, but since you’ve finished catching your bounties for the day, you’ve decided to take a break in the daylight.

You down your drinks quicker than anyone around you, the alcohol buzzes through your veins almost instantly and clouds the nerve-endings throughout your body splendidly.

Soon you’re blindly shoving credits over the bar, the people around you buy you drinks as you do the same for them. The usually annoyingly loud music you can’t understand begins to sound like the best beat to dance to. “Come on!”

You decide to grip your neighbors wrists to pull them onto your the makeshift dance floor. You can’t help but sway your hips as your feet somehow expertly tap to the beat.

A huge obvious smile is plastered on your face as one of your new friends, grabs your hands to spin your bodies in circles playfully.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but you feel confidence like no other. Shot after shot and song after song. Your stomach begins to turn and flutter uncomfortably. This is how your night usually ends.

As quickly as possible, you tug your hands away from person in front you to sprint to the bathroom. The handle jiggles but doesn’t open. Fuck, it’s locked. Someone behind the door squeals obscenities in a language you don’t understand.

The floor is your only option. Your back curls as you hunch over with your hands on your knees. Your abdomen tightens as the burning contents hurl from your stomach onto the already messy floor. You’ll have to leave a big tip.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, sniffling as you attempt to calm the tears and snot flowing down your face. “Disgusting.” You mutter to yourself.

As you hobble into the main area, you slap the rest of your pocket money onto the bar and head outside. Unfortunately it’s still quite bright outside, causing your body to seize from the sensitivity of your eyes. You blindly reach for the surface of the dome shaped exterior wall, running your fingers over the rough texture blindly.

You lean your back against the wall as the cool wind whips against your skin, calming you slightly. As you take long deep breaths and listen to the ships fly overhead, you feel a slight tug on the hem of your cargo pants.

Is your brain hallucinating now? It’s just the wind, you tell yourself.

The sensation happens once again so you gently slide your hand toward your blaster on your hip before you snap your head toward your feet. The grip on the stock of your gun loosens when you see the odd child-like creature cooing at you with their exceedingly large eyes.

It’s green and adorably fuzzy with large ears. The child is wrapped in brown fabric with a little tint of pink covering it’s cheeks and teeny nose. You notice a little black bowl sitting in it’s free hand full of some sort of liquid.

“Oh hello.” You giggle as it’s tiny arms reach up for you, now the soup is spilled onto the ground. Of course, you can’t decline the cute offer of holding such a delicate species.

Your arms swoop down to carefully pick up the baby, surprisingly heavier than you thought it would be. You can’t take your eyes off of it, a smile grows on your face as it giggles at you.

You bounce the thing on your hip like a baby, it seems to enjoy it from the coos of awe muttered at you. “Wheres your mom or dad, hm?” You tickle the child’s belly causing a small laugh to escape from their body.

Suddenly, a shadow covers the sun above as it looms over your smaller frame. Nervousness bubbles in your chest for a moment, then your motherly instinct kicks in as you hold the kid tighter to your chest.

As your eyes slowly rake up the expanse of the person in front of you— The shiny silver armor, the hidden weapons in the steel plates upon their arms, and the helmet. The T shaped pitch black visor and the same matching Beskar surface.

A mandalorian.

You instantly recognize who it is, well what it is. Your blood runs cold as you back up against the wall as far as possible, wishing the barrier would envelope your body to aid in your escape.

“Give me the kid.” The Mandalorian speaks. His tone is menacing under the voice modulator, monotone and deep.

You gulp as the child looks between you and him and continues to stay cuddled to your chest. “Why should I?” Your voice slurs slightly and you hiccup.

The statue in front of you takes a step closer, cornering you into the wall. Your eyes dart around in attempt to find ways to flee. “Don’t.” He threatens as he’s even closer to you now.

You gulp as you stare up at your own warped reflection in his eyes, “What are you going to do with it? You’re a bounty hunter... like me. How do I know you’re not going to sell the poor kid off?” Your breathing shudders when his forearm comes to press against your chest, now pinning you. He is dangerously close to your neck and his face is much too close to yours.

“He is mine. Now hand him over.” Your arms outstretch as much as you could as you refuse to look at your own reflection in his helmet. He grips the baby protectively and brings him to his chest.

A soft relieved sigh crackles from the helmet. The green thing murmurs incoherently and settles against his armor as he tucks it into a sack resting on his hip.

The tall man turns toward you once more, angry and close in proximity. “Why were you holding him? Were you trying to take him?” His voice booms as one of his hands slam next to your head.

A few drunken idiots stumble from the entrance, talking gibberish and laughing. The Mandalorian swings his head to the side to stare intensely at them as they walk by.

When the pair notices the Beskar-cladded man hovering over your shuttering body, their mouths clamp shut, eyes avert to the ground and they speed walk away.

Stars! You need to be saved. Fucking assholes.

The bounty hunter in front of you turns his attention back to you, “I-I—I promise, I was—wasn’t trying to kidnap h-him...” Your voice stutters helplessly, the alcohol doesn’t help your brain as it already is working slowly.

He glances down at the alien child who is peeking over the rim of the bag nervously, “He gr-grabbed my pant leg. He was wandering... He was wandering... by himself. Why was he by himself?” You suddenly gain confidence as you question the man.

“You’re interrogating me when your kid was wandering around by himself?” You scoff as you cross your arms over your chest, “What a great dad. You want to protect him? Well you didn’t. I could have stolen him, but at least I’m not a crazy asshole, right?” You grumble as you mumble obscenities under your breath.

The man scoffs under his helmet as he leans backward from being close to you, his arms lifts from your body. “You’ve got a point.” He grumbles in defeat, one of his gloved hands rest on the bulging sack which the child is in.

“Exactly. Now if you’d let me go, I’d appreciate it.” You go to push yourself off of the wall but your knees buckle which causes you to fly forward.

Your forehead slams against his steel chest plate, making a loud bang echo from the contact. You groan as the pain radiates through your head, your vision goes blurry as if you were drinking once again.

You stumble backward to fall, your arms reach for something sturdy to rest against but two hands grip your shoulders to steady you. Your body is slowly leaned back onto the curved wall of the building.

A sound almost like a chuckle emits from the Mandalorian, “Ouch.” You mumble as your hand goes to your forehead to feel the bump already forming under your skin.

You open your scrunched eyes to see your fingertips are lightly covered in crimson, “Is-is that blood?” You gasp softly as the man brings his hands to your head to inspect the cut. He pushes your hair from your eyes and gently peels the strands off the wet surface of your skin.

“It’s small. Might need sutured.” He sighs as he looks down at the baby who is now curious of what just happened.

“I’m assuming your system is full of alcohol which makes your blood thinner.” He grumbles, “Come on. Follow me.”

Your vision is still slightly blurry, either from your new concussion or maybe your own tears. Follow a Mandalorian? Fuck no.

“Excuse me? Follow you? How...How am I...” A new wave of dizziness overcomes your body as you stumble forward and gulp down the bile rising in your throat, “Am... I supposed to... Follow you..?”

The silver armor fades in and out of your sight, his image is distorted as you sway from side to side.

The alcohol has finally gotten to your brain, it’s your time. You’re going to die. Hitting your head on Beskar (the strongest metal in the universe) and drinking yourself into oblivion is not a good combination. Especially mixed along with your blood on your hands, it’s not one of your strengths.

His arms reach out to you to hold you steady once again, he opens your drooping eyelids to look at your dilated pupils. “You’ve got a concussion.” He lets out a sniffle as he leans in to smell your breath, obviously smelling the liquor. 

You fall forward in a slump, slamming your face against his Beskar once again. He stands there awkwardly with a random girl resting on his chest. His arms hook under your arms to drag you to the nearby alleyway. He carefully places you on the ground, sitting upright with your back against the wall.

He glances at your pockets, seeing a flashing red light through the tan fabric. He opts to fish whatever is is out. Finally gripping the disc shakes object, a tracking beacon.

“For the kid?” He mumbles with a sigh. He glances to see the blaster in your pocket.

He debates in his own head on whether or not he should leave you here or kill you. He grumbles frustratingly as the kid squeaks angrily in his pouch, “I know, I know.” He groans.

He drops the beacon to the ground then stomps on it to shatter it to pieces, the wiring sparks and with another stomp it puffs out. His hands reach down to scoop you up, throwing your drunk self over his shoulder before making his way back to the Razor Crest. He can’t help but think of how idiotic this idea is.

The stares of the passerby’s don’t make the Mandalorian nervous, rather more smug than anything. He knows his image is powerful.

Once aboard the ship, he drops you on his cot that he pulls out from the wall. He locks your limp wrists together with handcuffs so you don’t attempt to hurt anyone or escape the moving ship.

He scoops out the kid once in the cockpit, sitting him in his floating bassinet as he clicks a few buttons to ready the ship for departure. His hand grips the throttle to lift it into the sky. 

The jolt startles you awake. A loud groan falls from your lips from the splitting headache. You roll around in the bed, not realizing it’s not your own which causes you to fall onto the floor.

As you attempt to catch yourself, you realize your arms are bound together. “The fuck?!” You yelp loudly as look at your surroundings. Terror runs through your veins when you realize you’ve been abducted.

The ship hits hyper speed, causing your body to roll like a hot dog across the floor. You let out a loud screech as you kick your feet wildly in front of you so you wouldn’t ram into the wall, “Let me go right now or I will rip you to shreds!”

The stomping above your head shuts you up as the person climbs down the ladder. The beskar cladded man makes you gulp with wide eyes.

“You?” You growl as you attempt to push yourself up from the ground but you’re unsuccessful.

“You’re awake.” He stands to the side with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you struggle.

You screech through your clenched teeth as your abdominal muscles fail to pick your body off the ground. “Let me go, you fucker. I’m serious.” Your face is flushing red with anger by the second.

He chuckles as he walks toward you, planting one foot on either side of your body now standing above you. “Feisty, hm?” He presses a button on his arm to unlock the cuffs around your wrists.

The metal hisses as it drops onto the floor next to you. You scramble to your feet, standing in front of the large man with an angry face. “You took me.” You poke your finger against his chest. Your nail makes a ‘ding’ sound against the metal.

“I did.” He hums simply as he stares down at you through the same black visor.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because, why?”

“You had a bounty for the kid.”

“So you put me on the same ship with the kid?”

“Yup.”

“You make absolutely no sense, Mandalorian.” You huff as you begin to pace the belly of the ship frantically as you talk to yourself under your breath. How will you get home? Is he going to kill you? What about your life?

He chuckles under his breath, the modulator illuminates the lovely sound. No, stop. For all you know he could be a creature under all of that.

“You’re gonna stick with me for a while. I’m going to need your help. I know you’re strong. Just gotta keep the alcohol away from you.”

Your head snaps toward him with a look of bewilderment, “Stuck with you? And—and the green baby?” You almost laugh in disbelief. He’s really kidnapping you.

Mando nods his head, you can almost sense a smile on his face.

And so you do. The child and the Mandalorian slowly grow more fond of you as  as months go by- as you do with them. Sometimes, you’ll catch yourself gazing in awe at how well he takes care of his tiny elderly child. You’ll never want to leave because the irreversible attachment that has cemented them both into your heart.

Countless bounty hunts by his side, combat and capturing. Sometimes, well most of the time, you’re forced to sit on the sidelines with the kid in the Razor Crest because it’s too ‘dangerous.’ 

Of course, you’ll whine and complain, but you always have more fun with the little squirt anyway. 

After the first few months of living with them, you meet his friends along the way, Cara Dune, Greef Carga and a few others. Mando slowly opens up to you, letting you know his name and where he came from. Eventually, you find out he’s more human than you thought. Tiny bits of tanned skin peek from underneath his pile of armor when he stretches or moves; it makes you feel a certain way. (Especially, if he walks around the ship in regular clothing and only his helmet,) You’ve grown quite a fascination with his bare hands. 

Through everything, you and Din are each other’s shoulder to lean on. Even when countless people attempt to take the kid away from you both, which crushes both your hearts. Maybe, you found your own little family. The universe brought you both together for a reason; to protect the child from the Empire. If you weren’t drinking that day, or if the kid never greeted you unexpectedly—Your life wouldn’t be where it is now. You’re content and happy.

Arguments still happen though. Mando and you are both stubborn creatures. No matter how bad it gets, he will always be yours as you belong to each other unofficially.

Whether it’s platonic, or a little bit more than that...

tags: @duchessnibenhu-ofpyromania @mylifeisactuallyamess @onaheroicmission @3strogen @jupitersmoon167 @unexistant​ @kimbachan​

[galaxyedging]

I played around with some tropes. Blood, injury, canon type violence, hints of smut, fluff. It's not as exciting as the warnings suggest, I just can't do that 'keep reading' this so I thought I'd better warn people.

Unspoken

"Really?" she whined. After a ridiculously long couple of days, chasing the luckiest quarry in the parsec they had finally decided to take a break. All she wanted to do was clean up and get a good night's sleep before they headed out to find the bastard quarry that had escaped off world. As she shrugged off her backpack her shoulders fell with exhaustion and defeat as she eyed the lone bed in the room. "Do you want to get cleaned up first?" Mando asked over his shoulder. The first thing he had done upon entering the room was place his weapons on the small wooden table in the corner of the room. Now he sat cleaning the fine dust, that coated this whole damn planet, off of them. Too tired to even broach the sleeping situation yet, she dragged her feet into the fresher. Thankfully, this planet was only dusty as hell a few months of the year. The rest of the time it rained heavily so water was bountiful. She took her time to wash throughly. Listening out for Mando in the other room she could her him still moving his weapons about so she figured he wasn't in a rush to get in there. Only when she heard someone at the door did she get out from underneath the soothing water. "Who was that?" she asked emerging from the fresher, dabbing at her wet hair with a towel.

"The maid." he tipped his helmet towards a pile of extra pillows and blankets on the bed. Before she could even try to discuss the whole one bed thing, he picked up one of the spare blankets and shook it out. Continuing his movement he lay it on the floor before throwing a couple of pillows on top of it. "Damn dust!" He growled brushing some out from under his vembrace. "Am going to get cleaned up. The bed looks warm enough but I know you're always cold so there's a spare blanket there. If you want to sleep now, you can switch the lamp off, I won't need it."

As he turned to step through the door she realized what he had planned. "You're going to sleep on the floor?"

"Yeah, I didn't think it would appeal to you." she could hear the mirth in his tone as turned back to her, body halfway into the other room. If she had to, she could, and would, sleep in the hardest, most inconvenient places but given the choice she would be wrapped in comfort 24/7.

"Hey!" she chided "I could sleep on the floor!" Even without seeing his face she just knew he had a shit eating grin for occasions like this. Just imagining it made her want to punch him. "We could always share? It's a fairly big bed. It would save you sleeping on the floor."

He paused for moment. "Thank you for the offer but I'll be fine. I've slept in worse places." Another pause. "Plus it's too dangerous for me to take my armour off here. It wouldn't be very comfortable for you to sleep beside...Princess." He quickly managed to duck into the fresher. Shutting the door behind him the wood bore the brunt of her annoyance at his 'Princess' jab.

The next morning she woke up rested. Mando was already up and out. The extra blankets and pillows were neat stacked on the table. All except one, that had somehow found it's way over her in the night.

"You're ok. I've got you." Mando gently rolled his arms out from underneath her as he placed her down on the cot. A coughing fit racked her. The white pillow underneath her became splattered with blood as she fought to clear her throat. He passed her a small metal dish. The same one she use to collect any shrapnel she removed while patching him up. "Spit." he ordered before giving her a sip of water. "Easy, not too much." Once the coughing stopped and he was happy that she could stay still enough, he got to work. The cut to her side was deep, there was bruising. The blood she was coughing up was likely due to her ribs being broken in the impact of that bastard landing on top of her and driving his blade in. Mando was thankful that there was nothing that couldn't be fixed with what supplies they had on the ship and a lot of rest. As he treated her, his thoughts wandered to the quarry that had managed to get the drop on them. It was another case of massive good luck on his part. Mando looked forward to the day his luck would run out. Within a week she was on her feet again. Within two she had, with incredible skill, tracked down the quarry. The bastard now stood in front of Mando taunting him. His luck had held and he'd managed to find another fox hole of criminals to hide in. Mando had taken them all out but not without taking a beating. He'd lost his blaster, his blades, he was the only weapon he had left.

"I thought you'd find me sooner. I was disappointed. I heard so much about the relentless, legendary bounty hunter. Not to mention the fact that I cut up your bitch. I thought you'd be seething and baying for my blood after what I did to her." the bastard spat gleefully.

Mando, who had had his hands up, braced for a fight, dropped back down at his sides. "Why would I be baying for blood? It wasn't me you hurt. 'My bitch' is more than capable of killing you herself." he tipped his head up towards where he had seen the sun glint off her rifle. The bastard just had enough time to turn and widen his eyes in panic as she took him out with a single shot between his eyes. Mando winced at the pain in his side as he sighed in relief. "Am your what now?" her voice came over the comm. "Would you prefer my princess?" He quipped before heading off to retrieve his weapons.

The sound of Baskar crashing to the floor jerked her from her sleep. Once she made sure the kid was ok she quickly slide out of the cubby to investigate the sound. She expected to see a pile of armour on the floor. Din had ripped it off and dumped it on the floor one or twice in frustration. It terrified her when she saw that Din was currently in the pile of armour on the floor. Crossing the distance in seconds she dropped to the floor near him. "No!" he barked at her. Din had a temper, they both did, but he never shouted at her like that. His voice was rougher, strained. He groaned as he clutched his stomach and rolled his body from being on all fours to sitting on his heels, helmet pressed to the floor.

As her terror rose higher, she hoped it didn't show in her voice. "Din? Are you hurt? What do you need?"

"You..." he gritted out "...you need to stay back."

"But what...?" she reached towards him slightly and he withdrew as if she had burned him.

"Toxin...a flower. The thorns cut my arm." his chest heaved rapidly up and down.

"You've been poisoned?!" she wanted to reach for him again but thought better of it.

"Not really. It hurts..." he groaned. Or was that a moan? "...but it won't kill me. Just need to ride it out...you should put me in carbonite." He began to take off pieces of his armour. His pauldrons came off first.

"Carbonite? Really? Is that really better than this? We have meds that can kill the pain." she watched as he struggled to his feet and stumbled towards the carbonite, dropping more armour.

"Won't work...have to protect you." he continued on his way across the ship. His breastplate hit the floor next.

"Protect me?" she was following behind him now. He had his back to her setting up the mobile carbonite unit. "Din? These units have a 60% chance of killing you! Why do you have to protect me? Tell me what's going on?!" she half demanded, half pleaded.

Hissing he turned and propped himself up against the wall. "The toxin helps aid reproduction. It makes people want to f...fornicate so badly that if hurts if they don't. Some strains are lethal...this isn't. It just hurts and I want..." his hand came up to touch her cheek.

She closed her eyes and breathed "If you need to we could..." she trailed off not able to finish it out loud. It wasn't how she thought it would happen but she couldn't deny that she wanted Din.

Snapping his hand back he shuffled away. "No! You deserve better. When we...it won't be like this. Please."

The desperation in his tone broke her. By now he only had his flight suit and helmet on. "Fine." she whispered "You'll need to take your helmet off. I won't look. In fact you better step into the chamber facing away from me so I don't see your face when you're frozen."

Nodding his understanding, he turned around. As his helmet came off, exposing his hair, she took a second to admire his soft, brown, curls. Before smashing a metal pipe into his head.

32 hours later Din woke up in his cubby with a banging headache. On the shelf next to his head was a bottle of water. Lifting his helmet, he guzzle it down gratefully. Replacing the helmet he crawled out to find her. Following the sound of the kid gurgling, he found her in the cockpit. "How are you feeling?" she asked with a smile.

That smile instantly made him relax. He was worried he did something wrong while he poisoned. "Ok. Thank you. What..er..what happened?" he tried to seem nonchalant as he lower himself in his chair.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she bounced the baby on her knee as she spoke. Much to the little one's delight.

"I was about to step into the carbonite. Then just sort of hazy dreams." he reached forward to stroke the kids head. This earned a happy squeal.

Her smile grew. "Well, when you turned your back, I knocked you out cold. I put your helmet back on. When you started to come to I knocked you back out with some meds. The second time you woke up you said you needed to pee. I walked you to the fresher. You insisted on singing to me, in what I think was Mando'a, the entire time. I gave you more meds. The next pee break included you trying to dance with me and swing me in circles. More meds and here we are."

Din was incredibly grateful that he had Baskar covering his face or she would have seen how red his cheeks were. Singing and dancing were reserved for Mandalorian celebrations, like the wedding he had been dreaming about. The one that would allow him to show her his face. "Am sorry."

"You don't need to apologise Din." she swiftly cut him off. "You were trying to protect me. Willing to risk hurting yourself, or worse, out of respect for me. Thank you." she gave the hand that had been stroking the child's fuzzy, green head a squeeze before handing Din the kid and headed down to make breakfast.

"Did you love it?!" Peli exclaimed as the woman made her way into the office. It took her a moment to realise Peli was talking about the classic romance novel she recommended.

"It was good." Peli scrunched her face at the other woman's unenthusiastic tone and came to stand in front of her, head framed with wild curls tilted up staring the woman in the eyes. "It was a bit cliched."

"Ha!" Peli laughed heartily. "You and that tin can are a walking cliche. Travelling all over hell and gone for months as 'just friends' now you're lovers. Talk about a slow burn."

The other woman nearly choked at the 'lovers' part. It was true but she didn't know how Peli knew.

"I don't miss a trick. I see those little, tiny touches on your arms, shoulders and hands. Coming from that repressed sack of bolts, he might as well throw you down and claim you on my floor. Friends to lovers. Walking cliche." Peli chuckled.

Suddenly feeling defensive the woman spoke up. "Actually, building a friendship takes time. You have to earn trust. Build a conscious connection. I was in love with him before we built that bond. My heart fell before my head. We were never friends, always lovers, it was just unspoken."

Peli let out suppressed sob, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. "Now that's a love story."

[o-wise-corvid]

Chapter 3, incoming. Okay I promised y’all action and here it is. Hope y’all enjoy. Cody’s Kids are about to test their mettle and see if they’re ready for active duty. We shall see. 🤔

Warnings: violence/ broken bones/some blood/nothing fatal/ almost though

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life

Chapter 3: Combatant Eliminated

“Don’t try to win this by yourself. We’re strongest together. Remember.” Gaia smoothed Shriek’s hair back and helped him pull on his headgear. It wasn’t like wearing a full helmet like Papa’s, but it protected the forehead and back of the skull, cheek guards offering cushions to the face in case of a fall.

“Rend is top heavy,” Rex offered, cracking his neck to the side. “His balance is bad.” He shared a grin with Gaia. They had trained with Rend back during the short time that it had just been the three of them and the memories of the young man’s brutality were hard to forget.

“Wear him out. Make him work for his air.” Soren accepted a hearty backslap from Rex, and the boys laughed.

Rend had broken one of Rex’s ribs on his first day in the training yard and hit Gaia so hard across the face that she’d nearly lost consciousness. It had been Soren who had gotten in behind the muscle wall, looped his lanky arms around Rend’s neck and choked him to his knees. Even Soren had walked away with a bruised spine, a fractured shoulder and a bleeding due to being repeatedly slammed against the wall.

“We can’t use the Force, right?”

Shriek was the reliant on the Force of them all and his strength was unparalleled. He could lift all the others, and Cody, without having to gesture so much as a finger.

“No, we can’t. But we-“ Gaia said confidently as she walked around to each black suit of armor and stamped a bright yellow Imperial Seal on the chest plate- “are Sunshine Squad.”

“Sunshine? That sounds...” Kali made a face that indicated primness.” The others snorted and giggled, eyeing the bright symbol that was so stark against the black.

“Yellow is Cody’s color.”

Everyone fell silent. They each turned to Gaia with shameful expressions, Soren and Rex pressing a hand to their chests. “We should wear it with honor. Don’t you think?”

“Yes sir.”

Gaia blushed fiercely and the seriousness of the moment dissipated in a flash. Rex grabbed her shoulder, pressing his forehead to hers in a gesture Cody often used as one of affection and encouragement.

“You got this, vod.”

Gaia gripped him behind his neck, pressing her forehead harder against his. “We’ve got this.”

“Together.”

“Together.”

They walked out of the prep room together, Rex’s twin shock batons swinging on his hips and Gaia’s stun pike slung easily over her shoulder. Shriek carried one baton and Kali carried two short ones. Soren carried the most unique version of the weapon; he’d grafted retractable batons onto his gauntlets.

Rend and his squad, named after himself, were waiting at the other end of a mock canyon. The expanse of space that spanned the arena was rocky and full of cavernous rock formations. This was widely considered the most difficult setting in the arena and only the most skilled combatants were even allowed access to it. Rend Squad trained on it every week.

“Uneven terrain,” Shriek muttered, checking the grips of his gauntlets one last time. “Easy to lose footing.”

“Rend likes to use power moves, devastating blows with that mallet of his. Be a shame if somebody led him to some loose gravel and he couldn’t get the traction for something like that.” Kali ground her teeth together the further into the statement she went. “No one makes one of us bleed without paying the price,” she finished darkly.

“No heroics on our account,” Soren soothed, touching the Twi’Lek’s shoulder. “Using the Force will disqualify you, vod’ika... we need you out there.”

Kali sighed but nodded, closing her eyes for a moment. She showed her lack of rest, but Gaia knew how even a tired Kali could be lethal. Anger seemed to energize the girl, which Cody tried to frequently discourage, but Kali didn’t always listen.

A harsh bark of laughter echoed across the field. “Look at them! They even named themselves Sunshine Squad! How precious.”

Gaia tightened her grip on the staff, feeling the cold thump of anger in her stomach. She immediately pushed it away. She couldn’t afford to have emotions out on the field right now. She needed a cool head, not just for herself. Four others depended on her to be the logical one. The one who could make a split second decision that could decide the sway of a fight.

“Oh, so stoic! The captain’s got you all whipped. Cant even unleash your tongues else he might not feed you.”

Rex snorted. “The galaxy’s finest actors. Shame we’re waisted on the Empire,” he muttered. The others made soft, amused noises, refusing to raise noise that Rend might be able to perceive.

“When you’re sufficiently able,” a voice chimed from everywhere, Cody’s signature snarl that he used when in mixed company, “begin.”

Rend surged into motion like he’d been stung. The teenager pounded his way through the valley that ate up most of the arena’s center. His team followed, a knot of black against the leeched grayish brown of the sandy soil.

A hum filled the air as the five powered up their stun batons. They sank into crouched, legs braced, weapons brandished. Gaia side-checked Soren and Rex. They would move together, just like they’d rehearsed. “The joints,” she reminded. She heard Soren growl a little under his breath, saw the shine of sweat on his cheek. On the other side, Rex’s gloved squeaked as he adjusted his grip.

And then Rend was upon them.

Gaia took two quick steps forward and swung her staff. Rend blocked it easily, but then went down as Rex and Soren darted by, each scoring a hit to the unprotected backs of his knees. Kali and Shriek followed them, Kali’s hand darting under Rend’s arm to deliver a shock right to his armpit. Shriek kneed him in the face, the sound of breaking cartilage swallowed by Rend’s enraged yell.

Gaia side-stepped a half-blind, flailing swipe from Rend’s mallet, wound up and let fly a swing that caught Rend directly on the jaw. She groaned when he fell forward, unconscious but still gripping his mallet in his hand. “Players” weren’t considered out of the game until they either dropped their weapon or were disarmed. Disarming an unconscious opponent wasn’t allowed.

She turned, thrumming her legs into a churning sprint. The others had reached the rest of Rend’s team and the fight was on. Rend was the muscle of the team but being assaulted by so many combatants proved far too much for his weight-bound fighting style. Alone, he might’ve taken Gaia, but she wasn’t alone.

Soren danced in and out of the reach of a tall, slender human, who looked to be creating her fifteenth year. She twirled and flicked a baton that was almost as long as Gaia’s entire staff, the incredible reach of the thing keeping Soren from getting close enough to stun her. Her control of the thing was remarkable and she wore a fierce, almost animalistic grin.

Gaia stepped into a spin, circled her staff around and brought the stunning “blade” down hard on the woman’s elongated, but thin baton. There was a crackling snap and the low hum that had followed the baton’s motions died.

“Combatant eliminated.”

The voice was artificial, leaning itself to a feminine quality. Sterility aside, Gaia couldn’t contain a low, triumphant laugh. “Bit off a little much there, didn’t you, Kreia?”

“Karking nerf herders,” she snapped back bitterly, arms falling to her sides as Soren and Gaia hurried to help the others.

“I got Shriek,” Soren said, veering away to where the smaller boy was dueling his opponent like a mad man, his baton a purplish blue blur as he blocked, parried and struck.

Gaia glanced at Kali, who slid under the arm of a huge boy easily thrice her size. She drove her knee up into his elbow, breaking the arm, and causing the boy to release his baton.

“Combatant eliminated.”

Gaia heard her give a shout of joy.

Rex was directly ahead of her, scrambling over a small rock outcropping, using the terrain to keep the remaining member of Rend. Gai recognized the youngest member of the squad, Coris, by his double batons and by the constant twirling madness that he he created with them. Rex was easily his match, but one of his arms was slower, possibly he’d been shocked on that side. His good arm was working in a frenzy to block Coris’ blows and Gaia could see the sweat fly off the Zabrak’s face as he tried to trip up his opponent.

She put on speed, building up for a downward power strike that would send Coris to his knees. He turned at exactly the wrong moment. One arm arced backward in a stab, keeping Rex at bay, while the other swept outward, catching Gaia in the shoulder. The blow knocked her sideways, the bone jittering shock of the baton causing her muscles to seize up and clench violently.

Gaia slammed hard into a rocky formation, the air leaving her lungs. She was a powerful warrior, capable of taking down opponents twice her size, but she was still only eleven. She coughed, tasting copper on her tongue where she’d bit her own lip. The weight of her staff in her hand reminded her that she was still in the game and her head snapped up just as Coris bore down on her.

Her arm jerked around, sweeping at his knees, but Coris was not Rend. He jumped the strike and laughed. “Stupid little kid.”

“I know you are,” someone that Gaia couldn’t see all but bellowed, “but what am I?”

Coris’ face twisted into annoyance but then froze in a grimace as a baton-wielding arm looped around his shoulders and touched the tip of the weapon to the underside of Coris’ jaw. The young man’s lithe frame went rigid for a moment, then the arm retracted. Coris swayed, his batons slipped from his fingers and he fell flat on his face.

Rex stood panting, looking as if he might collapse, one arm bent protectively around to cradle the other. His batons hung on his belt. “You okay?”

Gaia nodded, using her staff to help her stand. “You?”

“Might be broken. I dunno.”

Shriek and Soren stood a hundred or so yards away, Kali near them. They were all looking back in the direction they’d come from. Gaia and Rex followed their gaze. Rend was stirring, pulling himself up to his knees.

“We gave him everything we had and he still didn’t go down,” Rex said softly so only Gaia would hear. “What’s the plan?”

Gaia tested her shoulder, rolling the arm. She’d have a bruise but she could still move it. “Get him in the caves. We can’t handle another all out attack like that, you especially. Confuse him. If we can hit him with a bunch of sneak attacks, just beat him down one by one, we can end this. See if we can really mess that nose of his up.”

Rex nodded once and the two set off. The others fell in around them, Soren touching his brother’s good arm worriedly. Kali glanced anxiously at the blood drying on Gaia’s chin, but didn’t say anything. Her anger coiled in the Force, begging to be set free.

“I’m okay,” Gaia assured her almost sternly. “Focus.”

Kali huffed, frowning darkly. “I know,” she snapped but then added more gently, “...I know.”

Rend lurched to his feet and whirled, eyes wild amongst a blood splattered face. He took in the unconscious forms of his teammates with an annoyed snort. Gaia wasn’t sure but she thought she heard him mutter, “Useless.”

“You’ve already lost,” she called to him. “Lay down your hammer and call it a day, Rend. You’ve already made squad. Nothing for you to prove. Gaining another qualified strike team for the Empire helps us all.”

Rend sneered at them. “You don’t make squad until until every one of my team isn’t holding a weapon.”

Soren and Rex sighed together.

“Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way after all.” Shriek cracked his knuckles.

The inhuman noise of rage that ripped out of Rend’s mouth was nothing short of deafening. A wave of energy rolled with the scream, slamming into the five children without warning. Gaia was sent flying, her staff ripped from her fingers. She heard a blaring klaxon sound in the area followed by four overlapping “Combatant eliminated” alerts.

She flipped head over heels and landed on her belly, losing her wind for the second time in five minutes. Someone clipped by her and there was a pained yell as they landed. It sounded like Shriek. Through blurry eyes, Gaia spotted Rend stomping his way toward her, his mallet held firmly in both hands.

He’s going to kill me, whispered in her mind, a tendril of panic curling cold and hard into her gut. She tried to push herself up, but pain, sharp and hot sang through her body; something was broken even behind all that armor.

Rend stopped in front of her, hooked a toe under Gaia’s shoulder and flipped her over. “No kid takes my field,” he said, blood and spit flying from his mouth.

“Drop it Rend.”

Cody’s voice ushered a wave of relief over Gaia that was so strong that she nearly lost consciousness right then. She tilted her head back a little and saw him, all glossy black and yellow, a blaster rifle aimed threateningly at Rend. “You disqualified yourself by using the Force. You lost your own field and handed the children the win.”

Rend turned toward Cody, fist balling up as he moved. Many things happened at once in that moment. Cody suddenly staggered, his armor buckling and contorting as Rend began to slowly squeeze his fist shut. His rifle fired and missed. Kali and Shriek screamed together.

Time seemed to freeze as Gaia’s injured body hurled itself into action, her legs and arms clawing at the ground. She tackled Rend’s middle from behind, feeling Soren and Rex collide one after the other, Soren above and Rex below. Another blaster bolt screamed through the arena and then another. Rend jerked as one made contact, a strangled cry leaving him.

Gaia felt the bigger boy land on top of her, felt Soren and Rex immediately yank him off as the crackling pain in her chest exploded like a silent bomb. She groaned, an arm flying over her chest protectively. Rex was on his knees beside her, a hand covering her forehead, keeping her on her back.

“B-Captain. She’s got a broken rib, maybe a punctured lung.”

Other hands touched her, one on her ankle, another on her shoulder. The pain ebbed and dulled. Cody’s face bobbed into vision over her, well, his helmeted face. It was good he didn’t take it off now she thought in a quick burst of clarity; he might not be able to hide his feelings after all that had just happened.

“We’ve got to get her to Medbay.” Kali squeezed Gaia’s hand.

“I’m going to sedate you, Cadet. Just hold still.” Cody’s fingers trembled a little as he turned her head to the side and injected the sedative, the soft hiss of the depressor promising relief with a gentle whisper.

She felt the prick of the needle in her neck and the pain disappeared. Gaia’s entire body seemed to unwind, growing warm and heavy. It felt good, to just lie there and not have a care in the world. Everyone she loved was there... This was nice. In fact, Gaia felt so good that she thought she just might sleep. Yes. Sleep would be... be nice...

[mamanabeille]

So, You Met Tchaikovsky?

for the lovely @quickspinner for her birthday. 

Marinette isn’t exactly sure what comes over her the first time she sees Luka on the ice.  She really can’t explain it.  She thought she would be terrified. She had watched the sport before, and knew it was high contact and could lead to plenty of injuries.  Which is why she assumed she’d be flinching through the whole game, covering her eyes, and needing recaps from Tikki who was hidden in her scarf.  What she did not expect was the deep, nearly primal scream that seems to tear itself from her vocal chords.  “TAKE HIM DOWN, LUKA!”  

Rose and Juleka, who are seated next to her, both jump.  Rose even ends up tossing some popcorn in the air at the reaction.  Luka slams another player against the glass right in front of them, and Juleka groans at the sight.  Marinate knows that Juleka is supportive of Luka, but doesn’t really like to see him so aggressive.  She honestly expected to feel the same way.  However, the pure strength and power he displays as he holds his opponent there for a few seconds, ramming him further into the glass, gets her a little hot and bothered.  She can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him pin her up against something with that much conviction.  She knew he was strong.  She’s seen him lug musical equipment several times a week for years.  She’s seen how effortlessly he can swoop her up and fling her over his shoulder.  Hell, she’s seen him naked more times that she can count and seen those muscles up close and very personal.  Still, there’s something different about seeing him like that.  There’s a fierceness and aggression that she’s never seen on him before… and she likes it.  

He catches her eyes for half a second,  and she’s floored. It’s been years since she’s been absolutely speechless by the presence of him, but growing up together and dating for years does tend to have that effect.  The adrenalin races through her blood, and she can’t help but get completely swept up in the vibe of the crowd.  It’s a rush that she’s never felt before, not even in the midst of a high stakes akuma attack.  When she hears the final buzzer go off and sees that The Vipers are two points ahead, she screams loudly enough that it catches his attention on the ice. The team becomes a massive huddle of bodies, and sticks, and buddies slapping each other’s helmets through cheers and hollers.

Luka finds her in the crowd once the huddle disperses and what all make their way off the ice. She leaps into his arms, causing him to stumble backwards a little in his skates. She captures his lips in a passionate victory kiss, and soaks in the feeling of his arms snaking around her to support her weight. “Babe,” she softly moans in his ear, legs wrapped around his waist. “Why have you never let me come to a game before now?” She knows the real reason.  He’s explained it to her several times over the years.  He hates the thought of the people in his life seeing him behaving in any sort of aggressive way.  He prides himself on his gentle nature, and his ability to handle any situation with words and reason versus violence.  A belief system that was only strengthened after being akumatized into Silencer.

He hears the guys whoop and whistle out catcalls behind him, and feels a slap on his shoulder that he can only assume is Remy. “You’re a little distracting,” he tells her instead, knowing it’s more of a rhetorical question. “Hard to focus on the ice when I know you’re sitting in the bleachers looking like that,” he nods down at her puffy coat and gloves.  He places a soft kiss on the tip of her nose, and grins at the blush that spreads across her face.

“Really?  This is what does it for you?” she chuckles. She kisses him quickly one more time, before jumping down from his arms, but staying tucked into his side.

“Oh, yeah.  You look adorable,” he laughs just as Juleka and Rose make their way over hand in hand.

“Luka, you did so great!” Rose squeals, giving him a congratulatory peck on the cheek.

Juleka nods at her fiancee’s words, and hugs her brother, and Marinette by extension.  “You and Nette need a room?” she teases.  Marinette flushes an even deeper red and buries her face into Luka’s chest, muttering a soft ‘sorry’.  Juleka shrugs and grabs her bag.  “Ma said you’re welcome to dinner tonight.”

“Just tell Ma we won, and we’ll be there this weekend for family dinner.” Marinette looks up at him curiously, as the other two girls take their leave. “The team has a tradition of grabbing pizza together after a win.  We don’t have to go if you’d rather do something just the two of us.  The guys will understand.”

“No.” She shakes her head and looks up at him for a moment, biting her lip.  “Do you think that they’d mind if we were a little late though?”

Luka’s cheeks flush a light pink as he grins down at her.  “We’d probably be okay to be a little late.  What did you have in mind?” She can see the playful hike of his eyebrows and laughs at him, “Not that! I was kind of hoping you could show me how.  To play, I mean.”

The rest of the team are saying their goodbyes to friends and family, gathering their things, and slowly making their way out one or two at time.  “You and your lady coming, Tchaikovsky?” Remy shouts across the rink.  Marinette raises her eyebrows at him in question, but he shakes his head as if to say he’ll explain later.  

“Meet you there in a bit,” Luka hollers back before guiding her over to the bleachers and giving her his full attention.  “You’ll need skates.  Are you and Jules still the same size?” Marinette nods.  “Perfect,” Luka continues.  “She and I share a locker.  I’m sure she won’t mind if you use hers.  I’ll go grab those and an extra stick.  Then I can show you a few things.   You hide Tikki.  I’d offer her my bag, but it doesn’t smell great.”  He kisses her quickly and disappears behind a break in the bleachers where she assumes the locker room and storage areas are.  He’s only gone for a few moments, and she uses the time to take off her jacket and scarf, making a safe little nest for her kwami, and pulls her hat down further over her ears. She’s straightening her hoodie, a Vipers one stolen one night after staying over at Luka’s, when he reappears, a pair of skates, a stick, and a bucket of pucks in tow.  

Marinette looks at the stick that Luka hands her, specifically the tape wrapped around the top, ‘JR’ scribbled out in quick, dark lettering.  She glares up at him.  “Is this a kids’ stick?”

Luka lets out a deep laugh, and pulls her into a one armed hug.  “Well, you’re short,” he places a kiss on the top of her head, before leading her out onto the ice, ignoring her mock pouting.  He sets up a line of pucks between the two face off circles, and skates a little to the side.  “Alright, Nette, get the puck in the goal.”

Marinette huffs at him, expecting some sort of guidenence, but squares off in front of one of the pucks nevertheless. She grips the hockey stick with both hands about three quarters of the way down, rears the stick back and whips it forward with as much force as she can… and proceeds to hit the ice before any contact is made with the puck.  

Luka tires to stifle the laughter, but Marinette hears and turns to glare at him.  “It’s not golf,” he informs her with a straight face.  He skates over to her and wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.  “Alright, I’ll help.”  He places a kiss on her neck that catches her off guard and makes her gasp.  He takes a couple of steps back and adjusts her footing with carefully positioned hands on her hips. “Regrip your stick.  This time, keep one hand towards the top, then the other should be closer to halfway down the shaft- the stick.  See what hand feels better on top.”  He waits for her to feel around for a moment and get a comfortable hold on the stick before continuing. “When you shoot, shift your weight from your back foot to your front foot.  Keep the puck in the middle to back of the blade of the stick.  Pull back and release.  It’s not a big long sweeping swing like golf or tennis.  It’s more of a quick controlled pull and then flick of your wrist.  Does that make sense?” Luka shifts his hands over hers and mimics the motion a few times for her.

Marinette gives a couple quick nods, and he steps back to let her try.  She follows his instructions and shoots the puck in front of her forward.  It lands in the goal and she beams, looking over her shoulder from Luka then back to the goal in disbelief.  “I did it!” she squeals, bouncing up onto her toes excitedly and immediately flailing forward.  She throws her hands out just before she collides face first with the ice.

“No toe pick,” he reminds her, offering a hand to help her up.  “You’ve worn figure skates in the past.  The blades of hockey skates are rounded off on both sides.  No points.”

“Right.” She picks the stick off the ice and approaches the second puck, doing the same as before.  It goes right past the edge of the goal but not in.  She looks to Luka, who advises, “Try keeping your feet on either side of the puck.  See if that helps.” She goes to the next puck and adjusts her footing.  She shoots.  The puck bounces off the frame and into the net. Luka cheers in an exaggerated sportscaster voice .  “And Nettie’s got it in the net!”

Marinette laughs, and shoots a puck at him, which he easily side steps.  “You are such a dork!”

“And you love me.”   He leans down to kiss her and she meets him halfway, slipping her hands around his neck as his fall to the small of her back.  “I really, really do.”  He captures her lips again, pulling her even closer still, adding a new heat that catches her breath in her throat.  He nips at her bottom lip, begging for more, which she gladly gives.  The need for air becomes increasingly essential, and they reluctantly pull away.  He trails several soft little kisses across her cheeks.  She’s shocked by the intensity in his eyes when she finally opens her own. “What?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper, too afraid to shatter the moment. He continues to gaze down at her.  “I’m just falling in love with you all over again right now.”

“Luka,” she whimpers, joyful warmth flooding her body.  She buries her face in his chest to hide the tears stinging her eyes. He wraps his arms around her, and leans his chin on the top of her head, letting out a content sigh that seems to spread to her as well.  Neither are sure how long they linger there in that moment, but at some point the lights flick on and off a couple of times.   They both look up at the lights and chuckle a little as they pull away.

“That will be George,” Luka explains.  “He still needs to bring the zamboni out.”  “We should probably be getting back to the team anwayway,” Marinette adds.  They gather up the pucks and make their way back to the bleachers.  They make quick work of switching out of their skates to street shoes and head out.

By the time they get to the little pizzeria, they are really only a half hour behind the others.  The team has pulled together several of the tables, and there are empty breadstick baskets scattered here and there between them, all empty save for a couple of crumbs and half on one that looks like it had fallen on the ground.  There’s a selection of pizzas as well, but by the looks of everyone’s plates, it looks they had just come out.

“Ayye, Krovsky!” Sal, the goalie, whoops.  He’s the first one to spot them, and waves them over as if the needed any help finding the rowdy group. “What took you two so long?” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, Luka swatting the back of his teammate’s head as they squeeze themselves in next to the captain.

“He was teaching me how to play hockey,” Marinette informs him, taking a plate with a couple slices of veggie pizza that Luka offers her.

“Ice hockey or tonsil hockey?” Remy laughs.  Though Marinette has met the rest of the team several times at team parties in the apartment, she’s the most comfortable with Remy.  She knows that it’s probably because he’s Luka’s roommate and best friend, but even the first time she’d met him, it was as if she’d grown up with him as well.

“Rembrandt,” she scolds playfully.  “Do you really think I could have dated that,” she nods to Luka who has just taken a bite of his slice and freezes at her words, “ for the last six years and not know how to play tonsil hockey?”  The little cafe booms with laughter and taunting quips.  Luka is redder than she thinks she’s ever seen him in his life.

“Tchaikovsky’s got himself a little spitfire,” center Louis laughs. “Okay, someone please explain to me how he became Tchaikovsky,” Marinette begs.  

“You’ve heard 1812 Overture, right?” Louis asks her.  She stares at him blankly until Luka starts humming it next to her, patting out the rhythm on her leg.  She nods once she recognizes it. “He’s basically 1812. He starts out all calm and soft and smooth, but when he hits, he hits hard, like a fucking cannon.”

Marinette can’t really object with that logic.  When she thinks about it, it actually fits him pretty perfectly.

“So, you finally met Tchaikovsky, what do you think?” Remy asks her.

Marinette thinks for a minute, glancing around at the rest of the team, her gaze settling on the man in question. “I think I fell in love with him all over again today,” she smirks, leaning over to kiss him.

“FINE!” the team seems to all shout at once, which then turns to more laughter and teasing that lasts the rest of the night.

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

I Got You

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Blood, mild violence, fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: So I decided to make this three parts to sorta make up for the short last one. I am working on all of my requests and I plan on going back and forth between them and my originals. My requests are still open!

Hurt // Beginnings

“Just be careful, alright?”

Y/N nodded, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “It’s gonna be alright, Din. I can handle it.”

Din nodded, but he was still tense. This was the first job since she started where it was her taking the reins and going solo. He was too noticeable for the job; they’d be able to pick him as soon as he walked in. They had to keep a low profile, and so Y/N devised a plan to lure their man out, who would no doubt be at the local cantina drinking himself to death.

“He’s probably going to be too drunk to comprehend what’s going on anyway. Besides, you’ll be outside waiting for me,” she assured him. “If you hear or see anything, you’ll be right there with me.”

He knew it was supposed to be soothing, but he wasn’t finding any solace in her words. Y/N felt this and sighed.

“Listen, you need to calm down. It’s not good for either of us,” she gently reminded him. “Gotta keep a clear head here.”

Din sighed, grabbing her hand to place against his chest plate; right over his heart. She leaned up on the tip of her toes to press her forehead against his, closing her eyes and taking in the coolness of the beskar.

“I’ll be okay,” she promised.

…

Y/N wished she could’ve kept that promise.

It was all going so well until a there was a gun fight. Turns out, the man had made a lot of enemies on the way, and there were plenty eager to set whatever debt or deal they had with him with violence.

“Hello sweet thing,” the man stuttered. He wasn’t near blackout drunk yet, but he certainly was on his way.

Y/N didn’t need their tether to practically feel Din grit his teeth through the coms. She shuffled, making sure the red dress she wore was still just as alluring as Din confirmed it would be much to his chagrin.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Din defended. “Because I do with all my heart and soul. It’s just I get… protective I guess I should say. I’m not afraid of you leaving me or not being able to fight. I know you’re capable on your own, but even I can’t win all the fights.”

The frustration was prominent from him, coursing through her body on full edge, even making her body just as tense as the mans before her.

“I understand,” she said. “I do. I worry about you too, you know.”

She held him in her arms that night – he was practically asleep on top of her, but his weight in that moment was reassuring, warm – and kissed him awake with small little kisses around his face in the dark until he chuckled at her ministrations.

And Din would be clenching his fists until they burrowed through those gloves and drew blood if he saw the way the man laid his hand on her bare knee with a sloppy coy smile.

“H- how about w-we get out of here?” The man stumbled.

Play it cool.

She willed herself (Din) to calm down before putting on the best seductive smile she could produce. “Sure, handsome.”

“Not with my bounty you won’t.”

The hunter sat in the far, dark corner of the bar, glaring at them.

“And don’t even think of reaching for that gun little girl,” the man scorned once he saw her hand twitch.

Knowing Din, he was probably circling around to get him from behind. All’s she had to do was buy them some time.

“Look,” she started. “How about we make a deal?”

The hunter smiled. “Sorry miss, gotta trust you first. And so far, you’re not very convincing.”

She heard the shot just before she saw him, but the hunter appeared to not go down without a fight, his trigger finger automatically pushing on reflex.

Din felt it before he heard her cry out. The sharp pain coursed through his upper thigh, the burning sensation enough to almost bring him to his knees. The shot to the man was swift, as quick as the moment happened.

“Kriff,” she groaned, clutching her thigh. “That’s gonna leave a scar.”

He rushed over to her, ripping a part of his cape to tie over the wound. He grabbed the bounty before he could make a run for it, aiming his blaster at him with a vengeance.

“Don’t move,” he snarled at him. He turned to Y/N.

“We gotta go now,” he growled. “Are you okay to walk?”

She grunted, nodding her head. He swung her arm over her shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist, the other grasping his blaster so tightly she was sure he would break it.

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened to you,” the man tried reasoning with them. “I’ll make it to you. To the both of you, I promise!”

They didn’t say anything as they found a speeder, Din helping her delicately swing over. The trip back to the Razor Crest wasn’t long, and the man knew better than to fight his way out; he’d be dead the moment he tried.

The first thing Din did once Y/N was stabilized was put their bounty in carbonite, giving him a particularly hard shove before he froze. He then helped her to the edge of their cot where the Child was sleeping and set off to look for the kit; she had to guide him to it with her finger he was so frantic.

“You already lost a lot of blood,” his voice trembled. “But this spray and shot should do.”

Y/N yelped at the sting of the needle in her leg; it made his leg twitch as well at the sensation. He gave her a quiet apology, wrapping her wound up with such gentle precision for a man as rough and ruthless as he could be. Sometimes it made her feel special, that she was one of the only people who got to experience that side of him.

His hands hung limply on either side of her hips, head low. The Child, who was thankfully still asleep behind them, sighed in his sleep.

“I’m - .”

“I know.”

His voice was gruff, tense. She sighed, grabbing his hand in hers and intertwining their fingers. He looked at this and visibly relaxed, only a little, but it was a start.

“That could’ve gone better,” she finally joked.

There was a chocked huff, which she took as a stifled chuckle. It made her smile.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to take my helmet off.”

She frowned but nodded her head and tried to back up so he could close the hatch, but he stopped her, mindful of her leg.

“That’s not,” he was struggling, gnawing at his lip. “I… I want… I want you to take it off.”

She gasped, mouth agape as she took in what he just said. She could feel his growing nervousness, but also the relief at the thought of him being open to her like this. It was stronger than any fear or doubts they’ve ever experienced, and it made her hurt nearly burst.

“A-are you sure?” She stammered. “I mean… your creed. I couldn’t ask you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

This time he didn’t try to hold in his laughter, patting her uninjured leg. “I wouldn’t ask if I was. I want this. I want you to see me.”

He gulped, shifting on his knees between her legs. She didn’t think she ever saw him this skittish before.

“I could’ve lost you today. And it made me realize that this life… any life really, is short. It can end at any moment and I would never forgive myself for denying this from us.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly interjected. “And I’m absolutely positive this is what I want. You’re my soulmate, Y/N. The love of my life. And I’m ready to take the next step with you. If you are, of course.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest, but in a good way. She grinned widely, and that grin prompted him to lead her wrists to the cheeks of his helmet, his own hands falling after he was sure she wasn’t going to move.

“Go ahead,” Din whispered.

Her hands felt cool and clammy as she held her breathe, slowly lifting the helmet over his head. His eyes closed instinctively, too afraid to see her reaction. It had been so long since another living thing had seen his face, and the fear that she wouldn’t like what she would see tried to cloud his mind; Y/N wouldn’t let it.

“Wow,” she exhaled. He was everything she ever dreamed of, but better. Her fingers traced his face delicately, outlining his plump lips, the stubble on his cheeks, crooked nose and closed eyes. His breath ghosted over her palms, making her shiver in a delicious way. “Din, baby. Please open your eyes.”

He couldn’t deny that soft adoration in her gentle demand and opened them slowly. It was everything he ever imagined, seeing her without the helmet’s filters. Her eyes twinkled as they met his dark brown ones, and if it were possible her grin would’ve stretched even more.

“You’re beautiful.”

Din kissed her, swallowing her surprised gasp and cupping her face gently. Her hands ran over his wavy hair, twirling a few strands of it in between her fingers. It felt divine, the bare touch of her skin against his, and he found his body shaking from the sensory overload of it.

They only pulled away for air, both panting with their foreheads pressed together. They sat like that for a few blissful moments with her playing with the strands of hair at the back of his neck – she didn’t miss the way it made him quiver – before kissing the tip of his nose.

“We need to cut your hair soon.”

   Tags: @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @outlawers​, @hejahockey​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody​, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @angel-hunter-winchester​, @tedpicklez​, @pascalisthepunkest​, @coffeeandtodd​, @blunt-cake-yes​

[flying-nightwing]

Dark Fox (1/7)

Okay so I’m super excited about this one. It was supposed to be a one shot, but my head got carried away with the developpement of the story and I found the potential just too good not to bring further. So this is gonna be a multi parts, no idea how long yet.

This will not be exactly dark/gritty, but it will deal with existential struggle with identity and sense of justice (for reader, and indirectly for Jason as well). It’s my first time tapping into the questioning of the Self in a work of fiction, so I hope you enjoy exploring this topic with me.

Feedback is always appreciated!

Next 

Pairing: Jason Todd x League!reader

Word count: 3352

Warnings: Violence, swearing, death.

Summary: You’re torn in between your heart and your head, who you are and what you aren’t, right or wrong for yourself. The answer is so close you can taste it, but you can’t help but doubt. 

"They don't know what's coming for them"

You waited in the shadows, still and patient, watching the gang of thugs hyping themselves for their takeover. 

"No cops, no swat team, no fucking vigilante will be able to stop us!"

Cheers went around the group, their military grade firearms raised in the air. All the big fists of Kiev's underground criminal network were there, ready to storm the city. It had been a carefully crafted plan that had started with buying the right people, then diverting NATO's shipment to pro-america extremists to feed the anti-russian movement. Tonight was the night the final blow would strike, with a takeover.

"The city is ours, boys!" The leader shouted. "Take what's yours, and kill the rest!"

That was your cue. As they began running out of the warehouse, you dropped from the ceiling to block their path. You were alone, but the surprise made them all halt nonetheless. 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

Your eyes found the leader. "You are operating on a territory that is not yours, Dmitri Liyanov" You spoke through your mask, which was distorting your voice without making it any less clear. "Ra's Al Ghul is not pleased with your defiance"

He narrowed his eyes, then relaxed and laughed. "So he sent his little pet alone to confront me about it?" He mocked condescendingly, and with a hand gesture, all firepower in the room pointed to you. "In case you haven't noticed, you're outgunned"

You didn't move an inch, your eyes only trailed on the goon that had taken a step forward, ready to end you. You weren't worried, especially since you caught the movement of the fifteen other shadows silently dropping from the ceiling, unbeknownst to the forty or something goons all facing you.

"Alright boys, let's end this--"

"Oh, you don't wanna do that" A casual, laughing voice then echoed behind you. Your eyes widened in frustration as you recognized too well the intruder. Fuck. "The second you fire that gun, you have fifteen plus one super ninjas cutting you to pieces"

And with that, all hell broke loose. 

You threw a Shuriken in the thugs' throat and one that sticked into Liyanov's eye, before spinning around and blocking the oncoming dagger over your head with your forearm brace spikes. You paused there for a few seconds, glaring at the red mask looming over you.

Todd.

"Missed me?" The smirk could be heard in his voice. Of course he’s show up now.

You grabbed a blade in your belt and slashed forward, missing him by inches in his quick drawback. You hadn't expected fighting your equal tonight, but the thrill of a fair fight flared in your veins. The exchanges of hits was swift and graceful, like a river running down it's course. You barely grazed each other, as both of your training was sufficient to plan exactly the other's next move. The question was now about who would make the first mistake. 

He backed you up against a wall, you used the crates to propel you up and come down on him. He blocked your motion, you dropped the blade down in your left hand to attack his open side. But before it could reach him, a quick manoeuvre sent you over his shoulder. You recovered the fall with a roll and went at him again, but the movement of Liyanov trying to get up and run caught your eyes. It effectively distracted you, and before you knew it, Jason's foot collided violently with your stomach. 

It sent you flying back and rolling ungracefully on your stomach a few feet away. You heard a laugh as you groaned, slowly pushing yourself off the ground. You had forgotten the sheer power of his muscles when catching you off guard. You raised one knee as you caught your breath, glaring at Jason. There was laughter behind his eyes, but he wasn't the one making the sound. Your eyes slid over to Liyanov, who was watching the show.

"Seems like I have some people protecting my interests"

You raised your arm, fist pointed straight at him and shot a small barbed arrow straight to his hand. His laughter turned into screams of pain, but you tuned him out easily. Who's laughing now?

"I'm not done with you" You rasped at him, then pulled yourself up, feet apart and shoulders straight. You faced Jason, now angry and determined.

"Sweet upgrade" He whistled, nodding at your arm "And for the record, I was here to kill him too, but you're far more entertaining"

You didn't answer just yet, you only pulled your sword slowly out of the sheath on your back. You knew that you'd have to bring out the big guns against him.

"Oh I see" He hummed in amusement. "Drawing the sword, for old times' sake"

In a few seconds the metal of your weapons was clashing. It reminded you of all the sparring you did with him, when Talia sent you to him to train with him under Ra’s radar. It reminded you of the first time you had put Jason on his back when he was fresh out of the pit, and how he never could beat you with a sword. 

You were light on your feet, making sure that his wider range didn't get you into a leg sweep. He was trying to bring the fight to close range--closer than it could be possible with swords--so he would fall into the one type of combat he actually beat you at. But you could see his game and you refused to give in. 

You knew your strengths as well as his and there was no way you'd let the favor switch to him.

So when his long arms sneaked around and got you into a headlock, you threw all fairness out of the window and rose up your left forearm, shooting the same hidden crossbow you had used against Liyanov. Jason jumped back to avoid the arrow piercing through his jaw and was forced to let you go in the process.

"That's cheating" He tsked as you circled each other. You shot three more arrows, which he all dodged and broke mid air. "Really?"

"You're in my way" You only said, suppressing the emotion from your voice. You refused to admit you were holding back, and that you only wasted your small quiver because you knew none of them would hit him. But you still had a job to do, and not even him could stop you.

“Is that a warning?” He snorted. “Because you’ll have to do more than that to convince m- fuck”

You interrupted him with a distraction flash bang and took the moment to attack. He was quick enough to recover on time and block your blade before it slashed his arm, but not enough to have the upper hand in the fight. He was forced into a totally defensive stance as you left him no space to attack. You sped up your hits, so much that his helmet cracked and came flying off. The next moment, your blade swung at his neck--he closed his eyes when he understood your next move-- but came to a dry stop as it touched his skin. 

The world froze. There you both were, breathing heavily in the silence of the warehouse. He opened his eyes, like he knew you wouldn’t do it. Still, there was this glint in his eyes, like he dared you to finish your motion. 

“You could at least look at me directly” He muttered. “Unless you’re too afraid”

Slowly, you pulled off your mask, showing him your full face. It’s not like there was anybody around who didn’t know who you were under the black hood of the league, and for Liyanov, he wouldn’t leave this warehouse alive to tell on you. 

“You’ve changed” He remarked.

“So did you” You replied sternly. But he didn’t, not really. He was still handsome, and a distraction to your work. So you raised your sword, like you would swing down, but instead took his inattention to deliver a round kick at the exact same place he did to you. He flew backwards, and in the middle of his fall, you loaded a sedative dart in your forearm crossbow. You shot him in the neck, and by the time his back hit the ground, he was out. 

You watched him for a few more seconds before you turned away and walked to Liyanov. His left eye was now a red mess, no doubt it would have been lost had you let him live. His hand was still stuck to the wooden crate, and he was muttering incoherent things. Probably overwhelmed by the pain, you thought. He looked at you with his one good eye, silently pleading you to end him.

How easy it was to break a weak man’s spirit.

Without a word, you pressed the tip of your sword to his throat and pushed, then slowly pulled back out. You wiped the metal on the inside of your folded elbow and sheathed it back, watching Liyanov choke on his blood and die not so long after. You lifted your head and turned to your team. 

“Linadhhab” You ordered to your team as you slipped your mask back on, and left the scene.

----

You never talked.

Despite sharing a hut, meals and basically both of your personal space, words were rarely used in between you. He was always brooding, angry and miserable. And you? Well, you didn’t feel the need to speak unless it was to correct his form, or to tell him to do the work all over again. He hated you for that, and you hated that you were there because of him. You would have done anything for Talia, but you felt conflicted about betraying Ra’s. You knew this could happen when you agreed to become her right hand, but you didn’t expect for it to happen because of an unstable, revengeful boy she rescued. 

The rain was pouring nails over the mountain. It was cold and seeping through your clothes, yet still you were outside, circling Jason. There was fury in his eyes, directed at you, at the rain, at the world. Yet, he couldn’t control his swing. You had tried to teach him the art of Katana for days now, but he would always be too rash, to much in a hurry to end things. And the pit clearly didn’t help, giving him muscle strength he had not the discipline to control. 

“Again”

He leaped at you, and despite his enhanced speed, you saw his attack coming from miles away. You swatted him and sent him to a tree trunk, his sword falling out of his hands. He was both panting and shaking from the cold, or anger, or both. He slowly got back got his feet, jaw clenched and knuckles white.

“Again”

“Fuck you!” He exploded, walking toward you angrily. You stood your ground. “What’s the point of this, uh? Make me catch a fucking pneumonia?”

“You need to learn control” You simply said, and that made him even angrier. 

“I don’t need fucking control!” He yelled. “I’m strong enough to break your bones”

“Try”

He didn’t like the challenge, and even less when you side stepped all of his attacks. He was skilled, but he was getting tired and numb in the rain. And his rage made him way too predictable. You only pushed him when he tried to go for your neck, knowing a chokehold from him was the one thing you wouldn’t get out of.

“Fight back god dammit!” 

So you did. A few moves and you had him in checkmate, your blade on his neck. It didn’t stop the fuming in his eyes, nor the venom in his words.

“I know why you’re here” He croaked. “You’re stalling me. Talia is stalling me from getting justice for my death. Because that’s what you do, you hide behind a mask to hide the fact that you’re only glorified hitmen, and that you’re afraid to face your own incapacity to change a goddamn thing in the world”

You waited a second before drawing back your sword, your eyes never leaving his. 

“That’s enough for today”

You watched him retreat in frustration toward the hut up the tree, pondering over his words. It was the first time he had talked that much, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make you reflect on it more than you cared to admit.

-----

You never understood the need for luxury. 

The suite that had been reserved for your fake identity was way too spacious for comfort, and so full of things you didn't need. It only made it harder, more straining on you. Smaller spaces were easier to control and to securise, and you knew what to expect. nothing-- nobody could lurk when you were at sword range of everything. 

But unfortunately, your given identity was most of the time part of the higher class, as money could buy silence better than force. Nobody would dare look for a serial killer in a five star hotel, and if there was suspicions, it would be swept under the rug with any organized crime business the elite conducted. The cover was perfect, but it still made you restless.

As soon as you sneaked back in your room, you went straight to your suitcase and threw it on the bed. With a hiss, you peeled off your mask and league uniform, to reveal a red gash on your arm where Jason’s blade got you. You hadn’t noticed before a few minutes ago, when the adrenaline died down. You sighed and began cleaning it up, then applied a bandage to it. It wasn’t deep enough for it to need stitches, but you would still be careful.

Then, you sewed back up your sleeve. It had had other slashes that you could only see their patchwork from up close, sewn back with a large thread the exact same shade of the black leather. 

Next was your shower, to wash down the sweat and the grime and the dried blood. IT was the first one you had in a week, and your first hair wash in twice as much time. The undoing of your braids hurt, and you couldn’t wait to get under water You liked your showers burning hot, it made you feel alive. You had grown up in the desert, after all, and despite your exposure during your training, you hated the cold. You could barely stand it, as a matter of fact. But you’d never show this to Ra’s, it was a weakness which he would try to repress with more cold. 

The steam following you out of the shower clouded the bathroom. You reached for your night kimono and wrapped it around you, the black satin clinging to the dampness of your skin. You dried your hair with a towel and brushed your teeth before going back to the suite. There you folded your black league suit and carefully arranged your weapon on the table. You were almost done when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and a shiver went down your spine.

Half a second later, you felt his presence close behind you. Your head rose up slowly, yet you didn’t make another move. You simply waited as he did, listening to the almost inaudible sound of his breathing. You didn’t know if he had a weapon close by, and your hand was still at reaching distance from yours. And yet, there was no threat lingering in the air. It was almost… Comforting. 

And you wanted it to stop.

“After all this time…” Jason’s voice was a whisper, meant for you and only you. “All I get is an ass kicking and a sedative?”

It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t playful. It sounded disappointed, if anything. You felt a pang in your heart that was there no matter how hard you tried to push it away. You hadn’t seen him in years, and his sheer presence was already messing with your head. Why did he show up again?

“What else was I supposed to give you?” Your voice wasn’t much louder. His smell clouded your senses and you so wanted to give in, but you had to resist your instinct. It would be your downfall again if you did.

“You’re still angry” He stated, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your neck in a ghost of a caress. It gave you goosebumps, so much you had to close your eyes. His touch was always your weakness when it came to him. 

No matter how cold his skin would get.

“You’re the one who left” You turned your head to the side to catch a glimpse of him behind you. Your voice betrayed your own feelings as it hitched at the end. He moved in your field of vision, his hand gently trailing your neck to cup your cheek. You sighed and leaned in, despite your inner protests. 

“I had to go” He repeated the same thing he had told you three years ago. “You could have come with me. You didn’t have to--”

You didn’t have to stay with them, you completed for him in your head. You’ve had this argument already, and you were tired. 

“I did. Ra’s--Talia gave me everything” You replied. “The league is the only way. I must stay loyal”

“No you don’t” His face was closer to you know, so much you felt with breath on your lips. “They won’t help you, you know this inside. Come with me”

He knew your secrets, your goals, your drive; it was impossible to lie to him. You had opened yourself like a book to him, and now he had power over you. Over your feelings and your thoughts, and while your heart wished nothing more than to surrender, your head kept pulling you back. And for a moment, you did. You pressed your lips against his, softly and quietly. It felt just as you remembered. But reality caught up with you again and you pulled away. 

“I’m sorry” You breathed, turning away from him. “I can’t leave. Not when I’m this close”

"Okay" He took a step back, nodding to himself. "If you change your mind, I'll be there"

The next time you turned around, he was gone.

------

Only a few lights were still open in the Gotham division of LexCorp that late at night. The guard on shift didn’t even bother scolding the over zealous technician still inside, as he found it was no use to get him out of there at reasonable hours. He was always working on something, some small, insignificant detail. It always had to be perfect.

“No, why are you always doing this to me” The tech whined out loud, even though there was no other colleague to entertain him. “Please remain calm”

He would always say some weird stuff, but that night he seemed more agitated that usual. The security guard paused, making a face at the crazy tech.

“That’s it that’s it” He nodded to himself. “See? You can do it”

The guard squinted his eyes, before scoffing and walking away. “Fucking weirdo” 

The tech kept working like the guard never passed by. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed when he did. He was close to the solution of his problem, of why the damn machine would not start. Well he knew why it wouldn’t start; a disbalance in the molecular component triggered the fail safe. He just had to find the right element to add without messing up the entire thing…

“Dear Lord” He gasped, looking a his microscope, then at his notes. Then back at his microscope. “I found it. I FOUND IT!”

A few miles away, two people watched the feed of the tech laughing to himself and celebrating. One had a smirk, the other an incredulous expression.

“I’ll be damned” The latest mumbled. “The fool really did it”

“So it seems” The other hummed in agreement. “We can now proceed to the next step”