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p-antomime · 4 years ago

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just so fine.

— minors don’t interact

— wc: 4,7K

content + warnings: 18+, including: dilf!toji, manhandle, spitting, daddy kink, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of school girl!reader maybe, breeding kink, overstimulation, squirting, degradation, age gap, a bit of size kink, thigh riding

pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

— note: this is a bit inspired by: Love Without Tragedy by Rihanna. — jjk masterlist.

Red lipstick and a broken heart trying to be concerted by the petals of your conscience and your friends who said that "he didn't deserve you anyway". And honestly, you didn't know where exactly you were getting the strength from to get out of bed that Monday and go take a shower before heading painfully to your first class in the morning.

He used to be the boy you loved with every cell of your body and soul, he stole the best years of your freshman life at the university, and now you were a senior who had neither the animation nor the patience to welcome the incoming freshmen that year. Despite having Kugisaki and Megumi fervently cheering you on while Itadori was too busy still dealing with the problem of sending documents to the college, your heart was still fatally wounded and your dignity no longer existed as your tears had wiped it off the face of the earth during that morning shower and you couldn't help but be tempted to put on makeup good enough to mask your dark circles under your eyes and downcast face.

"Are you coming today?", Nobara asked excitedly on the other end of the line as you were already leaving the house and taking the long way to college.

— Do I have the option of not going?

"No, of course not.", Nobara replied with a slight laugh that was well intended to cheer you up a bit, "We can have a movie night tonight, to cheer you up."

— At whose house? At mine that won't be, it's a mess. — You grumbled.

"At Megumi's or Itadori's, of course. During lunch I'll buy soda and food with Yuuji and you convince Megumi to let us break into his house today.”

— Why do I have to convince Megumi? You came up with the idea.

"Because I'll be busy, simple. And Fushiguro doesn't take me seriously.", and then you sighed heavily, already noticing that you were less than a block away from entering the college grounds.

— Okay, I see what I can do.

Kugisaki told you that she was waiting for you in the classroom, and you replied that you were already there. And then something distinctive caught your attention. It was strangely easy to spot something different in the landscape of the university entrance because usually it was always the same: university students rushing to settle personal matters or to classes they are late for, or also students who came to see what the college was like before the university application period.

But today was different. There was a tall man fully dressed in black and gray leaning against a motorcycle that looked as if it had been taken from an action movie because it was so well equipped and large. He looked relaxed, and yet he still possessed an aura that could kill you with a single punch. Attractive and devilishly dangerous with that leather jacket highlighting his strong arms and broad shoulders. Forcing your eyes a little, you could notice a scar close to one of the corners of his lips.

— What's the matter, little girl? — His deep voice reaches your ears, but your mind whispers to you that he probably wasn't talking to you at the same time that your heart starts to beat out of control and your head turns from side to side trying to check if there is someone behind you. — Yeah, I'm talking to you. — He smiled sideways.

— Uh... hmm... none, sorry. — Your cheeks started to heat up and you wanted to punch yourself in the stomach because usually a simple man couldn't disconcert you like that, and then your eyes fell on his collarbones, well marked by the black shirt he wore under his jacket, and your mouth suddenly felt too dry.

— What exactly are you apologizing for? — The man asked as he placed one of the helmets on the motorcycle seat, if there were two helmets maybe he brought some college girl? — For eating me with your eyes or staring at me? — And then you choked on your saliva and coughed desperately for air trying not to drop the folders in your hands and he seemed amused by your reaction.

— I-I... — Your fingers squeezed the folders and you had to look away to think straight. — I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to.

— I am not, it's great to be lusted after by younger girls. — He replied, but before he had a chance to continue his onslaught someone approached from the diagonal.

— Dad! — And then you choked again seeing that the one who was referring to the man in front of you as "dad" was Megumi. — Oh, Y/N? — He looked confused looking from you to his own father. — Anyway, they didn't have what you wanted at the pharmacy, next time you'll buy it yourself. — The young Fushiguro spoke to the older man, but seconds later, noticing the mortifying silence that settled over the place as you stared at his father, he spoke up: — And we are almost late already, let’s go, Y/N. — Megumi took one of your arms and started to guide you away from the motorcycle and closer to the interior of the college.

— You never told me you were interested in girls. — His father shouted more to embarrass his son than you, but the effect was the opposite, since you were the one with the burning cheeks.

— Shut up, Toji. — Megumi shouted back as he continued walking. — Did he say shit to you? — He asked you when the two of you were already walking down the halls to your classroom for the first class of the morning.

— Not really, no. He seems... fine. — You tried to talk as if you didn't have dirty thoughts running through your mind especially after remembering the older man's collarbones and scar, and still Megumi gave you an accusing look.

— Don't try to fuck my father, that's disgusting. - Your eyes widened.

— I wasn't thinking that, you idiot. — And then Megumi let out a loud laugh.

— I know, I was just trying to amuse you. — He shrugged and left you standing in front of the door. — See you at lunch?

— Yes, of course. — You answered, and then suddenly remembered Nobara's request on the phone earlier. Your hand held one of his arms so that he wouldn't walk away without listening to you. — Megumi, can we have a movie night at your place tonight? Nobara came up with the idea of doing this to cheer me up a bit. — He seemed to become suddenly tense.

— I'll have to at least let Toji know that there will be people coming home today. — Megumi answered vaguely and shrugged. — I'll send a message to Kugisaki and let her know if it's on or off.

Nodding your head positively, you gave your friend a slight smile, and then for the rest of the day your mind concentrated on paying attention to your classes, your scheduled seminars and the pile of work you still had to do. There was no time for your heart to pound with grief over the loss of your now ex-boyfriend, but there were several minutes when you had to chase away persistent thoughts of Megumi's dad. But looking at him wasn't enough, your hands wanted to explore his body and leave marks everywhere, that's what you thought until you felt ashamed, pushed the thoughts away for a few brief minutes and then thought about it again. In a vicious loop.

When you were having lunch with Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki, your head tried to focus on their conversation as much as possible, but looking at the man with black hair and beautiful eyelashes reminded you of Toji and your hands started to break into a cold sweat. It had been a frustrating, tiring day, but secretly you were a little excited to see your friend's father again.

— Don't take too long, okay? — Nobara spoke after dropping you off and leaning against the hallway wall, and you nodded positively before going to your room to pack a backpack with some pajamas and an outfit in case you and the other two friends ended up falling asleep while you were at Megumi's house.

It didn't take long before you two were ringing the doorbell of the Fushiguro’s house and from the loud sound from inside the house you both could tell Yuuji had already arrived. Suddenly, Y/N felt nervous not knowing who would answer the door. Would it be Toji? "Damn", you thought as you saw exactly him calmly opening the door. This time he wasn't wearing very dark clothes, it was just gray sweatpants and a white v-neck shirt that still highlighted his beautiful collarbones.

— Is that them? — Itadori shouted from another room in the house.

— Yes. — Megumi, who was looking at the two girls standing in the doorway over Toji's shoulder, answered. — You may come in.

Toji moved to the side letting you two into the house and, using the personal excuse of being embarrassed, Y/N walked in with her head down. And partly, in fact, it was true that you were embarrassed, but your mind knew that your eyes wanted to take a good look at the older Fushiguro's thighs and cock. It was impossible not to look at those parts of his body, especially with that kind of pants.

But then Toji gave himself the right to go up the stairs to the upper floor of the house and out of your field of vision when Megumi asked you and Nobara which movie you wanted to watch and she answered that a drama movie. And then the four of you started to watch the movie comfortably, until you started to feel the straps of your own bra start to press painfully against the skin of your shoulders.

— Can I go to the bathroom? — Y/N asked Megumi, who pointed to the steps of the staircase diagonally across from the sofa.

— First door on the left. — You nodded and walked up the stairs carrying your backpack, intending to get rid of your bra and also put on the comfortable pajama top that had been brought.

From the hallway you could hear the low sound of another TV escaping through the gap in a tall door. It was probably Toji's room, such a thought raced through your mind, and you shrugged as you entered the bathroom, leaned against the door, and began to remove your bra and change into your shirt. It was inevitable to sigh in relief as you felt your shoulders less tense and sore and your hands groped your breasts just for the personal pleasure of feeling them free now.

— Hmm, may I come in? — A muffled voice was heard behind the door and instinctively you quickly removed your hands from your breasts.

— Just a minute. — Y/N answered, shoving the previously worn blouse into her backpack and almost running toward the door, slowly opening it.

You looked forward and found yourself facing a bare hard chest as you waited to see a long hallway with four different doors. Toji was now shirtless in front of you and your cheeks burned a little, which got a little worse when your brain short-circuited, your hand rested two fingers against the warm, somewhat soft skin of his chest, and you pulled away slightly so that you could look him in the eye.

— I'm sorry. — Your hand finished opening the door and there was again a sideways smile on Toji's lips

— Are you going to sleep here? — He asked, sliding his gaze over her shoulders, breasts and abdomen freely, without any embarrassment.

— No, actually. I just changed my shirt to be more comfortable.

— Got it. — Toji looked you straight in the eyes again, but yours were already gliding across his face until you found the scar close to his lips.

— How did you get this scar? — You felt the need to prolong the conversation just to get a better record of his face.

— You're pretty curious for someone apparently shy. — He remarked, his eyes sparkling with a gleam that you couldn't quite identify what it was. — When I was younger, we could say I wasn't the friendliest person in the whole world, so I got into a few fights. — Toji shrugged, as if this was not relevant information

How old are you? — A mischievous smile slowly drew on his lips.

— Old enough to be your dad.

"Then maybe I can call you Daddy", was the first thing you thought, but there wasn't enough courage in you to flirt shamelessly, especially with Megumi or the other two able to eavesdrop from downstairs.

— I think I've been here with you long enough. — Y/N answered, putting the backpack on her back and walking past Toji, but just as her feet were about to start down the steps, the older Fushiguro called her out.

— I think you forgot something, little girl. — You turned back in confusion, and in his hands was your bra. Toji threw the piece of clothing toward you through the air without much force to fall gently onto your palms that had opened toward him. — The next time you forget something like that inside my house, I'll keep it for myself. — You frowned, assuming that he was implying that there was possibly something between you and his son.

— Me and Megumi, we don't... — Your shoulders shook without your mouth finishing the sentence.

— I wasn't talking about him exactly, you're very naive, not that that's a problem for me. — He went into the bathroom and eventually you were alone again.

Feeling more embarrassed than the first time you had seen Toji earlier at the university entrance, you joined your friends again in the middle of the movie and were grateful that none of them had bothered to ask if anything had happened in the bathroom because of your delay. Eventually Nobara fell asleep on your shoulder after eating two pieces of the pizza Megumi had asked his father to buy, and Yuuji began to yawn almost pushing the son of the owner of the house off the couch.

— I knew they would both end up sleeping. — Megumi grumbled, pushing Itadori aside and getting up from the sofa. — There are two guest bedrooms upstairs, you and Nobara can use both of them and Yuuji sleeps with me, or one of you can sleep with me and the other and Itadori in the other bedrooms.

— I think it's better that Yuuji better sleep with you. — Y/N replied looking at Kugisaki, who was starting to fall off her shoulder.

And then Fushiguro woke the almost sleeping Itadori to go upstairs while he carried Nobara up the stairs and you accompanied him carrying both your and your friend's backpack. After tidying Kugisaki up in bed and getting Yuuji changed, Megumi spoke to you before leaving you alone in the guest room:

— If you feel hungry, you can go in the kitchen and get something to eat during the night. And, well, you already know where the bathroom is, and so does my room. If anything happens during the night, you can call me or him. — Megumi pointed to the door of Toji's bedroom, and you nodded positively.

And then you laid lazily on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the room and tried to relax. Almost, almost, sleep caught up with you, but your evil brain began to make you think about the fact that Toji was only a few miserable doors away, and the anxiety began to corrupt you rapidly, like a corrosive acid. But even though you wanted to go knock on his door, you forced yourself to sleep, especially since the day had been exhausting.

The next day, just like the rest of the week, Y/N didn't get to see Megumi's dad, and he didn't make much of a point of talking about his father either, after all, why would his friends be interested in him, right? All the other days of the week, her mind focused more on trying not to think about her ex-boyfriend and also not to think about Toji, just college business.... And then came the next Thursday of the successive week.

And there was Toji Fushiguro, leaning against his big motorcycle, but this time with only one helmet and different clothes. Honestly? You didn't know if you should go talk to him or not, if you should just walk right by or not. But, in the end, your mind tricked you into choosing the second option, and your feet awkwardly made their way to the college with your eyes struggling not to check the man's reactions.

— Can I have your number, little girl? — Toji asked in a tone loud enough for you to hear.

— What? — You looked away, wringing your hands nervously.

— I asked if I could have your number. — One of his hands swung his cell phone toward you.

The first thought that crossed your mind was, "What if someone sees us together and tells Megumi?", but honestly, Megumi probably wouldn't be interested in your sex or love life, even if it was with his father.

— Maybe, if you take me for a motorcycle ride today.

— You're wearing a skirt, are you sure you'd want to do that? — Toji suppressed a playful laugh. — You could have a ride somewhere more comfortable than my motorcycle today.

You narrowed your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek, realizing that you were entering dangerous territory in a game of seduction that Toji knew and played better than you.

— Will Megumi be at home?

— He has an internship today. — Toji replied, drumming his fingers on his helmet.

— Wait for me after four o'clock then. — You replied and walked back toward the college as you felt his eyes fixed on your ass.

Throughout the day you felt uncomfortably nervous and Nobara even asked you if everything was okay several times at different times. The only answer your mind formulated was a simple positive head movement, because honestly you felt embarrassed to be interested in a friend's dod, even though this father was extremely attractive and did not reject your shy and restrained advances. He was just so nice, fine.

Fine enough to make you press your thighs together to try to relieve the sexual tension as your legs walked towards the Fushiguro house. And when you got there, it didn't take long to see Toji opening the door wearing only black sweatpants. You went inside and closed the door, nervously watching the older man, who sat comfortably on the sofa in the living room and called out to you with his index finger. As you stopped in front of him, one hand patted his lap and the other was placed on your thigh covered by your skirt. Slowly, Y/N took her seat sitting on his covered cock.

— Why do you look so tense, hm? — Toji asked, squeezing your thigh without too much force and you moved slightly against his hip. — Are you a virgin by any chance? — Your cheeks heated up.

— N-No, you just make me nervous. — Y/N replied, shrugging slightly.

— Do I? — He pretended to be surprised as he slid his hand up her skirt and pushed his fingertips against her covered pussy. — Do I make you get your panties wet too? — Toji pressed his hips against hers and her hands rested on his shoulders for a few brief seconds.

— Fuck, yes. — You groaned, taking your fingers to the buttons of your shirt to undo them. — I've been thinking about you more than I should, I've been thinking about everything about you.

— So, why don't you show me how much you've been thinking about me, huh? — Fushiguro pulled her panties aside and stroked her pussy in slow circular motions while he brought his other hand to her face and pulled her closer to his. — Show me how much you want me and cum on my fingers like the dirty slut I know you can be. — His thumb slowly brushed over your lips and you opened them, your mouth filled by long fingers.

You grabbed his wrist close to your intimacy and guided two of his digits into your interior. And, fuck, they filled you so well. Toji's fingers were thicker and longer than yours, so the times he repeatedly curved them inside your cunt, their tips easily brushed and pressed that spot that made you roll your eyes having your body spasm with pleasure. "What a beautiful vision", the man would be thinking as he watched his beautiful college girl choking on his fingers while being fucked by the others.

However, he didn't move his hand against you much, meaning that he let you choose the pace and intensity, until you whimpered against his neck in a silent request for his fingers to move against you:

— Please, Toji, move your fingers. — Y/N said as she pulled away from Toji's digits that were preventing her from speaking and forced her hips against his hand.

— Can't you cum on your own? — He asked squeezing your chin to make you keep your mouth open. — Pathetic. — Toji spat on your tongue and closed your mouth to force you to swallow. — Pathetic slut. — And then he began to finger you in a relentless rhythm.

If Fushiguro wanted to make you cum in his hand, that's exactly what he got, and he even got a great view of your trembling body, your breasts rising and falling rapidly because of your rapid breathing and your head falling back in an intense pleasure you didn't know your body could achieve. While you were still clouded by ecstasy, his fingers snuck up to finish removing your panties and getting rid of your clothes covering your upper body. He wanted you only in your skirt.

— Look at my pet slut with her beautiful cunt leaking. — His fingers spread the folds of your pussy to see you twitching around just at his obscene words. — Just so nice. — Toji pressed the thumb against your sensitive clit and gave you a smirk before he sat you down on one of his thighs, began to move you there and also slowly stimulated your clit.

His body leaned down and his lips latched onto your breasts, sucking and licking them more intensely as your hips moved faster against his thigh. And occasionally Fushiguro would pull up her skirt and slap her ass hard enough to leave several finger marks across her skin; and it was on one of his slaps that a short, gasping, "Daddy" sneaked out from between your lips and hit Toji's mind as a twinge of intense pleasure coursed through his entire body.

— Say that again. — He ordered, grabbing her neck with the hand that had been slapping her ass before.

— Daddy... — Y/N groaned breathlessly as she continued to move her hips against Toji's thigh in a desperate attempt to cum again.

— Keep calling me that, be a good little whore for me. — His other hand continued to stimulate your clit, now at a more intense pace that managed to push you straight into the abyss of a orgasmic pleasure that you so desperately needed.

After that, Fushiguro held you still in place as he continued to press his fingers against your clit. He definitely wanted to bring you close to the level of almost passing out from so much lust running freely through your body, and so your legs instinctively closed around his hand. At the same time that you desperately needed to breathe because you felt like your lungs were burning from your intense panting, every fiber of your body was still clamoring for the stimulation that only Toji could give you at the moment, so it wasn't hard for him to force your legs open again with a sly smile on his lips:

— Come on, my pretty girl, give me everything you've got. — He made scissor-like movements against her walls and her hips automatically forced themselves against Toji's palm, even though her intimacy was already quite sensitive.

— Daddy, please... please, more, daddy... — Y/N sank her face into the curve of Toji's neck trying to stifle her own moans.

— What a great fuck toy you are. — His fingers curved and you gasped, feeling again that same pressure as before against your bottom that indicated that your third orgasm was approaching. — No matter how much I make you cum you keep asking for more.

And the more he moved his fingers frantically against your pussy, the more you felt your thoughts disappear completely and all that was left was only Toji Fushiguro, and his fingers, and the cocky smile he had no matter what the situation was. Those same fingers that made you squirt for the first time against his abdomen in a third, overwhelming orgasm and your cheeks heat up violently, especially after seeing Toji bring them to his lips looking more than just satisfied with his work with you. Fuck, you could fuck him several times, you could pass out from pleasure, and you still wouldn't ask him to stop or slow down with you.

— Think you can handle one more, pretty girl? — He asked, his hands reaching for his pants and underwear.

— Yes, Daddy. — Y/N tried to speak as firmly as possible with her heavy breathing.

Toji put one hand on your waist and the other on your chin and took the opportunity to pull you in for a kiss as he entered you slowly, which made you lose some focus on the kiss and moan against his mouth as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. He didn't let you get too used to the recent intrusion and started thrusting himself against you hard.

After leaving yours, his mouth slid down your neck and shoulders to leave sucking and biting the area before placing the hand that was on your chin on your neck. Eventually yours moans went from simple gasps and sighs to little "Daddy" that made Fushiguro's dick twitch against yours insides several times and grunts escape his lips.

— I will breed you like the desperate little whore that you are. — Toji stroked hard against you while squeezing your neck a little harder. — I bet you're going to love this, aren't you?

— Y-Yes, daddy, breed me, please. — Y/N moved her hips against his while maintaining eye contact with the older man's predatory eyes. — Fill me up completely, until I'm leaking.

Toji squeezed your waist tightly, tilted your body slightly until your hips arched a bit, and started a rhythm of thrusts against you that as a result made your mind go blank and your nails leave scratches on his shoulders. And your fourth orgasm didn't even take long to hit you almost as hard as the third because your whole body had been extremely sensitive for a long time; after fucking that man incessantly you would definitely be addicted to him, to his touch, to his dick, to his lips. Everything about him was addictive.

After making you cum for the fourth time, Fushiguro kept thrusting inside you until his cock forcefully contracted against you and filled you full of cum. By that point you had definitely become just a bunch of holes for him to fuck, and if your body wasn't already so sensitive you might want him to actually fill every possible place in your body with cum. When he withdrew his dick from inside your pussy, Toji pulled your hips up to watch the white liquid escape your entrance and used his fingers to push it into you again.

— Come here. — He patted his chest lightly, and you leaned your sweaty body against his as you lifted your head to look at him. His hands caressed your body and soon you found yourself being carried up the stairs. — I'm going to give you a long shower, and then I'll take you home. — Toji left a gentle kiss against your forehead, and you felt more comfortable than you really should have in his arms.

— Thank you, daddy. — You replied, and he couldn't suppress a satisfied smile.

And maybe from then on you continued to take advantage of the times when Megumi wasn't home or you weren't so busy with college to spend hours together.

#toji fushiguro #toji smut #jjk toji #toji x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen toji #i4nanami #daddy toji #toji supremacy #tw.daddy kink

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the-angriestpineapple · 4 years ago

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liability // villain!sero hanta x femreader

Rating: Explicit Characters: (Villain) Sero Hanta Inspiration: My piece for the Citrus Dome Discord server’s Hero/Villain Redemption Collaboration. Okay listen, I love Sero Hanta and this boy does not nearly get enough credit for what a good boy he is. Get ready to thirst for a tape dispenser folks. Prompt: You’re captured by a villain/hero. This is a double whammy! The character you pick must be written with the opposite alignment. So, if they are heroes, they must be portrayed as villains. If they are villains, they must be depicted as heroes. On top of that, you (reader) or they must try and corrupt or redeem the other character! Tags: Villain!Sero Hanta, bondage, shibari, overstimulation, oral, vaginal sex, abuse, talk of sexual assault. (The last two are not Sero and only last like, a paragraph or two.) Word Count: ~6.4k Collab Masterlist here

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The museum was dead silent with the exception of your brush making slow, careful strokes on the painting you were working on. Of course, it was expected that it was dead silent. You were at work near in the middle of the night. It wasn’t that the restoration department was noisy during the day, but there was always some sort of audio. Someone talking, other people working, someone sipping tea. And for this specific piece, you wanted absolute silence to concentrate. Not even music. Dead silence. It was the first time you’d found a piece by your absolute favorite artist and you had begged to be the one to restore it. But in order to concentrate as much as you felt you needed to, there had to be no noise. So you’d gotten permission to stay late, after the museum closed. And you were grateful. This was going to be the absolute highlight of your career. You pause to dip your brush into the specialty varnish remover and hear a noise. You pause, and glance at the clock. It wasn’t time for the security guard to make the rounds. You immediately feel on edge. No one else is supposed to be here. Maybe… maybe something just fell over in the artifact room. You grab your cell phone, trying not to think about how utterly impossible that is, and turn on your flashlight app. You exit your offices in the restoration department and head to the next door, where the artifacts not currently on display are held. It’s possible that the security guard made rounds early. Likely more possible than something falling over. Especially since the door to the artifact room is ajar. You’d go in, see the guard, and then maybe it was time to head home. You make it only a handful of steps in before you hear something that sounds vaguely familiar, and you’re quickly wrapped in some kind of tape. You immediately struggle but lose your balance, falling to the ground. Your phone skids away from you and slides directly under a shelf. You stare at the spot in dismay and when someone speaks up behind you, you freeze at the voice.

“Hm. This won’t do. Intel said there’s only one security guard and I already took care of him.” A booted foot pushes on your bound torso to roll you over. You look up, and your captor’s eyes widen the same time that yours does. He breathes out your name in surprise. Immediate glee rises in you. He recognizes you. Sero Hanta, love of your life from middle school, recognizes you all these years later. But that giddy schoolgirl elation is shoved down when you remember that he’s a villain and is obviously here to steal from your museum. His mouth curls into a grin just as yours falls to a frown. “What are you doing here, Sero?” Not that you don’t already know. Your museum might not be the Tokyo National Museum, but it held some pretty priceless artifacts. “I would think that’s obvious, if you recognize me. How have you been?” His head tilts to the side and your frown deepens. “You look good.” I look good? Part of you feels your heart skip at the compliment. Part of you flares up in indignation, wondering how he has the absolute gall to say that to you when you’re bound from shoulders to hips in tape, on the floor of your place of work that he’s about to rob. Though if you’re behind completely honest, he looks good too. You’d always been partial to his angular face and wide smile, but now he had lean, powerful looking muscles. His hair was still long but pulled back, and the underside of his head shaved. His outfit was a parody on his hero costume, a skin-tight body suit of mostly black with white and yellow accents. He didn’t wear a helmet anymore, but did have a black face mask. Like the kind you wore when you were sick. He had an air of confidence around him that was undeniably attractive. But you guessed that one would become a bit arrogant with as many successful heists as he’s pulled off. He’d never been caught once, even though he had former classmates that were specifically looking to take him down. And now here you were, throwing a wrench in and possibly fucking it all up. As far as you knew Sero had never actually murdered anyone, but there had been a lot of thefts with no witnesses. What if there were, and he just disposed of them? What if he did that to you? Your breath catches in your throat, and you flinch away from him when he crouches down. He still has that grin on his face. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to it and figure out what I’m gonna do with you later.” He taps your nose and rises again. “You’re just going to leave me here on the floor taped up like this?!” You start to struggle again, but his tape is strong. You can barely move. “Afraid so,” he says with a sympathetic look. “This is an important heist, and I can’t have you fucking it up for me.” He starts perusing the various artwork. You’re not sure if he is looking for something in particular, since right now he looks more like he’s shopping than about to rob the place. You watch his movements carefully, cataloging all the pieces he touches. At least, that’s what you want to pretend you’re doing. You know that you’re watching the fluid motion of his muscles through his skin tight costume. The way his eyes light up at a particularly valuable piece. The wide, friendly smile that you remember from middle school is surely under that black mask. He’d been playfully teased by your classmates for that smile, but it had always made your heart flutter. Despite his looking, Sero doesn’t seem to be finding anything of interest. He’d even picked up some very expensive pieces before putting them back down. It doesn’t take long for your curiosity to get the better of you. “Um, are you looking for something in particular?” Sero looks at you with an expression of mild surprise. It’s only a split second though before the confident grin is back on. “Why, you willing to help me out?” His eyebrow raises and you flush a little. “Of course not,” you fire back immediately. You’re just curious if he is looking for a certain item. There’s a few things that he can think of that he might be looking for. But Sero hasn’t turned away from you. “You know, for a small museum this is a rather large room. You might just be useful to me.” He only now shifts back to continue to peruse through the paintings. “I am looking for a piece in particular, as you said. The original Hinakuawa pond painting. I saw that it was taken off display.” It’s a good thing he’d turned away from you, because he missed the moment of your eyes widening before you forced a neutral face. That painting was taken off display because it was on loan to another museum, one hours from here. “Ah. Lotus Daydream. Yes, that painting is kept in this room when it is not on display.” Luckily the bulk of your artwork was flat pieces, so this was the largest storeroom. Maybe you could keep Sero distracted while he searched for a painting that wasn’t there, until your security guard woke up and signaled the police – and the heroes – to come save you. It was as good of a plan as any, and considering your current predicament… the only plan you really had. He glances at you when you don’t willingly point out where it is, then shrugs and keeps looking himself. He doesn’t seem inclined to keep talking. The silence gets to you after a few minutes. “So, um… it’s been a long time. I… see you on the news a lot.” You wince inwardly. What a stupid start. But Sero doesn’t seem to think so apparently. He gives you a side smirk. “Yeah? You watching me on the news?” The teasing in his tone was obvious and you flush again. “You’re on it a lot, to be fair.” Which wasn’t incorrect. Sero Hanta was on the news a few times a week with another successful theft. He infuriated the police and the heroes, especially the ones who used to be his friends. “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” He winks at you and turns back to examining the artwork. I bet you are. The thought comes immediately, and your breath catches for a moment. It’s almost funny. The Sero you knew, that you had been hopelessly in love with, had been awkward. He smiled a lot, and he was laid back, but he didn’t have this confidence that seemed to be oozing out of this Sero. Your Sero had been lanky. Long-limbed and almost spider like. But his kindness and thoughtfulness had been what made you fall first. You had also been awkward, and very quiet. You didn’t even know if he’d known who you were. You’d been partnered with him for an English project once and you’d barely been able to communicate with him for it in person. He’d been so sweet and patient. And now… now he was the most notorious thief in Japan. With the body of a god and confidence of a rock star. It makes you squirm a little in your restraints. “And you, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, much less someone like you. Is it normal for you to work this late?” You know it’s probably just him trying to case the museum, to see where he made an error, but you shake your head anyway. “No, I was working on a piece that is very important to me.” You see an eyebrow raise, and hurry to continue. “Not Lotus Daydream. It’s another artist, one much smaller. It does not have a lot of monetary value, but he’s my favorite painter.” You get a soft look on your face when you think about it. Sero gives a tiny, indulgent smile. “Sounds important to you.” “Yeah, it is.” “Any particular reason?” Hm. You can’t think of a good reason why he would ask that question to benefit him. And telling a story is going to take up time. You look away from Sero, focusing instead on an old painting of a rice paddy in the corner. “Well… I didn’t have a lot of contact with my father when I was younger. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I was able to talk to him at all. My mother hated him, and hated that I was just like him, so she kept me from him while telling me that he didn’t want to see me.” It didn’t bother you anymore. It did back then, but you now had good relationships with both of your parents. You’d forgiven your mother long ago. “My father is an art collector. Talking to him got me interested in it too, and my interest and skills landed me in an art restoration career.” You pause, looking up at Sero. He’s looking at you curiously. “That artist had a small exhibit near his house, and that was where my father took me as an outing the first time I’d seen him since I was five.” Sero tilts his head slightly as he digests this information. “Oh. Yeah, I can see why that’s important to you. So you didn’t have an interest in art in middle school? I always saw that you were reading, but I never saw what.” He leans against a glass case, now more focused on you than what he’s looking for. “No. I, um, I wasn’t very outgoing. I preferred to be in the back of the room with a book. I wasn’t teased or anything like that, and I was more or less happy. I just didn’t know how to talk to my classmates the way the popular kids did.” You give a small, wry chuckle. “It was even worse when it came to you, since I liked you.” What??? Your eyes shoot wide just as one of Sero’s brows raise. “You liked me?” He pulls his face mask down and now you can see as his wide mouth curls up into a grin. As much as you don’t want to dive into this topic, you do notice that all of his attention is now on you instead of the artwork surrounding you both. So you decide to play it up a little. You lower your eyes for a moment before shyly looking up at him through your lashes and nodding. You still did, if you were being entirely honest, despite his criminal record. His grin widens even more and he pushes off the case, sauntering over to where you’re sitting. One elbow crooks and he shoots tape at the ceiling. It sticks around a beam and holds, and he tears it from his elbow only to shoot another from the other one. You’re silent as he hoists you up to a standing position and adheres the pieces to the tape on your back. Keeping you there on your tip toes, off the floor just enough that you couldn’t put your feet flat on the ground. “And you didn’t say anything back then? I would have been thrilled to know that you felt that way.” Your breath hitches. Really? Had you wasted your chance back then? And is that what you’re going to think about right now when he’s here in the middle of the night attempting to rob your museum? But Sero’s moving in closer, and your eyes widen fractionally as your toes scramble a bit in an effort to back up. He notices and smirks. “And how about now? Is what I do a turn off?” His eyes are staring into yours, his voice dropping low. “Or… is it a turn on?” Your breath hitches, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure he can hear it. He’s so close, and you can’t get away. Though… you know that you really don’t want to. He exhales slowly, his breath ghosting over your lips, before he closes the distance between your mouths. His lips are thin and slightly chapped, but he obviously knows what he’s doing. His mouth moves slowly, almost teasingly as he coaxes your mouth to move with his. He presses in closer to place one hand on the middle of your back and slide down to the small. You aren’t sure what exactly it is – the fact that you’re bound, the fact that you’re at your job, the fact that you liked him, the fact that he’s a criminal, or maybe all of them – but this is the most amazing kiss you’ve had in a while. If ever. There is the beginning of a knot of heat in your core as his tongue licks your lower lip, your mouth immediately opening to allow him entrance. You whimper slightly into the kiss, the noise turning into a soft whine when he pulls away from you. You open your eyes to see him smirking down at you. He’s still holding your body pressed to his, and you can easily feel without your hands how firm his muscles are. How strong he is. He has to be, really, to be able to swing around on his tape as fluidly as he does. But Sero had always been strong. You remember seeing him in the Sports Festival back when he went to UA High School, remember him during the cavalry battle. How he had easily caught a young Ground Zero in mid air with one arm and tossed him back on top of their group. You’d had that in your mind for months after the fact. “I guess it’s a turn on,” he murmurs, one hand going up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “So now the real question is… how much of a turn on is it?” He leans close, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “You gonna let me get into that dress? I’d like to know what you taste like.” Your breath hitches, a shiver going down your spine. You want it, so fucking badly, but are you bold enough to let him? Well, it’s not like you have much of a choice, you reason with yourself. Sure, it’s probable that he won’t touch you if you say no, but you’re bound. Helpless. At his mercy. You hold your breath as he pulls back just far enough to look into your eyes, and you give the slightest nod on the exhale. His mouth curls into another smirk and he lets you go to back away. You look at him in confusion until he shoots more tape at the ceiling – two strands, that he attaches to your ankles and uses to keep your legs yanked into the air. Your dress hikes up to your hips when he pushes your thighs up and ties his tape to each one. This leaves you splayed open, suspended in front of him. On display for his dark eyes to rove over. He steps close to you again, both hands running on the outside of your thighs until they reach your hips. Then he moves to his knees to put himself at face level with your core. “Mm. Already wet for me, I see,” he says in a husky, teasing tone. Before you can formulate a quippy answer the hands on your hips dig in and he pulls your forward to his mouth. His wide, flat tongue licks up your damp panties and your breath is ripped from your lungs. He lets out a pleasurable groan. “Delicious. Just like I thought. But I’m sure it’d be better without these in the way.” Sero hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them to the side before repeating his tongue drag. This time it pulls a strangled moan from you. He lets out another groan in response and pulls back just enough to look at you from between your legs. “That’s it, make more of those noises for me.” And he pulls you back in. You’d had oral sex before, sure. Roughly half of the guys you dated did it, and a decent number of them enjoyed it. It had always astounded you how much a guy wanted your mouth on his dick but didn’t want to return the favor. Sero Hanta, on the other hand, ate you like he was starving and you were the most decedant thing he’d ever tasted. His hands kept you pressed tightly to his face to the point that you’d probably be concerned for his ability to breathe if you could string a thought together. He seems like he’s everywhere at once. His tongue lapping up your sex before dipping inside of it, back out to drag up and circle your clit. Now and then he’d suck or gently bit it, causing a sharp increase in the moans he was pulling out of you. He had you strung up in a way that you really could only see the top of his head as he worked you over, so you could never quite tell what was coming next. You let out a noise of surprise that tapers into a moan when his first finger breaches you. “Look at you,” he breathes as he presses kisses to the insides of your thighs. “Opening right up for me.” He leans back far enough to be able to catch your eyes. “Such a good girl.” He curls his long, dexterous finger up to press against the small, spongy spot inside you that has you bucking in your restraints. He grins. Sero knows exactly what he’s doing. He slides his finger out only to press two back in as he leans forward. “Cum for me, babe?” he breathes out across your sex before wrapping his lips back around your clit. The sucking sensation coupled with the press against that spot inside you has you crying out and coming apart around him. He rolls his fingers as you ride through it while gently licking at your clit, your hips jerking and trying to get away from the over-stimulation. You’re slightly dazed as he rises up, grabbing your hips again and pressing his bulge into your soaked folds. Despite how sensitive you are, you can’t help but buck back into him. “Can I use your mouth, babe?” He tilts his head slightly, grinning when you enthusiastically nod your consent. You can’t quite find words, so… body language. Sero pulls a blade out from somewhere around his hip and cuts the tape to let your legs down. More tape shoots off, more tape is cut, you don’t really have the capacity to follow what he’s doing. Then you’re being moved. Sero tilts you forward until your face is level with his hips, but your toes are still just skimming the floor again. He has your hips bound up a little higher than your head and you look at him from under your lashes. He reaches out to skim fingers down the line of your jaw. “Beautiful,” he mumbles. Your heart swells with the praise, and you bite your lip before opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out, and looking back up at him. He curses under his breath and flicks his fingers under a nearly invisible seam at the crotch of his suit, revealing a button and long zipper. How convenient, you think as he undoes both and pulls his cock out through the hole. He immediately drops it so the head bounces on your tongue, hissing at how warm your tongue is. His cock isn’t particularly wide, but it is long and slightly curved upward. And he tastes so good, you really want to close your mouth and get to work, but you wait. He rocks his hips marginally to let the head slide a few centimetres and bites his lip. “Fuck. You are a good girl. Go ahead and close your mouth, babe.” You happily oblige, feeling a thrill at the way his head tips back when you swirl your tongue around the head. He drops a large hand on your head but instead of guiding your head further down like most of the guys you’ve been with, he winds his fingers gently in your hair. His thumb starts rubbing soft circles on your head as he rocks his hips into your mouth. You want more. You’re very confident that you can take him down to the root, and you want to try. You try to push forward but it’s very awkward with your toes scrambling on the floor. He notices once you whine a little, and looks down with a chuckle. “You want more?” He steps forward a little, letting more of his length slide in until he bumps into the back of your throat. You let out a small moan and let your tongue dance around his underside to show your approval. He makes a guttural noise and starts to rock his hips into you faster. Harder. You hollow out your cheeks as you look up at him and he moans. “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he rasps out with a slight laugh. He manages a few more thrusts before he’s pulling out of your mouth. He’s panting a little and looking at you with a lopsided grin. "Damn babe, you're good with that mouth." You flush a little and smile. You’d been told that before, but somehow it was so much better coming from Sero. "Thanks. You're um, you're good with your tape." Sero’s face brightens, and his mouth curls up to a wide grin as he tucks himself back into his suit. "Yeah? Think so? You haven't seen the half of it.” Before you can question what he means by that the switchblade is out again. He cuts you down and lets you find your feet. The blade gets positioned at your hip, then Sero’s wrist flicks up. It cuts you out of the tape… and out of your dress. “Sorry babe,” he murmurs with no real remorse in his voice. You open your mouth to protest your ruined dress but Sero pulls you close, pressing your bare chest to his body suit clad one and kiss you into silence. It’s not important. You have a dress in your locker. It’s fine. As you’re kissing you feel his fingers caress the line of your panties, along your hips, before he pulls on them slightly. He’s testing to see if he can remove them, you assume. You quickly pull them further down. He chuckles into your kiss and swiftly crouches to help you out of them before tucking them into a nearly invisible back pocket. He gives you a cheeky grin and quickly removes the tape from your ankles. Technically you’re free now, but the thought to run doesn’t even cross your mind. You just wait until he straightens up and moves back in for more kisses. After a few moments you hear his tape shoot out again three times. He pulls back as he shoots a fourth. It binds around your bare chest, just under your breasts. “The anchor,” he says with a wink. You tilt your head in confusion, and he pulls his arm back to rest his hand on the back of his neck. He pulls more tape from his elbow, a sizable piece. He starts to twist the tape and wrap you up. He attaches the tape to the front of the strip already on you, threads it up through your breasts, and attaches it at the back almost to your hip. He repeats that on the other side. He keeps making and twisting tape, wrapping around your ankles and wrists. He steps behind you and presses your wrists together, crossing them, and quietly asks you to keep them there. You do. His fingers skimming over your skin as he works you over it so erotic. He wraps tape around your elbows, not twisted, to keep your arms straight out. Sero takes one of the tape strands attached to the ceiling and attaches it to the tape on your back. Now you kind of understand what he meant when he said it was an anchor point. “I’m gonna lift you up, okay?” You exhale, already shaky. “Yeah. Yeah that’s fine.” He smiles and grabs your chin, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. Your heart skips a beat. He makes another tape rope and crouches down to affix it to your ankle. He runs fingertips with a feather light touch up the side of your leg as he rises. Then he pulls, your ankle coming up. He keeps pulling higher until your thigh follows. He binds your ankle to your wrist, then ties your lower thigh and upper leg together. The position keeps your leg up and folded in. He quickly repeats this with the other side before attaching the last two tape strands he shot off at first to your ankles. You’re suspended by your ankles and the middle of your back, arms stretched out and held in place behind you. Because your ankles are also attached to your wrists, if you shift or move one of them the others move too. You bite your lip as Sero walks around to your front. He traces fingers along your jawline again but this time he doesn’t stop, tipping your face up to his by your chin. “Gorgeous,” he breathes, reverence in his voice. Your face flushes, because he’s looking at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen. He runs his thumb over your lower lip and your lips automatically part. He gives you a slight smirk and crouches so he can be face to face with you without removing his fingers from your face. “Now, I’d really like to fuck you. But if you don’t want to, I can use my mouth on you again instead.” His voice was soft, eyes watching your face for your reaction. You swallow, and nod. He chuckles a little. “I gotta hear you say it, babe.” “Yeah, yeah please. I want you to fuck me, Sero,” you gasp out in a rushed breath. He leans in and softly kisses your lips. “Good girl,” he whispers against your mouth and rises. You shiver in anticipation as you lose sight of him when he moves behind you. You’re straining to hear what he’s doing, and you hear the rustle of his clothes, the tearing of a wrapper. Your eyes widen as you feel his blunt head sliding along your still soaked folds. The tease is too much and you whine again, but you can’t push back against him. He’s taken all of your possible leverage away and now you really were entirely at his mercy. Large hands grab on to your waist as the first inch sinks in. You inhale and Sero quietly asks if you’re okay. “I’m fine,” you say with impatience in your tone, “Just waiting.” Sero chuckles behind you. “Well, who am I to keep a lady waiting?” Air is punched out of your lungs as he sheathes himself in one thrust, then slides back out. One more hard thrust, a soft groan from him, and then he’s railing into you hard and fast. While he’s not the thickest man you’ve ever had, he is still a good size and the drag of his cock on your walls is making you cry out as it rubs against the small bundle of nerves inside you. And his length is incredible. He’s bottoming out with each thrust, and his leverage on your hips has him pulling you back as he pushes forward. Hard, deep, and driving you to a second release faster than you thought possible. Sero groans again and picks up his pace. “Fuck, yeah, that’s good baby. Look at you, sucking me in like this. You feel so good around me. Can’t wait to feel you cum on my cock.” His voice is so low, murmuring the words to you, and you clench around him. He hisses at the feeling, moaning out on his exhale. “That’s right, cum on my cock baby. Just let go.” One of his hands leaves your hip and he steps closer to you. You’re bouncing on him a bit more due to gravity than his grasp, and the free hand snakes down to rub sloppy circles on your clit. Five swipes and you’re done for, crying out loudly as your walls clamp down around him. He stops moving in you, still all the way inside, gently and slowly rubbing your clit as your ride out your orgasm. He doesn’t stop though, even as you come down and the pleasure starts to be too much. “S-Sero, I can’t-” “Sure you can, babe. I know you have one more for me.” He rolls his hips fractionally, barely an inch of his cock sliding in and out of you as he keeps his attention on your clit. Your thighs pulled back as far as they are prevent you from closing them to stop him, and it only takes a few minutes before you’re sobbing as another orgasm rips through you. Only now does he pull his hand away and moves so he is standing like he’d been. His hand returns to your bare hip. “See, I knew you had it in you. So fucking good for me.” You barely have time to process his words before he’s fucking into you hard again. He’s chasing his own orgasm now, and you desperately want to give it to him. You can’t touch him though, and you can’t wrap your legs around him to pull him closer. The only thing you can do is flex your walls, make the hole he’s fucking into tighter. It earns you a moan of appreciation that makes you giddy. “Shit, babe, I’m gonna-” He cuts off into a drawn out moan as he slams into you one more time, hard. Then a few softer thrusts. Then he’s done, and you’re both just panting. Desperate attempts to fully fill your lungs. It takes a full minute before Sero pulls out and starts to move. “Well… I must admit that I wasn’t expecting this particular type of art when I came here.” Sero huffs out a laugh and you blink in your post orgasm haze. He peels the condom off and pulls a small bag from his pocket to drop it into. The bag gets closed and shoved back in his pocket. Right, he doesn’t want to leave any evidence that he was here. You bite your lip as you try to stare at him over his shoulder. “Lotus Daydream isn’t here.” Sero looks at you in surprise when you blurt out the words. “It’s on loan to another museum. It’s been gone for three days.” He blinks in disbelief, and then bursts out laughing. “You sneaky little thing.” But he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds amused, even impressed. “I guess that theft-wise my trip was a bust.” Sero runs a hand over the side of his head, smoothing back some stray hair strands. He looks at you still hanging on display as if he’s trying to figure out what to do with you. You bite your lip in consideration. “I won’t say anything about you breaking in if you just leave. Since the piece you’re after isn’t here anyway.” It’s a long shot but worth a try. He frowns a little as he studies your face. You really wish that you could at least close your legs, if not actually get back onto the floor. “Yeah. Alright. You have a deal. You don’t say anything about me being here and I’ll let you go.” Your face brightens and his grows more serious. “But if I do find out that you said something… I’ll be coming after you. And you will desperately wish that you hadn’t. Do you understand?” “Yeah. I understand.” You’re proud that your voice is firm, and the frown turns back up to his wide, trademark smile. He pulls the switchblade back out to cut his tape, gently lowering you to the floor. Only now does he remember that he shredded your dress when he cut you out of his initial containment. “I have a spare dress in my locker,” you say quickly. Sometimes – almost daily - you get the varnish on your clothes. Most days that doesn’t matter. You don’t really leave your office. But you do try to make sure you have a spare outfit in case you have to meet someone important. You blink as he says that he’ll grab it and he heads off. Somehow you aren’t surprised that he knows where the lockers are and that he can apparently pick your lock. He returns in moments carrying your dress draped over his shoulder. He carefully peels the rest of the tape off of your bare skin. His gentleness is surprising and makes your heart flutter. He’s going slow, careful to not hurt you. He lets you dress, comes with you to pick up your bag, and walks you to the door. He looks out over the street once you’re outside. “The video feed is on a loop. I put your guard to sleep, he’ll wake up without any knowledge that he was knocked out.” Sero gives a bright grin and a small two-finger wave, then shoots his tape up, retracting it to propel up and disappears onto the roof. You watch him go in awe. Sero was amazing in your mind back when you first met him but he was just stunning now. You glance at your watch to check the time. It’s late, the trains have already stopped. You don’t live that far from the museum though, maybe a twenty five minute walk. So you set off. You get three blocks before you hear a low whistle. “Hey baby, what’re you doing out by yourself this late at night? Wanna come party with us?” Your blood runs cold at the trio of men lurking at the alley entrance to your right. The smell of cheap sake invades your senses. Your hand goes to your pocket for your phone and a cold sense of realization washes over you. It had been knocked from your hands and was currently under a shelf in the artifact room. As you’re preparing to run a rough hand grabs you and yanks you into the darkened alley. A different hand clasps over your mouth, but drunks don’t have the best coordination or reflexes. You’re able to bite down hard on one of the man’s fingers. He yells and yanks his hand back, and you take the opportunity to let out a scream. One of the other men growls at you to shut up and smacks you hard upside the head. Your head snaps forward. It dazes you, and your head rolls back. You’re dizzy and can’t seem to focus on any of them. The third man laughs. Three different voices blend together, talking about what they intend to do to such a pretty little thing like you. You’re shoved and pinned up against the rough brick of the alley wall while they argue about who goes first, who goes where. You close your eyes, waiting for the touches you don’t want. But they never come. The hands pinning you leave you and you slide down to the ground. You hear shocked shouts, and when you open your eyes and your vision starts to clear you see a black, white, and yellow figure swinging from a rope – tape! - and kicking one of them drunken men in the face. They try to fight back, but three wobbly drunks are no match for Sero Hanta. He’s too fast, too agile, too strong. Your attackers are all out cold in the alley in under two minutes. Sero, not even breathing heavily from the exertion, lands gracefully on his feet turns to you. With a frown he gently gathers you up in his arms and brings a hand up to touch where they slammed you in the head. “...I heard you scream. Are you alright?” You don’t answer right away. Instead, you bring up a hand and cup his cheek. “You saved me,” you breathe out. Sero’s face softens, and he smiles. He brings you closer and leans down until your foreheads are touching. “Yeah,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I did, didn’t I? Let me get you home.”

#Sero Hanta #sero hanta imagine #villain sero hanta #sero hanta x reader #sero hanta smut #mha #mha imagine #mha smut #villain redemption #bnha imagine #bnha smut #bnha collab #citrus dome #citrus dome collab

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kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years ago

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So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you.

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father.

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here?

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time.

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee.

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father.

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months.

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised.

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived.

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful.

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you.

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift.

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud .

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me. He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid.

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth.

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it.

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people.

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose.

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm.

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands.

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually.

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling.

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall.

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get.

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities.

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder.

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur.

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind.

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though.

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

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demoneyesanddamagedsouls · 4 years ago

Note

Ok so I’ve been trying to find a fic like this somewhere but it’s kinda weird so I haven’t seen any- just like Din and you living together on the crest for a while and your always wearing pants/long sleeves even when it’s hot, and one day he sees you after you come out of thfresher wearing a short sleeve shirt and notices self harm scars 🥺 and he’s really concerned at first because he doesn’t quite know what they are but then he figures it out and he tries to listen to you and your story/ past.

Hi there Anon!

First off, thank you so much for being my first ever fic request!

Secondly, oh my goodness I love this prompt! This is something I have struggled with as well so I loved writing how I picture Din reacting to finding out and looking after you.

I really hope you enjoy my interpretation of this fic! Please let me know if you have any feedback for me as well. I’m always open to critique! And if you ever need anyone to talk to, I am always here, please know you never have to face this alone. ❤️❤️❤️

***

The Strength of You

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Triggering Topics. Self harm scars, revealing & touching of scars, talking about self harming

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Steam filled your senses as you felt the boiling water run through your hair. You hummed to yourself as you washed off the grease and grime of the day in the small fresher. It had been a long day of fixing small parts on the ship and greasing tough gears, you were exhausted but your mind was full. It had been almost a week since you’d seen Din and your sadness weighed on your heart, you missed him dearly. He had kissed you on the forehead and left 5 days ago saying that this could be a longer hunt as the bounty he was chasing was cunning and smart, unlike some of the more hopeless ones he had to find. You recalled the soft touch of his lips on your skin as you pictured his soft smile.

Turning off the shower and hopping out slowly, you picked up your towel and dried yourself off. Pulling on your cargo shorts and a t-shirt that was just a little too big for you, you turned your eyes to yourself reflected in the mirror. This wasn’t something you usually wore, normally opting for some more covered and conservative attire, and it made you feel a little uncomfortable and exposed, so you were fiddling with the edges of the shirt sleeves attempting to pull them down lower. No one’s going to see you, you’re not going to be leaving the ship, you thought to yourself. Not that you really did when Din was on a hunt unless you and the little one ran out of food or you needed certain parts or tools for a particularly tough job. Anyway it was laundry day, and you were just going to have to deal with it. Sighing to yourself you leant down to pick up your holster with the small gun resting inside. You always kept it on you in case you needed it, especially with the type of people Din usually had to deal with. Suddenly you hear some small coos coming from further away in the ship. You roll your eyes to yourself. That adorable little gremlin can’t give you 5 minutes of your own space for a quick shower. You chuckle to yourself.

“Coming little one!” You call out as you quickly buckle your holster to your hip. Dashing out to go find your impatient little baby you close the fresher door behind you and spin around, coming face to face with the masked Mandalorian. The little baby was held in his arms, a small hand wrapped around his leather gloved finger. You freeze in a panic, your face paralysed in shock. He was home early. You’d be ecstatic to see him so soon if you weren’t dressed like you were. Exposed. He had never seen you without your usual long sleeves and pants. Even in the darkness of many nights on the ship you’d kept yourself covered. Din had never pushed you to do anything you didn’t want to do and becoming more exposed was included in that. Just as you had never pushed him to remove his helmet. There was a mutual understanding and respect between you. After many months together as you and Din had grown closer, he had begun to take his mask off around you. He wanted you to see his face, he wanted to be able to see yours without the obstruction of the helmet. He wanted to kiss you, rest his chin in the crook of your neck as he held you close. You didn’t know why you couldn’t bring yourself to show him more of yourself. But it seemed that fate had taken matters into its own hands.

Din swiftly comes to meet you, excited to see you after such a long hunt especially considering he had received bad information. The bounty hadn’t been on this planet, so he’d returned to the ship empty handed and missing your smile and your gentle touch. The little green baby resting in the crook of his elbow, his eyes meet yours behind the mask. He noticed the panicked expression on your face and his happiness dissipated, swiftly changing to concern. Immediately worried about your safety he looked you over, all of a sudden noticing your attire. This was the most he’d ever seen of you. His eyes flick to the scars littering the length of your forearms and along the top of your thighs.

His concern is instantly mixed with anger. “Who did this to you? I knew I shouldn’t have been gone that long… What happened?” Din says his voice modulated by the helmet, but even still you could hear the rage rising in his tone. You don’t respond, your mouth is dry, and your head is spinning. He reaches for the blaster on his hip with one hand as he holds the little baby in the other. “Who did this? Who could have hurt you like this?!” His voice reaches a fever pitch and out of instinct you start backing away pulling yourself into the security of the wall behind you, moving away from the Mandalorian in front of you, seething with anger. You knew it wasn’t directed at you but you needed to get away from his anger, it was only making you panic more, your heartbeat quickly rising.

Din’s focus flicks back to you as he sees you moving away, away from him. Shaking his head, frustrated at himself, he starts to walk slowly towards you.

You keep your eyes trained on the floor trying to calm yourself as you watch his feet move towards you, boots clicking on the metal floor. Inches away from your face you hear him slowly remove his helmet, the hiss of the vacuum seal unlocking and the metal clanging to the floor, his gloves quickly following. Raising your eyes, you meet his deep brown ones, full of worry and anguish, his little brown curls resting haphazardly across his face and his brows furrowed in concern, highlighting the soft lines of age across his sharp features. As you look at each other the baby reaches out for you, making a small noise to get your attention. You smile softly at him and pull him into your embrace, resting him on your arm. As you hold onto the little one Din takes your other arm and looks it over, brushing his calloused fingers across your forearm and the raised scars that adorn your soft skin. Following the trail he kneels down to analyse the markings on your upper thighs. Lightly gripping your thighs in his warm palms, he brushes across your skin, softly caressing you with his bare thumbs. Keeping his hands rested where they were Din looks back up at you a forlorn expression across his features. You release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding as you meet his gaze. He didn’t have to say anything, his eyes simply said I’m here for you. Taking a deep breath, you gather up the courage to tell him everything you’d been holding back. Holding back from the man that you loved.

“Din I- I did this to myself… it was something that I used to cope with everything I was feeling.” The words tumbling out of your mouth, like a dam breaking, filling up the void of noise with your words. “I felt like I was spinning out of control and this was the only way I could ground myself. Its how I used to distract myself from the overwhelming amount of emotional pain I was feeling.” You look deep into his eyes as you continue, tears starting to spill out down your cheeks, “I felt stupid, lonely and worthless, drifting through space never knowing where to go or what to do, uncertain of everything I did. I didn’t know how to vent these emotions, so I took it out on myself. I felt so useless, and I wanted to punish myself for that.” You pause looking at Din through a glassy tear-filled vision. “I’ve never had someone who cared enough about me to talk about this. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this sooner, but I was scared… scared of losing you…” You whisper, your own words catching in your throat.

A stray tear rolled down Din’s cheek as he reached up to wipe some of the wetness off your face, water welling up in the corner of his eyes. Your heart falls to pieces at the sight. The strongest man you knew, well the strongest man in the whole galaxy, and here he was, knelt in front of you weeping at the words that you had just shared with him. “Little one… don’t you see? These are your battle scars, they make you who you are!” He smiles up at you softly, “It means you fought and fought, but you got back up. You’re a survivor… just like me…” He trails off, his gaze full of love and adoration as he looks up at you. A smile breaks out across your face, full of relief at finally relieving the weight of this huge burden off of your chest. For the first time in your life you had someone to share in everything, someone to confide in, someone to be your true self around.

You kneel slowly, baby still curled up in your arm making gentle snoring noises, to join him there on the floor. Taking his cheek into your hand, you place a gentle kiss on his soft lips. He pulls you in closer and deepens it, trying to express all the love he felt in his heart, all his admiration for you, for the strength you had. Both of you getting lost in the emotion of it all. You both pull away inhaling softly as you both catch your breath, holding each other’s gaze.

“You are so strong my little one… cyar’ika how could you possibly think I wouldn’t love every part of you? You never have to hide yourself from me. You’re so beautiful, so brave… I could live forever in the sunshine that you radiate every day.” A warm smile spreading across his face, revealing the soft dimples that adorned his cheeks. Resting his hand on the top of your leg, just below your shorts, he caresses your skin once more. Reassuring you with his gentle touch. “These scars are just as beautiful as the rest of you, because they’re a part of you. I love you my cyare. You’re my everything…”

#din djarin x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian oneshot #mando x reader #din djarin x original character #mando x y/n #mando x you #mando x oc #the mandalorian x you #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian #anon reply #lovely anon #fic request

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crispyjenkins · 4 years ago

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JangObi soulmate mark au where all Mandalorians know/can sense when someone is marked with their Mandalor [with Jango leading Mandalore as Mandalor after Jasters abdication and no clan wars]

(this is late because it turned into A Thing. and i love the Thing, but it’s still late.

i combined these ‘cause i got them within a day of each other and i thought, what’s better than an undercover meet-cute? undercover meet-cute with soulmates (ノ*´◡`) also this is a meet-ugly. anyways.

just want to touch on that this ‘verse absolutely includes poly soulmates of many forms and numbers, jangobi just happen to have a mono relationship in this based on the prompts 😌)

“Your sur'gaankar will not share your symbol, you cannot simply look for a match, kih’vod,” Arla teases, poking at Jango’s bare chest where the head of his roughly-drawn mynock leers at them from over his heart. “Marks are companions, not twins; no one soul should be more important than another, so the Ka’ra gave us two. Who knows what your sur'gaankar's is, it could be of something that hasn’t even happened to you yet.”

Seven year-old Jango wrinkles his nose down at his soulmark like it’s personally offended him. And it has. “Why the kriff do you get a beskad from your sur'gaankar and I get a bloody mynock?”

Arla bursts into laughter and hopes their parents aren’t listening.

“I beg your pardon.”

The woman’s grin only widens, leaning right into Obi-Wan’s space, and he hadn’t really counted on running into any supercommandos until Sundari. “‘Haven’t seen your crest before,” the woman repeats, knocking on the painted crest on his chestplate. He had let Master Nu pick it for this assignment, he didn’t want to accidentally end up with a known clan symbol and have to explain any familial relation; she had said it hadn’t been used since before the Coruscant Temple was built, so there shouldn’t be any confusion.

“And,” she had added, tapping two fingers on the side of his neck, “it matches you rather nicely, doesn’t it?”

And he supposes it does, a crane wrapped around a spike of wheat, but he now wishes it were something perhaps a bit less memorable.

“My clan hasn’t been back to Mandalore space in a few generations,” Obi-Wan lies with his best apologetic smile, easily charming the other Mando as he tucks his helmet under his arm and tries to turn back to the ration stall he’d been restocking from. The Keldabe marketplace bustles around them, and Obi-Wan thinks it’s a miracle the woman had even spotted his armour through the crowd, with how tightly species of all sorts press together and jostle them along their way.

“I’m Kryze clan,” she announces, wriggling around an Esperion to plant herself next to Obi-Wan, giving the rations a passing glance before focusing back on her captive audience.

He holds back a sigh, pulling up his mental clan map that he had studied on the jump to Mandalore. “I’ve only been planetside for an hour,” he admits with that same smile as he pays for his box of jerky and taps a little salute to the stall owner. “I thought the Kryzes were further up towards Sundari?”

Kryze bounces along behind him, red hair catching the sunlight quite nicely; Obi-Wan can’t fathom why she’s still following him. “Most of the family is, yeah, I’m the only supercommando. Where’re you from, burc’ya? Your accent sounds funny.”

He gives a bewildered laugh at that; had she never been to the Core? Both ducking into a dimly-lit tech shop, Kryze waves at the Mon Calamari behind the counter like old friends.

“‘Family’s split between Coruscant and Odos,” Obi-Wan decides on, which would explain both his Core accent and why his Mando’a is more slurred than what’s spoken on Mandalore. “You got a first name to go with that clan?”

Kryze’s smile turns playful, not quite flirtatious, and Obi-Wan wonders if she’s already found her starmark. “Bo-Katan, but Haat’ade can call me Bo. And are you?”

He raises a brow through a shelf of droid parts. “Am I what?”

“Haat’ade,” Bo-Katan grins, staying closer to the door while Obi-Wan collects a few upgrades for his speeder. “You don’t seem like a Journeyman Protector, but you’re clearly a fighter. So. Haat Mando’ade?”

“Can I be Haat’ade if I haven’t answered my Mand’alor’s call even once?” It’s an amusing thought, to be seen as Mando enough to qualify for the ruler of Mandalore’s supercommandos; he doubts Bo-Katan would be quite so kind if she knew he wears their armour in deception. “No, burc’ya, one cannot pick and choose from the Resol’nare. I’m as good as dar’manda out here.”

Humming in thought, she skips to join him at the counter to watch him try to haggle a lower price on his goods. “To be fair, you said your clan hasn’t been around other Mando’ade in a while, ‘lek? Hells, do you even know who the current Mand’alor is?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer until he knows he’s not being ripped off by the Mon Calamari, and slips his new goggles around his neck. “Only his crest,” he says, and it’s only slightly a lie: the Republic has little to no sway in Mandalore space, he doubts anyone further than Concordia knows the Mand’alor’s full name. “Tell me, are you part of the recruiting committee?”

Bo-Katan throws her head back to laugh, and it’s a good laugh, bright and sincere, still a little childish at the edges. “No, but I liked the look about you,” she teases, leaning on the counter. “You seemed... warm.”

He lifts a brow again, wondering if maybe she’s Force sensitive. “I’ve never been called that before.” Which also isn’t exactly a lie.

“Mm, maybe I just liked finding another redhead.” She smiles and wrinkles her nose cutely. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you didn’t give your name, stranger. Secrecy will only get you so far here.”

“And if I wasn’t planning on staying?”

“Then you should still tell me your name because I asked so nicely.” Batting her eyelashes, she sets her helmet on the counter to cross her arms, the Mon Calamari grumbling but not telling them to leave just yet.

“Vhett,” Obi-Wan laughs, securing his new parts and his credit pouch in his pack so he doesn’t lose them to the sticky fingers in the marketplace. “Benyamin Vhett.”

When he looks back at his new companion, her smile has disappeared for a troubled sort of blankness, as she looks at him even more critically.

Then her surprise and glee is a flash in the Force, so bright it’s blinding as she launches back to her feet, grin returning with such a fury that Obi-Wan doesn’t even stop her from getting right back into his space.

She must find some sort of answer in his face, because she puts a hand on his cheek with her eyes positively shining. “Utreekov!” she exclaims gleefully, “How could you string me along like that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It figures you’d be just as difficult as him,” she says, spinning around to snatch up her helmet before grabbing his arm and yanking him back onto the street. “You should have told him when you got here, he— Corellian Hells, is this why he’s been disappearing off into Hutt Space?”

Something in the Force tells Obi-Wan to hold his tongue, to let Bo-Katan guide him through the market as quickly as the crowds allow — some citizens even bounce out of their way once they get a good look at Bo-Katan. Obi-Wan’s been a Shadow too long to get lost even in a busy city like this, but he still has to concentrate to memorise the path she takes him, out of duracrete into clay and wood buildings that bake under the sun and whisper history far more alive than Obi-Wan is used to.

She kicks open the door to an ancient-looking cantina that Obi-Wan doesn’t have time to read the name of before Bo-Katan is dragging him bodily inside and shouting over the din, “Mand’alor! I’ve got your sur’gaankar!”

Something like terror lodges in Obi-Wan’s throat as every commando in the cantina freezes and stops talking all at once, staring at them in the sunlit doorway like the second coming of the Sith. Then all heads snap just as quickly towards a table near the back — all except one man lounging at the table who still stares at Obi-Wan with more than surprise, and this is where Obi-Wan’s entire mission falls apart. This is where every commando realises Obi-Wan isn’t whoever Bo-Katan seems to think he is, this is where they call his bluff and he blows his entire cover, and Quinlan is going to make dick jokes at his funeral.

Bo-Katan smirks and marches right for the man, pulling a shell-shocked Obi-Wan through the cantina until she releases him to lean over the man’s table— the Mand’alor’s table. Obi-Wan wonders if he can somehow make it out one of the windows before anyone grabs him.

“So, ori’vod,” Bo-Katan drawls, clearly far from meaning it affectionately, “when were you gonna tell the rest of the Haat’ade that you’d already found your soulmark, hm?”

Ohh, and there goes Obi-Wan’s breathing.

This “ori’vod” blinks, first at Bo-Katan, and then at Obi-Wan, and he just had to be attractive, didn’t he. The Force couldn’t give Obi-Wan one break and make him someone, anyone, that didn’t shine quite like he does in the low-light?

“I have never seen this man before in my life.”

Obi-Wan lets out his breath, mentally preparing himself for the whole cantina to descend on him.

But Bo-Katan just stares back at the Mand’alor and, Obi-Wan looking around at other commandos, everyone seems to be in disbelief of him, and not— not Obi-Wan. Which is just a strange cherry to top his already frankly ridiculous day, especially when Bo-Katan leans closer to her Mand’alor to squint at him.

“So he’s just some other ‘Vhett’, then?”

Obi-Wan licks his lips. “Bo—”

“No, no, I wanna hear what excuse he tries to come up with when we can all feel it.”

Embarrassment prickles Obi-Wan’s neck, and feels even less in control than he had a moment ago; he doesn’t remember learning anything about commandos being able to feel things about their leader, but to be fair, he can’t remember much of any of his lessons right now.

A Mando in gold armour across the table from Jango takes off their helmet, revealing a Rattataki that stares him down with a meaning far deeper than Obi-Wan is privy to just then.

“Mand’alor,” they say, tapping their first knuckle over the left side of their chest, and Obi-Wan’s neck prickles again.

And then every commando in the cantina does the same, tapping the chest of their beskar’gam and nodding towards Jango, as if one entity, as if they had rehearsed it; the prickle turns to a burn, Obi-Wan darting a hand up to his throat as something shifts in the Force.

Bo-Katan finally seems to be catching on that they truly don’t know each other, but instead of angry, she perks up and yanks Obi-Wan closer to the table. “He’s from Odos, he has no idea what’s going on,” she says as Obi-Wan stumbles over his own feet. “Congrats, Mand’alor, I found your sur’gaankar for you.”

Obi-Wan winces before he allows himself to finally meet Jango’s gaze, and doesn’t know what to make of what he finds: a curious sort of trust, disbelief but acceptance, and it’s only when Jango gets to his feet that Obi-Wan realises no one had said his name. That the wheat fronds over his collarbones and around his neck have never bothered him before.

That he’s probably going to have to call Quinlan to finish the job in Sundari.

Mando’a: sur’gaankar — “soulmate”, lit. “picture heart” from sur’gaan “picture” and kar’ta “heart” kih’vod —”little sibling” (’vod’ most often used in fandom as “brother”; ‘kih’ intentionally used instead of ‘ika’) Ka’ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” beskad — traditional Mandalorian curved saber made of beskar. burc’ya — friend (also used ironically or sarcastically) Haat’ade — lit. “true child of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e) Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. Resol’nare — “Six Actions”, the six tenets guiding Mando life ‘lek — “yeah”, short for elek, or “yes” utreekov — “idiot,” “fool,” lit. “empty head” ori’vod — “big brother”, either older sibling or a special friend (used here ironically) beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy

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a-la-la-llama · 5 years ago

Text

The one where Marinette Steals the Batmobile #1

I’m trying to get a schedule going for my writing and planning on writing one-shots and posting them every Monday. We’ll see How this goes, Enjoy!

Part 2 Part 3

Fifteen year old Marinette didn’t know what her future would hold but her younger self did not expect this. Five months before her thirteenth birthday she was given the Ladybug Miraculous. After that she was named the guardian of more than a dozen pocket sized gods while still trying to defeat Paris’ villian. By the time she turned fourteen, she had defeated her partner's father, took a hold of all the miraculous’, and became an orphan. The kwami’s supported her in her time of need and understood she was adjusting to not having all her previous weight on her shoulders and the grief of losing her parents in the final battle. With no real person to turn to, she decided to lose herself. What better place for a teenage superhero to retire in than a dark city filled with highly unstable people such as herself. With the Kwami’s and her parents, Master Fu’s, and her own savings she teleported to Gotham City.

Just because the miraculous were made to stop evil did not mean the Kwami didn’t like getting into mischief. Especially a certain cat, fox, and mouse with no one but the god of creation to stop them. The same thing could be said about Marinette, however, she too was curious about making trouble. The city was practically in rubble but it already had heroes and she no longer wanted the weight of being a hero. Marinette also couldn’t stand the long faces of the tiny gods who wanted nothing more to explore the world. Within the first months of her stay in Gotham she became a well known thief that could rival the infamous Catwoman. She never stole anything for her own gain of course, most of the time it was miraculous’ in museums or bad people’s stuff. At the moment she has three notorious gangs wanting her head for stealing their guns and feeding them to Plagg. The only thing ever left behind was a red symbol much like the design of Master Fu's box.

“Kitten! I’m so bored, why can’t we go out?”, Plagg whined atop of Marinette’s head.

“You heard what Tikki said, we have to lay low for now since we stole that emerald and ancient headware piece from the museum”, she said.

“But those new kwami’s are so mean!”, Trixx added.

“That’s why they are in the box and you guys are allowed to roam around.”, countered Marinette.

“Mari, you really shouldn't be wearing this many miraculous.”, chided Tikki from her tray of cookies.

“I’m fine, I am only wearing five anyway!”, she responded.

“I for one think three days is enough time. Plus, we don’t have to steal anything, just go out for a joy run!”, Mullo said.

“I agree, please Mari!”, Trixx begged.

“It’s not up to me Miri’s, you have to beg Tikki.”, she responded. Marinette smiled as the three swarmed the red god with pleas and threats to destroy all the cookies in the house. It was all worth the glare Tikki sent her way before she gave in.

“Fine. No stealing, I swear if I find out you did I’ll make you return it!”, the goddess threatened. Just like that a multi mouse, fox, and cat made their way across the rooftops for their latest adventure.

“What should we do, now?”, asked MultiMouse.

MultiMinou narrowed her eyes at a dark parking lot with only one car parked in it. “Since we finished our joy run, how about we take a joy ride?”, she said with a cat-like grin.

MultiFox wagged her tail in excitement, “It looks nice too! I bet Kalkii would help us transport it to the Kwami dimension to take it for a spin.”, she squealed.

MultiMouse divided herself once more, “Mullo. Kalkii. Merge!”

The four jumped off the roof they were perched on and made their way towards the car before transforming into their smallest selves. Entering the car through the front all the way to the air ducts was a simple task for the mice. Once inside, Multi Mouse, Minou, and Fox worked on the gas pedals and steering wheel while MultiHorse worked on the portal in the passenger seat.

“How do we even start this thing!”, Minou whined.

“It has a screen right here. Maybe we push it?”, suggested Mouse.

Tapping the screen, the car let out a soft hum before various blue lights turned on. The mice all had one thing on their mind, “Merde!”

Marinette had had a couple of run-ins with the dubbed ‘BatFam’ in her time in Gotham already. She had expected it to because of her being a well-known thief and all, of course they would try to stop her. Marinette also had a huge upper-hand against them with her powers. One minute her bright orange tail is being chased by three and the next she is standing right in front of them watching them curse, wondering where she went. Illusions were the best thing to ever have! Marinette especially liked messing with the youngest one because of how angry he would get. Once, she saw him wait until no one was there and proceed to cut a trash bin in half with his katana. When he is with the one with the red helmet the two curse like sailors. The boy who has a cowl that looks like an egg, similar to Aspik, gets frustrated when his heat sensor malfunction when he is looking right at her. When the youngest isn’t around she’ll tail the one in blue and whisper things while he is patrolling. Most of the time it’s ‘Boo!’ or ‘Rawr!’ and what she has heard the people in his ear call him before as Minou, ‘Dick’. The man screams like a little girl and gets paranoid easily. When he tries to tell his partners they brush him off!

That wasn’t the point right now. The point was, Marinette found herself trying to steal the Batmobile. As if matters couldn’t get any worse, MultiFox turned to her left to see the youngest and Batman making their way towards her, trying to steal the Batmobile! So, MultiMinou did the only logical thing to do. As soon as the portal opened she slammed on the gas leaving the two in her dust. Darn Plagg and his chaotic-ness! Hopefully the drive would be worth the wrath of Tikki.

It was not worth Tikki’s anger at all. Of course Marinette, Mullo, Trixx, and Kalkii threw Plagg under the bus for it but they didn’t get out of it unscathed. True to her word unlike the five, Tikki forced them to return the vehicle to Batman the next night. They also had to write a note apologizing to Batman for all the trouble they caused. MultiBug went with the four as they teleported straight into the secret Batcave and pushed the car out of the portal. Luckily no one seemed to be there and they left quickly after placing the note on the windshield.

Red Robin was there. Red Robin blinked once. Twice. Red Robin rubbed his eyes.

The Batmobile was still there but the five identical girls were gone.

He calmly turned around back towards the computer. He must be hallucinating right? When was the last time he slept? That didn’t matter. He had to check the cameras to see if they got that and once the rest got back from patrol they could tell him if it was real. He turned back one more time towards the car and noticed the note. Better to not touch it in case it disappeared again. Coffee. He needs coffee to explain this.

Marinette ended up passed out on the couch as soon as they got home just like Tikki predicted. Seriously, that girl should listen to her more. Miraculous’ can take a huge toll on humans. All the active Kwami were nested on top of her unconscious body when Tikki decided to ask what exactly was on the note.

“The note? Oh that note! Well…”,Plagg dragged out with a yawn.

Dear Mr.Batman and Traffic Light boy.

We are very sorry for taking your Batmobile for the day and I swear we didn’t mean to. We thought it was an abandoned car and wanted to learn how to drive. When we got in we realized this was a mistake but you were very close to us and we didn’t want to get in trouble so we took it! Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything with it but drive. Since we are making confessions do you think we should add the rest? Might as well Kitten so she doesn’t get mad at us. No, Trix don’t write that, stop it!

-We were the ones that scared the Blue Boy.

-Tell him that ‘Dick’ isn’t a very good vigilante name.

-Traffic-Light boy we saw you cut that trash bin in half.

-Traffic-Light boy and Red Helmet need to watch their language.

-Egg head, your cowl looks like an egg.

-Those guns we stole all got destroyed, don’t worry! Have you ever melted them? It’s really cool to watch.

-We ate that granola bar that Red Helmet had in his pocket.

-It made us feel really funny.

-We caught Egg head when he passed out while grapple hooking.

-Oh, write that we are really evil. I wanna make them scared!

-We are really evil!

-Blue Boy has really good jokes that make us laugh.

“Then it’s signed with their usual red symbol, a green cat print, mouse ears, fox tail, and a horse spur.”, Alfred concluded.

“Shiitake mushrooms! They knew my identity and didn’t even realize it.” Nightwing screeched, grabbing his hair.

“That granola bar was a ‘special’ brownie.”, Red Hood stated.

“I do NOT look like an egg! ...Ok maybe I do.”, sighed Red Robin.

“I told you I kept hearing things and I was RIGHT!”, shouted Nightwing.

“They can’t be real if they liked your jokes, Grayson.”, Robin said.

“Ouch, Traffic-Light boy! That felt like you cut me in half like that trash can.”, teased Nightwing.

Batman took the note from Alfred and rewatched the footage from the caves cameras. They five looked younger than Robin and obviously held some type of magical abilities to create a portal. From what he could tell they weren’t actually doing bad things and when they did they felt guilty about it. He pulled up the note left at the museum that was also an apology.

“They are just kids, Alfred.”, Batman mumbled.

Alfred hummed. “Kids who need some guidance I suppose, Master Bruce?”, he suggested.

#maribat #The One Where Marinette

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snarwor · 4 years ago

Text

moon and old stars - chapter 8

sorry

(cw for dark themes, to include thoughts of death, trauma, and references to suicide)

Masterlist

-------------------------------------------------

It all happened so fast.

At first.

One minute, everything was going the way it should, the TIEs had taken the bait, Boba had fled to hyperspace, the boarding team was on Gideon’s ship. When Boba had come out of the micro-jump, he attached the Slave I to the flattest side of an asteroid and waited.

And waited.

Thirty minutes had passed in a terrible blur Boba remembered feeling before, in the Pit of Carkoon. In the hot, bloody sand on Geonosis. He realized with a nasty jolt just how fatalistic his line of thinking had become. The deal will be fulfilled. Din will get his kid, Kryze will get her Moff, and I… I’ll get nothing. “A Mandalorian lives deal to deal. Never make a deal you don’t know for certain you can’t live past finishing,” Jango had told him, just a bit of knowledge Boba hadn’t understood then, and knew all too well now.

Almost angrily, Boba tightened bolts around the tracking system monitor, adding a bit of percussive maintenance almost as an afterthought. The sharp clang of his vambrace against the machinery snapped him from his thoughts. Who was he to go around, banging his father’s ship to hell and back? Even now, he still tensed whenever he made a loud-enough sound on the ship. Not to mention the odd guilt of tinkering and tampering with practically everything on it. Back in the passenger bay, the immobilizing cots were re-initialized. Gideon would hopefully be coming back alive, if Kryze kept her promise and wasn’t so hot-headed as Fett knew she was.

Those damned comments about his father were...well, they weren’t pleasant. Usually Boba was better about those kinds of comments, but in his defense, not even Fennec Shand made those kinds of comments.

Din hadn’t spoken to him afterwards, too focused on the mission to notice Boba’s ire, or if he had noticed it, it just hadn’t mattered, not with the kid so close. Boba sighed at the reminder, a deep exhale that he never wanted to stop, blow all his air and anxious energy out at once like he was jettisoning it from himself. A sharp beep on the comm had him almost gasping for air in surprise. He felt a bit ridiculous as a result. He opened the comm line.

“Mission’s over. Requesting pickup.” Fennec’s voice...shook. This wasn’t good. He moved silently through the crawlspace, packing up his gear.

“Affirmative. Any casualties?”

“Kryze got hit in the chest but she’s upright, Reeves says she’s had worse. Dune and I, we’re fine. Gideon’s knocked out but alive.” She paused, her voice catching on something again.

She was leaving out two very important details. Boba’s blood turned to ice even as he engaged the hyperdrive, returning to the light cruiser’s coordinates.

“Fennec. Just say it.” Don’t say it, don’t say it...

“Kriff, hold on.” Boba’s fingers tightened around the jump lever, pulling it back when indicated by the monitor. The cruiser came up like a damn wall in front of him, and he easily steered the ship to the docking zone, where several dozen stormtroopers lay scattered across the flight deck. Fennec’s voice was softer when she spoke again. “Mando didn’t get the kid.”

That’s...not what he expected.

“Then why are we still here?” Boba snapped, his relief coming out as impatience.

“I can’t explain it.”

“Try.”

Dark troopers. A sword made of darkness. A sword made of green light. A Jedi. An x-wing.

“Boba...he took off his helmet. For the kid, he took it off, and he hasn’t put it back on, and I don’t know him like you do, but he looks like he might—”

Boba was already in motion, his feet barely touching the ground as he flew through the cargo hold and onto the flight deck. His indicator led him toward the bridge, but he caught up with the group as they were walking back. Reeves fired off a shot he barely managed to dodge before he shouted angrily, “You treat all your rides like that?”

After a beat, he stepped out from behind his cover, one hand on his blaster just in case. He scanned his eyes over the group: Shand. Dune. Gideon on Dune’s shoulder. Reeves. Kryze, glaring at…

Din.

The others may not have seen that look on his face before, but it’s one Boba was well-acquainted with. The boy was lost, holding his helmet like… like...

Like he didn’t deserve to wear it, and like he didn’t know where to go. Boba brushed off the phantom heat of Geonosis and moved closer. “You not taking the ship, Kryze?” he said, banishing the memories.

She had her helmet off, tucked into her arm. Her fiery eyes met Boba’s expressionless visor. “No. Too much heat here. They shot off a distress signal before we could breach the bridge.”

“Better luck next time, princess.” Reeves made to take a swing at him, but Boba barely reacted. “Take one of the TIEs they still have docked in the hangar. You’re not coming back on my ship.” Especially not with Din like this...

“Why would I want to, anyway, you clone piece of—”

“Hey, Gideon’s not exactly a featherweight, alright? Am I permitted upon your ship, O Gracious Boba Fett?” Cara snarked at him, already walking right by, the disgraced Moff dangling like a ragdoll off her shoulder.

“There’s a cell waiting for him on board.” She and Fennec walked right by, and Kryze turned to Din, who barely reacted.

“This conversation is not over.”

“Just take the fucking saber, Kryze,” Din said, his voice tired and raspy in a way that meant he was on the verge of passing out on his feet. Fennec’s earlier warnings still rung through his mind like crashing church bells. He looks like he might— Boba’s eyes couldn’t leave him, picking up every twinge in his step, the way he favored one arm, the scorch marks on his vambraces. The spear remained at his back, but at the man’s words, Boba looked to his hip. Dear kriffing lord.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Boba said before he could stop himself. The three looked at one another, bewildered. “Tell me that’s not the kriffing Darksaber.”

“It’s the Darksaber, so I’ve been told,” Din sighed, letting his helmet dangle from his fingertips while he pushed his other hand through his hair. It still held the same curls and easy wave as when Boba had cut it for him, but they’d been crushed by the helmet and sweat. “She won’t take it.”

Bo-Katan made a squawking, indignant noise at his blasé tone. “You won it in combat! I can’t—”

“You are being purposefully difficult for selfish reasons,” Din hissed, pain marring his features as equally as anger. “You shouldn’t need a fucking lasersword just to rule a planet. Go take Mandalore, go take your fucking ghosts, take your fucking sword, I don’t want it.”

“I have to best you in combat for it, it is the only way!”

“You would kill him? Kill a father, just for a hunk of metal and crystal?” Boba said, aghast. “You would kill him for a planet cursed with terrible rulers? Thought you had more honor than that.” He moved to Din’s side, still protecting, still protective.

“I don’t need to kill him to—”

“Just fucking do it,” Din rasped.

“What?” Boba snapped.

“Just kill me. Just fucking take it. I’ve fulfilled my obligations to you, to both of you. Kid’s s-safe. Ship’s yours. Gideon’s captured. So kill me.” Din took a step forward, and Boba hardly heard the footfall over the blood rushing in his ears. “Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars you won. No one will know but you, Mand’alor.” The passageway was dead silent in response to his resigned testimony.

Boba’s heart dropped to his feet. He couldn’t mean…? He couldn’t possibly be serious. He felt dizzy, like the first time he ever hit anything with a blaster, and watched it fall to the ground, unmoving. He felt equal parts numb and not, the echoes of not his father’s voice shouted through modulators, a terrible echo of what he had, and what he had lost. He felt the slam of a hull against his body, the impact of hot sand and the greedy pull of gravity, a clean swallow into the earth. He heard that horrible echo, kill me, kill me, kill me...

Bo-Katan looked just as horrified. “No,” she says, shaking her head for emphasis. “You’re injured. You...you wouldn’t fight like a warrior, as decreed by—”

Boba spoke, instinct at the helm where rational thought had abandoned ship. “Tradition is the only thing keeping you from taking the damned thing.”

“Stay out of this, clone,” she snapped back. A deep sigh from Boba’s left interrupted any reply he would have snarled in return.

“You know what? Fuck it, I’ll keep it. Come kill me, come fight me when you deem me ready, I don’t care. Work through your problems first, then you can be one of mine.” Din walked off without another word, leaving Boba to be the only one to bear witness to Bo-Katan’s fury.

Facts and figures raced through Boba’s mind and came to a stop at understanding: Din was behaving irrationally, and shouldn’t be left alone.

As he walked back the way he came, Boba couldn’t help himself. “You heard the Mand’alor.”

He was sure Bo-Katan was still shrieking when he boarded the Slave I. Gideon was all laid out in one of the mirrored transparisteel cells on the passenger deck, still unconscious. Even in this state, the man looked too cunning for his own good. He’d wake up in a mirrored box with nowhere to flee and nobody to sneer at but his own reflection. Boba always appreciated that about the prisoner cells.

He came to a standstill when he saw the shiny beskar helmet laying, discarded, on the deck. It stuck his heart in his throat did a moment. He shook away the sand from his peripheral vision and stopped to pick it up.

Cara was already strapped into the passenger seat, watching everything with a detached worry that Boba didn’t like. There was nothing about this situation that he liked. “He went up to your bunk,” she said, not looking up at him. He wondered if she had looked down when Din had walked through. If she had looked away on the bridge, if she had kept her eyes ahead when walking through the cruiser.

He didn’t know if he actually wanted to know.

“Great.”

“Fennec’s gonna take us to a New Republic base.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ve got first watch on Gideon. He tried offing himself on the bridge.”

“Of course he did.”

“The others not coming?”

“Absolutely not.” He hit a button on his vambrace and reveled in the satisfaction that he didn’t need to manually operate much on the Slave I anymore. The ship, the armor, Boba, they were one. Jango’s pride and joy. The cargo hatch closed with a hiss and the thrusters engaged instantaneously, Fennec pulling them into space and as far away from this mess as possible.

Boba hesitated at the intersection past the passenger bay. To the left, down into the berthing area and Din. To the right, up into the cockpit and control.

He turned left, and descended.

The narrow passageway had a persistent flickering light overhead which cast an eerie glow about the space. In the ghost stories older bounty hunters used to tell him as a child just to scare him, they used to mention flickering lights as signs of impending doom.

The sun hadn’t flickered that day on Geonosis.

The suns hadn't flickered that day on Tatooine.

Yet the old fear remained.

The ship gave a familiar lurch into hyperspace and Boba swallowed the fear, ignoring his pounding heart in favor of whatever lay beyond that door. Boba removed his helmet before opening the door to his berthing.

Two helmets in hand, he entered, finding Din had gotten into the few bottles of spicewine they’d brought with them from the Core world safe house. His eyes were hard but unfocused, his cheeks ruddy but dry. He looked ill, Boba thought. The noise of the two helmets touching the shelf was too loud, but neither man commented.

Din was still in full beskar, though it looked worse for wear in places, like his hands had been shaking too hard for him to remove anything successfully. So now he sat, wrapped in beskar yet armorless, on the deck of Boba’s ship.

Boba joined him there, knowing it was as healthy as keeping company with a trilling thermal detonator. The longer he thought of what to possibly say, the longer the silence screamed between them. Din brought the wine back to his lips and drank deeply, uncaring toward the messy blood-red splashes that dribbled past his mouth and onto his chest plate.

Something had changed in Din, a complete shift of his entire person that Boba hadn’t been there to witness. He knew the word for what it was, but it never seemed to encompass the variety of emotions that warred with one’s senses. The despair. The turmoil. The burning anger. The choking guilt. The merciless reminder that someone isn’t there anymore.

There were no words that could have filled Boba’s emptiness or put out the wildfire rage scorching his heart, back then. There was no amount of revenge that would have brought Jango back. There was no number of beds he could fall into and believe they were the embrace of another. There was cold, and there was flame, the icy white burning of an old star that had been dying for decades.

Yet, something had changed in himself as well, and he had been around for it but had not been aware of it. In the...fuck, it had been just less than a month, since the refinery mission on Morak—in that time alone, Boba had felt Din move into his orbit, but...no. That wasn’t right either. Boba had moved into Din’s orbit. They’d eclipsed one another countless times since then, covering one another in promises they would chase but never fulfill, looks that would never become meaningful glances, touches that would never, ever last. Perigee, apogee, perigee, apogee again. They had phases, and their shine was reaching darkness again, waning crescent.

He had not seen Din at full darkness, that first day back when he was only a distraction. It was ironic that the moment Boba could not be around to cast a guiding light on Din, he found himself a weapon made of darkness and could not rid himself of it. He was stuck here with his grief, empty fulfillment and burdensome guilt atop his shoulders, yet Boba orbited him just out of reach. Everything felt just out of reach.

“My father told me once that the first direction most species look for answers is up,” Boba blurted out. The words didn’t stop. “He told me that for all the atrocities borne on any world, they always blamed the stars. Thanked the stars. Asked the stars why. Trillions of trillions of questions throughout time, sent across the galaxy until they realized they could find the answers themselves by looking down at one another. The stars never had any answe–“

“Shut up.”

Boba’s skin prickled a little at the interruption, and he stuttered to a halt, looking over at Din. “What?”

“I said shut up. I don’t want to hear whatever fucking bullshit your father said, I don’t want to hear about the stars or a moon made of crystals or a damned thing you have to say!” Din’s voice had crescendoed into a shout, hoarse and toneless. Formless anger. Misfired plasma beams. “Why didn’t you let her just kill me when she had the chance?!” His eyes spat the same fury his mouth had, and his knuckles were moon-white around the bottle in his hands.

“Din—”

“No. Tell me why.”

Masks were a strange thing in the galaxy. In some cultures they were seen as coy, charming and flirtatious. They covered one’s identity only to be cast aside in a fit of passion. In other cultures they were used to tell stories and fables to children before they learned that evil wore many faces. For many Mandalorians, their mask was a part of their full armor. To hide one's face was to have honor, to be a part of an enduring galactic symbol of warrior ethos and heritage. It was necessary for foundlings to feel accepted, they knew not the face of their fathers because everyone was their father.

Boba Fett knew the face of his father. The entire galaxy knew the face of his father. He wore several masks, hiding parts of himself, of the collective, so deeply inside himself just to feel some sense of individuality among the millions who shared his face. Even after he had recrafted Jango’s helm, there were still cracks in that mask, irreparable from the brash actions of his vengeance. The helmet he had held to his forehead in a mirshmure’cya, countless times after that day, it had reflected that first mask back at him, showing the burning anger in his eyes. It had frightened him into doing something he regretted. When that anger had exploded, it had also taken one of the few pieces of his father he had left. He would reforge a new helmet, but the mask he wore constantly was now another gift from Jango: the gift (curse) of his face.

He saw his father’s anger and judgment and disappointment staring back at him, everywhere. He avoided mirrors whenever possible for that reason. For years, Boba only smiled at death, hedonism, sharp shooting. He had forgotten the easy laughter of his youth, the carefree smiles at his father’s fancy flying in their Firespray-class ship. He hid those joyful parts of himself and let the prophecy fulfill: he became Jango as he was remembered.

A ruthless. Deadly. Fanatical. Bounty hunter.

Nowhere in there was the term Mandalorian. He could not wear a heritage, he could not gain honor through hiding his face, he could not ascend to the heavens nor pursue a normal life in the galaxy.

(Among other reasons, one of the biggest was that clones were not legally classified as people, after all.)

There was still that crack in the mask, though, that little fissure that wouldn’t melt into submission, that tiny fracture that spidered out under pressure. And when Din had come to him that day and blurted out “I need a distraction,” his clever hands had pried the careful edges of that fault line apart, and wriggled themselves deeper, reaching for the next mask to tear apart on Boba.

It was a ripping noise Boba always heard, when Din would cry or when Din would kneel or when Din would blush and smile and pull smiles and praise helplessly from Boba’s lips. The infiltration of the other masks had been surgically precise, and completely unintentional.

So why, why wouldn’t Boba let Bo-Katan kill him for the stupid lasersword of Mandalore?

“Because I love you, Din.”

Read on AO3.

#moon and old stars #my writing #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #bobadin

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xomarauders · 4 years ago

Note

Have you ever thought about doing a part two to that post where remus played rugby and during a prty Sirius confessed his feelings for him ? Cuz it’s literally perfect and I love it soooo much

i’m sorry this took me so long to write! i hope you enjoy this second part!

read the full thing here on ao3

—

There was another rugby game two weeks later and Sirius was cheering in the stands next to Lily and Peter—as usual—but this time, he was wearing a letterman jacket with the last name “Lupin” scrawled across the back, staring at Remus playing on the field knowing that he was his. That Remus would hug and kiss him after the inevitable win, that he would dance with Sirius during the party in the common room and not Emmeline Vance. Remus was his and he was Sirius’.

It still gave Sirius butterflies to think about it and he blushed slightly, thinking about the cliché of it all. James and Peter had taken upon themselves to tease Sirius about how flustered he became around Remus spite living in the same dorm as him since first year. Remus would just laugh as Sirius pouted, pulling him close into his chest and saying how he found it “cute.” The blush was practically a permanent fixture on his face now.

They were winning, and the whole crowd had become wild with anticipation as the last few minutes of the game ticked away. Marlene McKinnon had already started informing people about the victory party even as Gideon and Fabian Prewett scolded her for possibly jinxing the whole game. Sirius laughed at their superstitions, but the humor did not last long as a loud whistle from below directed his attention back to the field. His stomach dropped.

Remus was lying flat on his back on the ground, eerily still with a swarm of players and coaches surrounding him. James was there, helmet off and hands running through his hair, words coming out his mouth at a rapid speed, though Sirius couldn’t make out what he was saying. He distantly felt Lily next to him, trying to get his attention but there was a ringing in his ears that blocked her out. The medics rushed out onto the field and hoisted Remus—still alarmingly unconscious—onto a stretcher and evacuated the scene. Sirius did not hesitate a second. He ran down the bleachers, following after them with his breath caught in his throat.

“Remus!” He shouted, wishing futilely that the sound of his voice might be enough to wake his boyfriend. Instead, he got the attention of coach Moody, who gave Sirius a look of exasperation mixed with empathy.

“We’ve got him, Sirius. Go back to your friends.”

“I’m not leaving him!”

“You sure as hell are if you don’t want my foot up your arse!”

Sirius hesitated. He knew Moody meant business, but he couldn’t stand leaving Remus alone, especially if he were in pain. Remus never would have left him if the situation were reversed.

“Please, Moody. I can’t stand the idea of him being in pain and me not being there for him.”

There were tears welling up in Sirius’ eyes now, and no matter how much he tried to blink them away, they remained until finally spilling onto his sharp alabaster cheekbones. Moody huffed before nodding his head.

“Fine. But you stay out of the way, alright? Let Pomfrey look him over.”

Sirius nodded and joined Moody as they followed Remus towards the hospital wing. Pomfrey was already shouting orders to the sports medic assisting her as she flashed a small light in between Remus’ eyes. Sirius stood in the doorway, Moody’s orders of staying out of the way ringing in his head. He fought the urge to just rush over and kiss Remus, kiss him awake and cure him with love like they do in those cheesy, heteronormative princess movies that Prongs made them all watch that one summer. But he knew he had to behave. Had to let them help Remus.

Pomfrey confirmed that Remus had sustained a concussion from being knocked to the ground with such force, but other than that he was fine. Sirius was relieved to hear that his boyfriend should make a full recovery as long as he rest properly, which meant Pomfrey was going to make him stay in the hospital at least overnight. Sirius insisted on being able to stay with him and after a long fight of trying to get him out of there, the nurse begrudgingly agreed. With a cot set up right next to Remus’ bed, Sirius laid there, attempting to sleep but being predictably unsuccessful.

Instead, he found himself staring at Remus’ slack expression as he slept. He looked so peaceful—Pomfrey must have given him the good pain meds—and Sirius smiled slightly. He was relieved that Remus was overall okay, but he couldn’t help but still be worried for his boyfriend.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Re.” He whispered into the air. He leaned over to brush a bit of Remus’ curls off his forehead and placed a gentle kiss on his temple. When he laid back down again, his body finally gave into its exhaustion and he fell asleep.

* * *

“Sirius. Sirius.” A sing-song voice was whispering, soft lips tickling against his ear and Sirius reached up to bat them away, still too sleepy to want to wake.

“Five more minutes, James.”

“I certainly hope James isn’t waking you up like that in the mornings.”

Sirius opened his eyes to see Remus’ smiling face above him, cheeks flushed slightly pink and his curly hair a mess a top his head. Sirius smiled up at his boyfriend, taking in the beautiful sight and feeling so grateful that he was okay and awake and—

“Oh my god!” Sirius shot up. “You should be laying down! What the bloody hell are you thinking? Pomfrey said to rest, Remus, so you rest!”

He started fussing over his boyfriend, getting him back into bed and tucking him in more snugly than was necessary. Remus himself just began laughing, amused by Sirius’ fussing and the look of concentration on his face.

“I’m fine, Siri. Really. There’s no need to worry.”

“Well, I already am worried. I’ve been worried since last night.” Sirius pouted. “I thought you’d gotten seriously injured, like…like a broken neck or something!”

Remus reached out and took Sirius’ hands in his own, effectively stopping his boyfriends ranting by placing a kiss on each of his knuckles. Sirius blushed and looked down at his feet. How was it that Remus could still be so cool and collected when he had been knocked unconscious only hours earlier?

“Well, I am so lucky to have a boyfriend who is so concerned about me. So concerned, that the nurse had to set up a bed for him to sleep in right next to mine.” The grin on Remus’ face shined brighter than the morning sun. Sirius really was in love.

“You would have done the same.” He murmured.

“Yes. But I still would like to thank you anyway.” Remus leaned forward, planting a quick, gentle kiss on Sirius’ lips. He smirked. “And once this concussion is healed, I plan to thank you properly.”

Sirius’ eyes twinkled. “Well that can certainly be arranged.”

#sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #james potter #lily evans potter #jily #harry potter #peter pettigrew #marauders #sirius black fluff #remus lupin fluff #wolfstar au #wolfstar fluff #fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #remus lupin fic #💭 by kat

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ambersky0319 · 5 years ago

Text

You’re Something Else

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five

Prompt: Medieval Demus fanfic? Remus and Roman are both princes and with Roman set to inherit the throne their parents desperately want to see Remus married off, however Remus has the tendency to be picky with potential suitors and has turned them all down thus far. That is until Remus’ newest suitor turns out to be Prince Janus. At first Remus is difficult with him as he is with all his suitors but than Janus starts winning him over slowly. Janus also knows sorcery in this.

Overall Story Warnings: Blood and injuries(varies throughout story), kind of a terrible father, lmk if I need to add anything else!

Masterpost

———————–

Remus's mother was ecstatic when she heard the news about a week later. Remus was finally out of the infirmary, though the doctor had said he should still get more rest. He would comply. He would have enough time to get rest, anyway.

Janus’s offer was simple. They get married, and Remus could move into Janus’s castle. Janus assured Remus his parents would be more than welcoming, and would treat Remus much better. Evelyn was incredibly happy her son had finally agreed to get married, hugging both Janus and Remus so tight Remus was barely able to breathe. Once she finally let them go, Remus using Janus’s cane to steady himself, they broke the news to her.

The wedding would take place in Janus’s kingdom.

“Considering Remus would be joining my family,” Janus quickly began to explain when Evelyn’s face fell, “we thought it’d be best for the wedding to happen there. Plus, as preparations are being made, Remus can get used to my family and the rest of the kingdom. And of course, you’ll be invited to the wedding itself.”

Evelyn still looked a bit deflated, worrying at her bottom lip lightly. She had been so relieved her son had finally chosen a suitor, and would finally be married off… she had forgotten that meant he would be moving away. And because of how desperate Orion had been to find someone who Remus would take, she hadn’t thought much of how far he would be moving. Until now.

Across an entire ocean.

Remus smiled reassuringly at his mother. “I’ll be fine, mother. Janus promised that I would be welcomed with open arms.”

She glanced at Janus for confirmation. Janus nodded slightly. “My parents are very excited to meet him and welcome him to the family.” Janus cracked a small smile, and Remus noticed how it wasn’t really too genuine. It was that polite smile Janus wore when talking with Evelyn. “They wanted the wedding to happen right away, but I convinced them to let Remus adjust first before then so it’s not as though everything is being dumped on him at once.”

Remus still couldn’t believe how easily Janus could lie, especially to a Queen. And he couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that his mother was believing the lies. Remus kept his lips sealed though. His mother didn’t need to know that Janus’s parents never made such claims.

Janus’s parents even said they should have more time to get to know each other, actually try to love one another, before they even thought about marriage. Remus was lucky neither of his own parents knew much about Janus’s culture so they couldn’t ask why the wedding would take so long to actually happen.

Evelyn sighed, turning back to look at Remus fully. She smiled faintly, bringing her hands to Remus’s face. Remus scrunched his nose in mild annoyance as she caressed his cheeks, taking him in, searching his eyes. Janus looked away. “Behave yourself, Remus darling…”

Remus took in a deep breath, nodding. Evelyn released his face, and didn’t notice Janus’s fist almost clench at her words. Remus really wouldn’t miss being told that.

“Alright, I say we tell your father and brother over dinner. When… When are you two meant to depart?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, hopefully.” Janus claims. “We’d want to avoid the seasonal storms around my kingdom, and if we leave any later we may get caught in one.”

She nods. “Very well. I presume you both will spend the night packing, then?”

“If it’s not much trouble.” Remus says, tilting his head at his mom and smiling softly. She returns the smile.

“It’s not.” She brightens. “Come! They should be in the dining hall already!”

Remus couldn’t sleep.

His whole room felt strange, being mostly bare. Janus’s guards helped him pack everything he wanted, since Remus was still technically healing and was told to take it easy for a lot longer than a week. Janus’s guards were nice to him, encouraging him to tell them stories as they went about taking Remus’s things and putting them in different boxes or bags. They didn’t wear their helmets as they worked, and Remus had been surprised to see they had massive scars on the top part of their heads. The scars looked very similar to Janus’s. And because of the scars, neither of the guards’ hair was able to grow back fully. So their hair was short and styled to the side, a tad bit messed up because of the helmets they always wore.

They didn’t tell Remus how they got the scars, said he’d learn sometime when living with Janus’s family. And that was the end of that.

Remus also learned their names, finally. One was named Declan, and the other Edith.

Remus sighed, flopping his arm over his face. His insides felt like they were twisting into knots, and he wasn’t sure why he felt the way he did. Remus never felt like this. He almost wished he was back in that clearing, bleeding out. That felt better than this, his stomach cramping and his heart thudding in his ears despite there being nothing to worry about-

Oh.

Remus carefully sat up, staring at the wall across from him. He was nervous.

He frowned to himself, bringing his hand to his stomach and running his fingers over the stitches. Remus took a deep breath. Of course he was nervous. He wasn't temporarily leaving the castle. He was leaving permanently tomorrow, precisely at noon. He bit his lip.

It should be a permanent move. Janus had said it would be. Remus would be happy in the new kingdom; a whole lot more to explore, new faces, a family that would actually seem happy to have him be a part of… but Remus’s mind was apparently not happy in imagining a happily ever after for himself. His thoughts began to wander.

What if they didn’t actually fall in love? Or, what if Janus decided he just didn’t want to marry him anymore? What if Janus’s family despised him, sends him back to live here and says that the marriage is off? Maybe they’d toss him into a dragon’s den since neither family would want him, no family would ever tolerate him, and he’d get killed by a dragon? It’d make sense, he survived the first one, what if that was the end of his luck and he ended up bleeding out in a dragon’s cave near their hoard?

Remus had barely realized he had curled in on himself until a sharp pain flew through his body, his nails digging into his arms. Remus forced his muscles to relax, but the thoughts remained.

Janus was probably doing this out of pity. He was an odd prince, he actually seemed to have a heart. Well, Roman probably did, but Remus couldn’t be too sure. Plus, Janus hadn’t seemed too interested in Remus from day one. What other reason would he have to actually stick around aside from pity?

He exhaled slowly. He couldn’t stay in here. He needed a distraction, to talk to someone.

Remus slipped out of his bed and grabbed a nightshirt from one of the few boxes still in his room. He pulled it on before making his way to the door. Before Remus could second-guess himself, he was pulling the door open and walking across the hall to Janus’s room. Might as well confirm all his thoughts, right?

Declan and Edith glanced at him - did they ever sleep? - before moving out of Remus’s way. Remus hesitated to go in, and instead knocked lightly on the door. The two guards seemed a bit surprised at that, but didn’t say a word.

A few moments of silence went by, and Remus thought maybe Janus hadn’t heard Remus knocking. Remus was about to try again when the door opened, and he was greeted with tired, mismatched eyes. Janus frowned at him, rubbing at his brown eye as he took in Remus’s appearance.

“Something wrong?” Janus asked softly, and Remus bit his lip, hugging himself tightly.

“I um…” He took a deep breath, glancing at Declan and Edith. “I can’t sleep. Can I stay in here with you?”

Janus obviously didn’t miss Remus’s glances, and stepped out of the way with a gentle “of course.” Remus thanked him quietly, and Janus closed the door behind him, gesturing to the bed. Remus took a seat on the mattress, his body stiff and he still clung to himself.

Janus stood in front of him, arms folding across his chest as he looked down at Remus in confusion and… concern?

“Are you alright?” Janus asked finally once Remus started to squirm under his gaze. Janus also luckily looked away, towards the window, and Remus’s shoulders slumped.

“I don’t… know.”

Janus hummed gently, gaze flickering back to Remus for a moment. His expression told Remus to continue.

“I was being honest, about not being able to sleep. I’m... “ Remus laughed softly at himself. “Gods, it’s stupid.”

Janus frowned. “No, it’s not. What is it?”

He settled on the bed beside Remus, not touching him in case Remus wasn’t okay with it right now. Remus admitted to himself that Janus being closer made him feel a lot better. Because they weren’t in front of anyone else, and Janus had sat next to him anyway. Remus took a deep breath, and Janus’s frown deepened at the fact it was shaky. He didn’t realize that the simple action of sitting next to Remus was enough to dispute some of his worries.

“I’m… nervous. And I don’t get nervous! But for some reason tonight I am and it sucks and I can’t sleep and I was hoping maybe talking to you would help me stop worrying.”

Janus relaxed upon hearing this. "Of course you're nervous," he says gently. "It's a big change."

Remus groaned, flopping back on Janus's bed. "Why does it make me nervous though?!"

"Because you aren't used to change," Janus stated as though it were completely obvious. "The biggest change you've done through so far has been from going outside every day to staying in the castle."

Remus dragged his hands over his face. "Will I feel better once we're on that damn ship?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I have a feeling you might get seasick."

"Seasick?"

Janus hummed and Remus huffed lightly, face still hidden behind his hands. "It can be dealt with when it comes up though. Anything else bothering you?"

Remus peeked through his fingers, studying Janus's relaxed but still slightly concerned expression. The moon cast bright light into his room, not as bright as the infirmary but bright enough to illuminate most of Janus's features.

"Y… yeah, actually." Janus raised a brow, but said nothing. Remus took a deep breath and sat up again. He didn't meet Janus's eyes. "What's in it for you, this arrangement?"

Janus blinked in confusion. "What…?"

"Like, what are you getting out of this? Your parents don't want to marry you off, you have no reason to really welcome me into your family. You didn't even look like you wanted to talk to me when we first met, or at least, you didn't seem interested in even trying. But then you offered me an escape from here after realizing that my family isn't that great and just..." Remus ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it harshly. "Is… is this what doubt feels like?"

Janus reached up and removed Remus's hand from his hair, and Remus fell silent as Janus didn't let go of his hand. "I'm hopefully getting a husband out of this." Janus says quietly, as though if he spoke any louder he'd shatter them both. "Why do you think my parents agreed to let me come here, and stay longer than intended?"

"But, the first week-"

"Remus, you were shooting down every single suitor who stepped foot in this castle. I figured being too forceful would be a bad move."

Remus stared at him for a second. "You… had me go to you."

Janus shrugged. Remus's hand was still clasped in his own. "Sort of. I was giving you flowers, weren't I?"

"But… you had me come to you and ask about them… and… and…" Remus trailed off, staring at his lap.

Janus patiently waited for Remus to collect his thoughts. Once he did, Remus laughed softly, squeezing Janus's hand a bit. "You're something else, Janus. Really."

Remus didn't see Janus's cheeks dusted pink. "How about we actually try and sleep, though? Janus asked. "It'll be a fairly long trip but sailing is surprisingly draining."

"You really don't mind me sleeping in here?"

"Not at all."

Remus let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and he crawled under the covers with Janus. They didn't cuddle together, and when they woke up they were still on their own side of the bed. But Remus had to admit, he wasn't as nervous anymore.

———————–

Taglists

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@magimerlyn @deceits-left-glove @stopitanxiety @theyluna-womoon @pinkpersonlove-writes @slimysnek-boi @enby-ralsei @confusedhost @dissappropriation @unsurepotatohooman @i-was-supposed-to-have-a-twin @evapootato25264 @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @magpie1230 @dr-gloom @sparrow-flightninggale @ab-artist @the-aroace-queen-in-the-quiver @i-dont-even-know-at-this-point @probablymebutimnotsure

#dukeceit #demus #romantic dukeceit #romantic demus #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #ts sides #ts janus #ts remus #tw injury #tw blood #you're something else #amberskywrites #ambersky #(ask to tag)

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

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I’m really intrigued by Rayla’s moonshadow assassin peers. I especially am interested in Andromeda because I think she is the only other girl in the group? Do you have any headcanons in how these teen/young adult assassins interacted? Do you think Rayla isolated herself from them because she was always iffy about taking a life? Also TDP finally colored their map and I know you live maps, find any new cool stuff? I especially love how there’s a frozen sea north and a spinning sea south, imagine the powerful Magic’s that channeled to make them.

Okay, so I jumped straight to the map, did 80% of it, and wandered away for a few weeks. I apologize, anon. Let’s get this going again:

I’ve got a few headcanons on the Moonshadow assassins! It seems likely that they hang out mostly with each other, when they hang out, to reinforce their teambuilding and to give them some socialization, since assassins tend to keep others at arm’s length. So I kinda figure they tend to roam as a pack on their evenings out in the village, if they’re not married to a non-assassin like Runaan is.

I think that could be part of the reason that Rayla might not have hung out with the others as much, too: Runaan wanted to be either training or at home with Ethari, so Rayla probably spent a lot of time doing those things just because he did them. And when Runaan was doing more serious training or missions, that’s when Rayla had her free time to run around the forest and make adoraburr friends.

Runaan could’ve probably insisted that she do something more assassiny with her free time. Shadow an assassin, do more studying, practice certain prescribed skills on her own. But he didn’t. He let her play. Soft assassin is soft!

Listen, anon, I have a fun headcanon for you about Andromeda--and by fun, I mean it’s really angsty half a second after you start thinking about it. Ready?

What if: Andromeda is Runaan’s half-sister. If they’re both Lujanne’s children by different assassin dads who kept dying in battle, but a Moon mage needs an assassin leader partner to defend Xadia with, and Lujanne knew her son Runaan wasn’t old enough to lead yet, so she burned through three or more husbands protecting him until Runaan was well trained enough to lead the assassins himself and had fallen in love with a mage who adored him and would be his partner in her place.

Andromeda looks a fair bit like Lujanne, too:

Along with Runaan, they all have long hair, side tails bound in silver cuffs, and some form of braids. Andromeda’s hair is sectioned in front similarly to Runaan’s. Her accent sounds more British than Scottish, though she only has the one line: My eyes for truth. And Lujanne and Andromeda are the only two Moonshadow elves we’ve met who have medium blue horns, while Runaan’s are dark blue. Almost everyone else’s horns have purple or pink as their base color.

But then, see, Andromeda went on Runaan’s mission, and she died. Her spirit was the most aggressive in TTM, usually closest to Rayla with her sword out, as if she hated Rayla the most. If she had a vested family interest in Runaan’s mission succeeding, and then it went pear-shaped because of Rayla, that would make sense.

No matter if she’s related to Runaan or not, she’s wearing horn cuffs, so she was in a dedicated relationship of some kind, and that’s so sad. Someone’s missing her the way Ethari’s missing Runaan. :’((((

Anyway, it’s just a headcanon, but since you asked, there ya go.

Okay, on to my thoughts on the map, of which I have a normal and healthy amount:

The Map Border:

Everyone doodles in the borders. I love to see what they put there.

Starting in the upper left and going counter-clockwise, the five human crowns are cool

Cornucopia swirls center left look like an homage to Cabbage Man from ATLA

Bait is staring at Evenere. his home? Or maybe he just wants to eat the dragonfly on its logo

Human defender has a beard. Hairagorn. He's very heavily armored but has no helmet. Long hair is braided to rest on front of shoulder, like the blond elf in the painting at the Moon Nexus. Old timey hairstyle?

He’s defending Katolis Castle specifically. I wonder if the little white building is kinda random or if it’s supposed to represent the Banther Lodge. Nah, I have a better guess: that’s where Viren grew up

The crack in the map looks meta. It's been repaired somewhat. Makes me wonder if it's an in-world map, whose, who ripped it, and who fixed it. Sir Phineas Kurst seems like the kind of guy to almost shred his really cool map

The star behind Zym's egg has seven points

The two ships on the southern waters are western and eastern respectively. Tidebound elves from Singapore? Jack Sparrow would be proud

There is land just south of the Dragontail, wonder what’s there?

The leaves around the human figure are small and numerous while the Moonshadow elf has fewer but bigger leaves

The elf is standing in the way of one of the six leaves growing out of the rune rose and that leaf's curly tip seems to have been replaced with a curl of the elf's very long hair

The human pose is more offense and the elf pose is more defense. But the elf has two swords, and one has some wicked hooks in it.

Elf has 4 fingers instead of 3 so whether it’s in-universe or meta, they were drawn by a human :DDD

The elf's braid winds around their horn and I think that's clever

High collar shirt under protective layer, bracers and elbow gloves, bare biceps, complex shoulder getup, ornate hair that's butt long and partly braided, two long slightly curving swords... horn cuffs too. This is a Moonshadow assassin in the same gear Runaan's got, poised to defend the Xadian half of the map as the human is poised to defend his side

The rune rose isn't a compass. It has a two sided pointer and six primal runes. Just decorative I guess. ;)

More lettuces on right center.

Maybe a portaling caterpillar on the center knot? Little bug pal, I see you

“The Five Human Kingdoms” lettered in red, “Xadia” in blue. Giving me Stratego flashbacks. Even the flowers on their banners are color coded

Banners in the corners are similar but Xadia has more fluttery tips

Thunder drawn all attacky top center, does he have anything to do with the Frozen Sea being frozen?

Compass rose under Thunder’s wing

Dick island near the compass. Well, Duren is the breadbasket of the human lands. A most excellent cartography joke! 10/10 would chortle wholesomely again

The Human Kingdoms:

Neolandia

Capital Eboreus seems to be a lake city below a mountain and I'm here for all the Lake Town refs.

It's also the eye of the elephant shape

Not a lot of trees, mostly grasses or desert. Only borders Duren across a couple rivers/estuaries/sea channels

Heart shaped island next to elephant trunk

Land generally broken into several sections by sea/rivers

If it’s rivers, they seem to generate from the capital’s lake and flow in several directions. And they say there’s no magic left in the western lands! ;)

But if there was exactly one source of freshwater in a desert land, it makes sense that you’d find a way, magical or mechanical, to spread that lifegiving water in as many directions as possible so your people can thrive so kudos to Neolandia’s ancestors/Tidebound elves/whoever managed that, it’s brilliant

I can and will make up explanations for anything on a map. I adore worldbuilding

Del Bar

Two named locations. Since Del Bar’s national symbol is a serpent, I guess Serpentongue is the capital.

Hinterpeak is a sweet name. Looks like Helm's Deep with that retaining wall. What’s it for? Are there dwarves in this land? Is it an Earthblood stronghold? Maybe it’s like the Mines of Moria, and the Earthbloods were chased out and/or killed inside and now it’s full of nasty orcses but someone left a MacGuffin down there so *nudges hero* Off you pop.

Nice forests around the southern mountain range but northern DB is more arid or grassy lands like Neolandia.

Considering that crops grow well in Duren, which is farther north, I assume there is a massive meteorological gyre over the human lands, with a southern wind blowing down over the western realms and keeping them icy until the mountains of Hinterpeak block and divert them, protecting Evenere. The winds don't blow eastward without warming right up-- and causing thunderstorms in Katolis how about that-- because there is a warmer side to the gyre over Katolis and Duren, blowing tropical warmth and moisture north and providing rain for trees and crops alike. Most years, anyway.

How does the weather fail in Duren for seven years in a row, anyway? That seems like a Thunder issue. Unless it’s a Sunforge issue, which I’ll get to below.

Ahem.

Borders Neolandia, Duren, and Katolis across rivers, but most border is coastline.

Serpentongue probably got its name from the two river heads around it

Cluster of dead little cracks spawns a single river. Looks like someone cracked the tub and it drained away. I wonder how much of this landscape has been affected by the Mage Wars. Big watery basins have flooded and other spots seem dead. The lands may or may not actually touch depending on how deep some of these waterways are

Evenere

Looks like someone punched holes in the land with a giant pencil to make it a separate island. Broken outline with scattered islands

That Pawprint Isles has only four toes

Moon-shaped island is very crescenty indeed

Are these isles home to refugees or outcasts from Xadia? Listen, I want pirates and that sea looks pretty Caribbean to me

No capital city, hmmm what's that about? Is it underground, does it move? Maybe Fareeda’s capital is on the back of a world turtle and she’s constantly on tour around the island?

That arm of land ending in a peace sign, please can we get surfers

The hills emanating from that claw shaped headland look like something is sleeping under the island, hello yes I am here for giant immortal creatures please

Katolis

its capital is also called Katolis, the only human realm to use the same name twice

Weeping Bay could be a ref to the tears the humans shed after they reached the west. Or the Moonshadow elves as they left their forest for the east. Or both. Both, in this case, is bad but balanced

Boomerang island next to the Dragontail

The river the Dragaang rode on was going uphill

The watery slash in the land between Katolis and Del Bar is awfully straight. So is the one between Del Bar and Neolandia. I call magical warfare.

Katolis has a bunch of mountains in the east, part of an old natural border before the lava one appeared

Mt Kalik is probably volcanic. It's a standalone mountain and it's really tall. Rex Ignius maybe? Oh, probably not, I think I see him peeking on the other side of the map

The trees of Duren and Katolis are different then the western lands. Softer green, deciduous. And the land itself is yellower, warmer in tone

Forests centered on Mt Kalik

The Moon Nexus looks like an eye on a dragon head near the Dragontail, and Evenere looks like a severed wing (Yes I am still wondering where Luna Tenebris went, why do you ask)

Weeping Bay looks like the most natural body of water in the western lands

Three red little trees scattered around the Katolis map. Fruit trees? How very Moonshadow.

Duren

The only land border among all the human kingdoms is between Duren and Katolis. Maybe it used to be further south along the river?

Capital is Berylgarten, set on a lake. Beryl is a stone that’s usually green, blue, or yellow in color, very gardeny

Second smallest realm but the breadbasket of the human lands. Has several little forests and great tilled fields

Being a farmer in Duren is probably as awesome as being an assassin in the Moonshadow Forest; you do what you do for all your friendly kingdoms

Northernmost land is cold and craggy, named Skall's Hook along the sea

Third ship in the Frozen Sea is icebound and crushed. Looks western, indicating no possible passage

Lots of colored trees and shrubs as if fruitbearing, I keep comparing Duren to the Yakima Valley in Washington State

Where the lava reaches the Frozen Sea, it melts the ice next to Duren's mountains

Northern Xadia:

Lux Aurea

Most of the center lands of this map has warm tones for its ground. Maybe that’s because of the long reach of the warmth and light of Lux Aurea’s Sun Nexus, and only the lands that are just too far from it are truly cold and icy. It would explain why Duren is a breadbasket realm so far north--it’s just across the border from Lux Aurea.

If there’s anything to that, then I suddenly worry for the fate of all the human lands now that the Sunforge has gone dark. It’s early summer now in Xadia, and crops in Duren will be ripening soon... Unless the sun’s magic was helping them grow. This coming winter could be rough. Next winter, people will die. Unless they can purify the Sunforge again.

Also, I have to wonder if Duren’s seven years of famine had anything to do with Sunforge shenanigans. They’d have happened at Khessa’s command, and we know she despises humans. If she was responsible for all the struggles that humans had to go through without enough food for seven years, and then their desperate attempt to fix the problem by invading Xadia for a Magma Titan’s heart which extended and exacerbated the war, I can see why Aaravos might feel Queen Khessa deserved to die

The city’s shaped kinda like an Egyptian pectoral necklace on this map, and that’s super pretty and not at all ominous

Also that’s a lot of gold for a whole city and I wonder how they got it all

The Shiverglades and the Shards

These areas are north of Lux Aurea and seem cold but not very icy, even though the Frozen Sea is right there. More thoughtful glances at the Sunforge over this one. Is it warming the land, or not warming the sea? Both?

Shiverglades is a play on Everglades, so this is a cold swamp, which sounds super fun I’m sure. Permafrost, tundra maybe?

The Shards seem to be rock islands with ice mountains. Glaciers are cool.

I wonder if something broke those islands off on purpose. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy worldbuilding? Yeah, well, I like world-wrecking, too.

Storm Spire

Has a good view on everything that happens for miles, including Lux Aurea, the Midnight Desert, the Shiverglades, the Black Tundra, the Uncharted Forest, and Drakewood.

Defensible position, no other tall mountains nearby

Also able to alert others to danger, especially since Avizandum could teleport like lightning

The Midnight Desert

It’s pretty big! And it looks like it’s littered with ruins of columns and dead palm trees. Like something else used to be in that great space and then something Very Bad happened to it. Maybe there was one great city where all the elves could mix together, and then it got utterly obliterated and the elves all fled to their respective safe places around Xadia. A city of black stone, back when Aaravos wore a crown? Now pulverized to dust and surrounded by not one, not two, but three primal nexuses? Hmmm...

All the wisps could be heat from the sand, or spooky spirit hints, or just an ominous sign of danger from the snakes below, but the overall effect is that the land is unhealthy if not cursed

The oasis is marked, and it must contain a spring since it runs a river out to join the river that passes through the Moonshadow Forest

Also the actual oasis kinda resembles a blue lizard which is adorable and probably also terrifying

Moonshadow Forest

The Silvergrove is the only village marked in the forest, so in keeping with the other lands and general map legend rules, it’s likely the capital/central village for the Moonshadow elves

The village is marked by four round-roofed homes between two tall leafy trees that shelter and hide them. It’s a hybrid balance between the blocky manmade castles of the human lands and the actual forest around them, showing a blending with nature that even the Sunfire city of Lux Aurea did not embrace, with all its golden buildings

It’s a good-sized forest, and it kinda stretches thin to the east but there it tentatively connects to the Drakewood Forest

Moonstone Path to the west just chilling in the lava like a blank alignment chart. Moonstone Path is Chaotic Hot.

Southern Xadia:

Ruins of Elarion

Elarion is a city, and it’s been lost to the humans for a thousand years

The building outlines are squared-off towers like the more modern castles in the west, suggesting that humans in Xadia built for strength and defense as soon as they could. They felt vulnerable and created protections in their architecture. The three elven cities we see also play to their strengths, but those strengths include magic. Elarion’s humans had to find a different strength, and they went with craftsmanship and ingenuity

It seems to be the only human city from before the border was drawn

“Ruins” doesn’t necessarily mean no one lives there at all, but it’s been emptied of humans and no one else has maintained it since

It had a great position on a vast lake, with sheltering hills and easy sea access

Sea of the Castout

This inland sea has five inlets and outlets. It’s hard to be sure which is which with some of them, with the way the water is drawn on this map. But I’m kinda liking the idea that all the water swirlies are places where Tidebound magic has been placed over the millennia, so the water can do whatever it needs to do depending on circumstances. That goes for the human lands, too. Katolis backward river, you’re off the hook.

With a name like "Castout,” I wonder if it was some kind of universal toilet to flush away things you didn’t want--including humans--who might wash up near Elarion and start to build there. Yeesh.

The rivers that flow into this sea pass through or near the Moonshadow Forest, the Midnight Desert, the Storm Spire, Drakewood, and the Uncharted Forest. That’s a lot of drainage.

It’s pretty far from the Tidebound Archipelago, so maybe its name is referencing Tidebound elves who have left their home colony

Was this always a sea, or did something that Xadia wanted to forget get flooded and hidden in the depths?

The land around it seems open and hospitable. It could be a good place to build/rebuild in a time of peace.

The Far Reaches

Open grassland with low hills

Two of the hills look like giant boot prints

Several colorful trees which I hope are fruit trees

Bounded by two rivers from the Sea of the Castout

Looks homey tbh, great spot to retire to get away from everything if there were a war that really shook you up

Ocean Point

There’s a Star rune here, and it could mean many things

The closest other marked location is Elarion

If this was where Aaravos lived of his own free will, I can see why he’d take a shine to the humans. They were his neighbors.

If he is imprisoned here, it’s literally the furthest point in Xadia from the other elven realms, with the Moonshadow Forest being the closest one and Umber Tor not too much further but in a totally different direction. If they were trying to isolate him physically with a portable mirror to watch over him, that’s a good spot for it

Possible location that the cube is leading Callum toward? Portal to the Star Touch home plane? Aaravos’s seaside B&B? Trap street?

Eastern Xadia:

Drakewood

Umber Tor looks to be the tallest mountain in all of Xadia, save possibly for the Storm Spire. It’s more traditionally mountainy, with a nice snowcap. Since it’s labeled, I’m guessing it’s the Earth Nexus, under which an Earth Archdragon sleeps

Also there’s a giant yellowish-brown dragon chilling next to the Tor. Yeah, he seems nice. Rex Igneous, I presume?

Or maybe not, since the neighboring forest is called Drakewood. Maybe this woods is just where a bunch of Earth dragons hang out? Ezran and Pyrrah flew off and returned with a crew of Sun dragons from somewhere, so dragons must have communities too

The mountains that edge the sea are shaped roughly like a stone dragon in flight

Drakewood seems to be the forest closest to Umber Tor, with both deciduous and evergreen trees, though there’s a huge swath of wooded land here, to the north and to the southwest. I wonder what the locals consider the border where the Drakewood becomes the Uncharted Forest and why. The way the evergreens are drawn almost looks like a border, a sort of kingswood set aside for a specific use. Rex Igneous’s best toothpicks?

Uncharted Forest

Okay this is a properly magical name, very mysterious. But uncharted by whom? People with charts? This might be a Sir Phineas Kurst name, which is outsidery, and it makes me wonder if the locals/neighbors have their own name for it, which the human explorer never learned, a la “Thunder” for Avizandum

Maybe “Uncharted Forest” just means no one ever turned those trees into charts though, old growth ftw

If no one lives here, will someone move here? If someone lives here, who are they? Earthblood elves? Moonshadow elves? Humans? This mystery, it calls to me

the trees are mostly deciduous and fill basically all of this whole section of land, up against the mountains and the rivers, so it seems very fertile land indeed

Earthblood elves could live here, but there is no city marked. Maybe because we haven’t gotten that far in the show, or maybe that’s the wrong sort of descriptor for how the Earthbloods live and organize. Maybe the whole forest is their city, like Pando, the interconnected quaking aspen clone forest

The northernmost part of this forest lies right between the Storm Spire and the Tidebound Archipelago, so it might get a regular flyover route for migration or messages

Yes, this forest is the most interesting place in Xadia to me, I desperately want to learn more about it

Black Tundra

Yeah this place isn’t ominous

Similar to the Shiverglades, but where that has shrubbery, the Black Tundra has single dead trees and creepy curving spikes. Scorched? Poisoned? De-magicked?

The water north of this area isn’t frozen, and with a lake to the south and a river and a moderate mountain range, the whole area looks like it would otherwise be decently habitable, but instead it’s cold and black

Is climate change a thing here, or will we get a nice horrible disaster instead?

Tidebound Archipelago

These islands have dotted lines around them, like they’re submerged at high tide, or maybe made of shifting sand that literally moves around like sand dunes across a desert, or perhaps they’re exactly at sea level with half their civilization in the air and half underwater or in cool bubbles, or maybe the islands actually float

Maybe the Tidebound elves even sank them on purpose for defensive purposes

The archipelago is about even latitudinally with the Storm Spire Lux Aurea, Berylgarten, and Eboreus so they probably get pretty nice weather

There’s no ice in sight here in any direction along Xadia’s east coast, so presumably the prevailing current is a warm one

do they have bridges connecting the islands? Ferries, animals who give them a lift across?

the islands have quite a bit of space on them. I wonder if there’s a big population, maybe a shifting population? Do Tidebound elves migrate up and down the coast like gray whales and return to the islands for certain holidays or social events?

This is probably the hub of the Tidebound elves’ culture, but the sea surrounds the whole land and infiltrates it with many rivers and lakes. The Spinning Sea and the Frozen Sea are pretty firm Do Not Enter signposts, but a determined Tidebound could get around either one if they wanted to

What I’m not seeing here is a city. Either it’s not been marked yet, or that’s not a thing that Tidebound elves have in their culture. If they don’t have a city, they’re possibly migratory in family groups, or maybe they stick to small villages like the Moonshadows do, but with even less central leadership

#asks #map of xadia #i love maps okay #xadia #andromeda #rayla #runaan #lujanne #moonshadow elves #moonshadow assassins #tdp angst #angst #through the moon spoilers

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starrybethany · 4 years ago

Text

Clayton Keller: Part 6

Word count: 2252

I groan, stirring against whatever hard surface I’m laying on. Wait, why am I laying on a hard surface and not my bed? My eyes open and I recognize the legs of my dining room chairs before anything else. Did I really sleep on my kitchen floor last night? Why would I do that?

My muscles cry as I lift myself into a sitting position and my head throbs as I rise to my feet. Oh, I passed out while drunk. That’s why.

There’s already a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water sitting on my kitchen counter, along with a note from Tyler wishing me luck after getting as blacked out drunk as I did. I guess all of the stress got to me last night with the cherry on top being the fight with Clayton that I figured the only way to make it better for a little while would be alcohol.

My muscles and my headache relax significantly as I shower, pulling on some leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, letting my wet hair fall over my shoulders as I gag over some crackers in the kitchen.

My phone is nowhere to be found in this room and I didn’t see it in the bathroom or my bedroom, so I head to the living room to find it. It takes ten minutes but I finally find it in between the pages of a book, which I should have noticed immediately since the width increased immensely.

All I want to do today is sleep and watch movies from the early 2000s, but I grab my backpack and head towards the library knowing I should study for these midterms so I don’t flunk out of this college that I’m oh so desperately trying to afford. It’s not as hard with a paycheck from Clayton, though.

I’m two units deep into my early American literature class when someone slides into the booth across from me. I finish the line I’m reading before looking up, smiling when my eyes meet Paige’s eyes.

I feel bad for leaving her last night, especially just to have a shitty interaction with Clayton. Instead of that I could’ve been comforting my old friend and shoving some more Oreos down her throat.

“I wanted to thank you for being there for me last night. I know we’ve kind of drifted apart, but I’m glad to know that I can always turn to you,” she tells me in a hushed voice.

My chest gets warm at her words. I was feeling so guilty for ditching her but all along she just cherished that I was there in the first place. “You’re welcome, Paige. Andrew’s a douchebag, you know that, right?”

She shrugs. “I’m getting there.”

I turn back to my laptop while she pulls out a notebook, scanning along the pages with her finger. An hour passes before she speaks again.

“So what are you doing Wednesday night?”

I bite my lip in thought. “Probably the same thing I’m doing right now.”

“Well, if you’d like to take a break for a couple of hours, let me know. I got tickets for the Coyotes game against the Blues and I was supposed to take Andrew but-”she shakes her head. “Just let me know by tomorrow if you’d like to go.”

“I’d love to go,” I smile at her. I might not know how hockey works despite the WAGs trying to explain it to me, but I am a woman who loves to see a bunch of hot, grown men sweaty and beating each other up. Plus, Clayton will be playing, and I want to watch and partially understand this time to see what he does that makes him so rich.

“Okay, cool, I’ll pick you up at six. You still live in the same apartment, right?” She asks, packing up her stuff. Some people give her looks as her volume has risen out of excitement, but I ignore them, nodding to her question. “See you then.”

“Bye.”

I watch her leave, pulling out my phone and beginning a text to the hockey player himself.

Hey, sorry for how things went the other night. Just wanted to let you know that a friend and I will be coming to watch your game against the Blues on Wednesday. Score a goal for me.

I hesitate before sending the message. I don’t like to apologize, deep down I know when I should apologize but I tend to not do it because of the issues I have buried within. It isn’t fair for the other person, especially for someone who might as well be putting his name on the check for Debbie, and I identify that it’s an issue that I need to work on.

I click send before I chicken out. I’m afraid of the response- I don’t know if he’ll still be angry with me, or perhaps even more angry- angry enough to cancel our contract or lower my pay.

He responds right away, just asking me where the seats are. I’m a little annoyed at the question, feeling like he should at least acknowledge the apology, but let him know that I have no clue where we’re sitting.

He leaves it at that and I go back to studying.

When Paige texts me details about our hangout on Wednesday night I tell Clayton where our seats are. Section 205, the middle section of the rink on the home side. He gives me a one word answer so I’m still left in the dark of how he feels.

Paige doesn’t own a jersey and neither do I so we just wear nice sweaters and jeans to the rink, unsure of how you exactly should dress for a hockey game. We find our seats and sit down, making small talk as we wait for warmups to begin.

When the players skate onto the ice, everybody cheers in excitement and my eyes find Clayton almost immediately.

It’s electrifying to watch him doing what he loves. He skates with a passion and a purpose, like every step and every move he’s going to make will be better than the last. He lifts his head towards the two hundred section and I lean in to talk into Paige’s ear. “Um, I should probably tell you something.”

She looks at me curiously. “What is it?”

“You see number nine? On the Coyotes?” I try my best to point at him. She nods. “He’s actually my uh, sugar daddy.”

She laughs, raising her eyebrows at me. “Are you kidding?”

I shake my head.

“You have a sugar daddy?”

“I have to pay the tuition somehow,” I defend, surveying her expression.

“I’m not judging,” she quickly reassures me, “That’s very progressive of you. Get that coin, girl.”

I grin at her, returning my attention to the ice. Almost as soon as I do my eyes meet familiar green ones. Green ones that I was looking at the other night while he was telling me that I’m not spending enough time with him.

I see him smile behind his helmet and the pressure from my heart lifts with the action. Thank god he’s not still mad at me. I don’t know why I cared so much anyways- I know he wouldn’t break the contract or pay me less, that’s not the type of guy that he is.

Maybe it’s because I had just a little bit of fear that he would leave. If he left I wouldn’t get to hear his crappy jokes anymore or listen to him talk about Fortnite or ignore Christian’s smirks in the morning as I leave their house.

Clayton maintains eye contact with me, lifting his hand to his ear in a phone motion. My eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“He wants me to call him? Right now? But he’s on the ice right now,” I ask Paige.

He must sense my confusion because he puts his hand in front of him, pointing at it with his finger like he’s pressing different ‘buttons.’

“Oh, he wants me to text him?” I inquire.

“I think he just wants you to watch your phone for when he texts you,” Paige clarifies.

“He’s not good at this whole charades thing,” I giggle, watching all of the players skate around the rink, stretch, and shoot pucks at the net.

They leave the ice and I pull out my phone, waiting patiently for it to ring or vibrate or do whatever the hell Clayton’s going to do.

It vibrates with a text and I open it, immediately rolling my eyes.

Clayton: Stay after the game.

Of course he wants to instantly get back into the argument as soon as I think we’re done. The game starts and hockey is a lot more confusing without help than I thought it would be. I would ask Paige a question and she’d give me an answer of what she thinks the answer is, and when she has a question I return the favor. When we definitely don’t know the answer, we use Professor Google.

The Coyotes win in the end, that much I know, and Paige and I remain in our seats searching up the answers to our questions while we wait for some more communication from Clayton.

A woman appears after a while, leading us downstairs to wait outside the locker room. Some of the players leave the locker room in their suits, giving us curious glances on their way towards their cars.

Christian grins like a cheshire cat as soon as he lands his eyes on me and I roll my eyes, giving his shoulder a shove.

“Oh hey, Y/N. Are you coming over tonight?” He questions, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive way. Paige giggles at that and I see Christian’s eyes sparkle at the sound.

“I don’t even know anymore, Christian,” I answer.

“Who’s your friend?” He asks, eyeing Paige with a flirty smile.

She looks shy and I grab her hand, feeling overprotective since she just had a traumatic and recent breakup.

“Out of your league, dude. Get out of here.”

He rolls his eyes but gives us a wave, heading down the hall. “See you at home, Y/N!”

“Sorry about that, Paige,” I apologize to her.

“No, it’s fine, um,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “He’s actually kind of cute.”

I give her a soft smile. “Just let me know when you’re ready. I can give him your number.”

She nods. The intimate moment is broken as Clayton leaves the locker room, heading our way as soon as he sees us. I introduce the two to each other and the brunette turns to me.

“Are you coming home with me tonight? I won’t be playing Fortnite, don’t worry,” he adds a snarky comment.

I raise my eyebrows at that. “I apologized, okay? Remember when I apologized on Monday and you completely ignored it?”

“Remember how you completely ignored the fact that you’re in a contract to spend time with me?” He retorts.

“I don’t have to spend every second of every day with you, Clay-””Hey, uh, guys? People are starting to stare,” Paige interrupts us worriedly.

I look around. It’s true. Some of the workers and lingering people are so clearly eavesdropping on our argument- well, now they know that Clayton has a sugar baby. Even though I’m shameless, I know better than to continue this argument in a public place.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Clayton nods towards the hallway towards the parking garage.

I turn to look at Paige but she nods at the tall man. “Go, I’ll be fine. Work out whatever you need to work out.”

I give her a gracious smile, falling into step beside Clayton as we head down the hall. “Go to my place, I have some studying to do tonight after this conversation.”

Clayton and I sit down after getting back to my apartment, having a conversation where we’re both completely honest with each other and laying out all of our thoughts and emotions. I think we’ve both come to the realization that although we both lead busy lives, we need to make time for each other. However, that doesn’t mean dropping everything at the other’s beck and call.

“Say it,” Clayton gives me a toothy grin.

“I promise to make time for you.” I stick out my pinky finger. “Now you say it.”

“I promise to respect it when you can’t make time for me.” He attaches his pinky finger to mine and we shake on it.

“Okay, now I need to study before we do anything else,” I inform him, grabbing the textbook from the coffee table and pulling it into my lap.

He pulls me across the table into his lap, looking over my shoulder. “What is this?”

“Anatomy,” I answer, trying to find the place I left off at when we left for the game.

“Gross.” He says that but I can feel him reading over my shoulder, even resting his chin on my shoulder to get a better view.

A half an hour passes before Clayton gets antsy, shifting below me and turning his head.

“Okay, time to pay attention to me now,” he declares, pushing the book off of my lap and onto the floor.

“Clayton!” My protests fall on deaf ears as he yanks me below him, hovering over me and pressing his lips onto mine.

I can’t even help but to laugh.

#Clayton keller imagine #NHL imagines #NHL x reader #arizona coyotes one shot #arizona coyotes imagine

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the-lonely-tree-original · 4 years ago

Text

Founding Friendships on Sleep Deprivation (FMA oneshot)

“He should escort them back to the local law enforcement and have them check for any hidden weapons or breaks in national security. It’s not like he felt any danger coming from the boys (despite one wearing a suit of armor and the other having thrown him twenty feet with his alchemy), but still, it was protocol.

He was, however, tired. It was two am and the train was running six hours late with no other explanation than animals getting in the way. There was no way Jean was risking the chance of the train arriving during his absence. Not when he’d stayed up so late waiting for it. No, he could just bring the boys to Mustang and let him handle it.”

***

So this is the last of my already posted oneshots on AO3 and FanfictionNet. It’s an Ed and Al meet Havoc fic so maybe not your cup of tea, but totally worth the read (IMO and I’m biased, but...)

***

“So, you trying to stick it out too?”

A head of blonde hair swiveled to the right, resting uncertain gold eyes on his person. Whatever the kid was looking for, he must have found, because a surprisingly pleasant smile worked its way across his face.

“Ahhh, well it’s not like I have much else to do.”

Jean Havoc took the answer with a nod. “Same, kid. Same.” The kid’s mouth made a pinched frown at that, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a loud, contagious yawn.

Noticing his little friend’s fatigue, Jean asked, “Are you sure that you’re up for the task? It looks like you could fall asleep standing up.”

A new kind of determination flashed in his eyes, and an arm made its way up to wipe the sleep off his face, illuminated by the lamplight. “I’m fine. I’ve spent multiple all-nighters studying alchemy with my brother, so this’ll be a piece of cake. Besides, if I fell asleep now, he’d have no one to keep him company.” The blonde boy gestured to a suit of armor hanging behind him (Jean had certainly noted the decoration as bizarre when he’d first set his eyes on it), but he looked around a little and couldn’t see the mentioned brother.

“Uhhh, kid, I don’t want to alarm you, but we’re just about the only people in sight. Unless, of course, you count that old couple dozing off on the station steps.”

A metallic shrieking caught his attention, and he was filled with terror concern as the previously-thought-motionless suit of armor came to life. Jean was a trained man of the military, however, and was able to quickly maneuver the kid behind him and pull out his gun. “Stay down!” he shouted.

A small squeaking noise reverberated through the metal and if he didn’t know better, Jean would say that it was hollow. “Don’t move.”

The armor stayed still, but it didn’t stay quiet. “Wait, don’t shoot!” it pleaded, “I’m not going to do anything!” The voice was so young and innocent-sounding that Jean had to do a double take. It sounded like a child was inside.

“I’m going to need you to step out of the armor, sir,” he said, a lot calmer than he felt. He loosened his stance a little, but remained vigilant.

This was a mistake.

A bright light flashed throughout the empty station and Jean found himself catapulted into the air. He landed with a loud “omph”, feeling the air leave his lungs.

The lieutenant looked up to find the kid directly in front of the armor and scrambled onto his arms, panic overtaking him. Get out of the way! Get out of the way! Get out of the way! Jean’s hearing, however, came back to him and the command died on his lips.

Was the armor… scolding the boy?

“Brother! That was unnecessary and you know it! He could have gotten seriously hu-” The helmet shifted its attention to him. Surprisingly gentle gauntlets gripped his forearms, followed by a soft, “Are you all right?” and hefted the man up.

Jean looked at the hulking form in both awe and confusion. Before he could get a word out, however, the armor continued its speech. “I am sooo sorry for my brother’s actions. You just surprised us.”

The blonde haired kid let out a groan. “Al, are you kidding me? He pulled a gun on you! Of course I had to do something. He should be grateful that he isn’t unconscious already.”

“What if you seriously hurt him?”

“What if he seriously hurt you?”

“He couldn’t, and you know it, brother.”

Jean stood awkwardly as he watched the two argue. A small sense of duty had his hand itching towards his holster when he realized that he lost his gun in the fall. It was a miracle that it didn’t go off when it made contact with the ground.

“Okay, but that still doesn’t change the fact that mister trigger happy over here had a gun. What’s a civilian like you even have a gun for in the first place?” Jean was about to correct him when he caught sight of his sleeve.

His brown sleeve.

He sheepishly raised a hand to his hair. “Ah, sorry about that, but I’m actually part of Eastern Command. I’m just off duty for now.”

The kid looked disbelieving at him. “And I’m supposed to believe that Eastern Command just allows their soldiers to carry guns around off duty.”

“Well, actually…” Jean didn’t really know how to explain that: No, they weren’t, but his commanding officer needed a favor that couldn’t exactly be tracked by the people up top.

Luckily, he was saved by the sweet tone of the suit of armor, who he was starting to see as some kind of angel in disguise. “Brother, you shouldn’t ask questions like that. It’s rude.”

This was quickly looking like it was gonna become another argument so Jean stepped in before any shouting began. “Ahhhh, forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing that you two are brothers?”

He was answered with one polite “yes sir” and a dismissive “of course”. You can guess who.

“So, uhhh, mister…”

“Havoc, Jean Havoc,” he filled in.

“...mister Havoc... I’m Alphonse Elric, by the way, and this is my brother, Edward.” The other brother waved curtly. “Anyways, if you don’t mind me asking-”

“Ugh, Al, you’re taking forever. Just skip with the bullshit formalities already. We want to know what exactly you were doing on your break.”

“Ed! That’s not what I wanted to know.”

Jean felt his lips twitch up into a grin. He had just met them and he liked both brothers already.

“Yeah? Well, it’s what I want to know and you were taking too long. So, explain.”

“Hey, what if I’m not comfortable sharing?” Edward looked at him with a deadpan expression, silently calling out his bull. “Ok, fine. I was out getting-” Jean stopped, realizing just now how young the kid was. “Dinner with a lovely lady.”

The kid, unassuming perceptive, stated, “You’re lying. What were you really doing?”

“My own business kid. You don’t need to know.” He paused. “Think about, I doubt you’ll tell me the truth as to why your brother is wearing that suit of armor, so I won’t bother asking.”

A shocked look spread across the tan face and the armor besides him froze. Alphonse’s small voice spoke, “Wow, you mean you’re really not gonna ask?” Jean nodded. “Most people usually ask me about it the first time I see them so it’s just… really nice that you won’t.”

“Yeah, most people don’t hesitate to ask. It’s actually weird that you won’t. Especially since you brought it up,” Edward’s suspicious voice cut in.

“Well, I’m not going to lie, it’s not that I’m not curious, but I think it’s fair, considering I won’t answer your question. Though my brain is thinking all kinds of odd explanations: a costume party, a weightlifting method, some bad sun sensitivity... Besides, as long as you step out of the armor, I don’t see a problem.”

The boys exchanged paranoid looks. Or at least the blonde did. The other one looked behind his brother and actually stepped behind him. “We can’t do that!” they argued in unison.

Jean whistled, moving his hands to form the universal surrender sign. “I’m going to need a plausible explanation, boys.”

He watched them struggle for a bit before they strung together a few sentences.

“We can’t-”

“Because-”

“I need it-”

“To breathe.”

“It’s for life support?” The last part was squeaked out, and Jean could tell that it was a lie even without the prepubescent voice cracks. He should escort them back to the local law enforcement and have them check for any hidden weapons or breaks in national security. It’s not like he felt any danger coming from the boys (despite one wearing a suit of armor and the other having thrown him twenty feet with his alchemy), but still, it was protocol.

“Okay,” he relented.

“Really?” The boys were both surprised at the outcome and if that wasn’t telling of how bad the lie was...

It’ll be Roy’s problem. You can’t blame a man with zero hours of sleep.

“Yeah, really. I just need to take you to East Headquarters, before I send you on your merry way.”

“Oh that’s great!” The actual relief in the metal voice was a surprise. Come to think of it, the grumpier kid looked pretty relieved as well.

“It is?” he asked.

“Yeah! Brother and I needed to get there anyways. We need to meet with someone before he takes the State Alchemist Exam. But, well, we haven’t been there before so we don’t exactly know the way.”

“Hold up. Did you just say the state alchemist exam? You do know that you need to be like seventeen to take it. If a ten year old shows up, I’m pretty sure that they’ll kick you out right away.”

“Hey! Who’re you calling so short that he can be mistaken for a baby in diapers!”

“That's not- what?”

“Sorry mister Havoc,” if a suit of armor could be blushing, it would, “but Ed gets really sensitive about his height. Anyways, yeah, we need to see someone to get the recommendations to take the exam.”

Jean looked cautiously at the other, practically mirroring a rabid dog in his anger. And earlier he’d been scared of Alphonse? “Right, well, best of luck to you, but I doubt the military will be willing to change its rules due to a single recommendation.”

“What rules?” Edward questioned.

“You know, age limitations and stuff.” Jean felt really awkward. He didn’t want to crush the kid’s dreams, but it was better this way than letting him find out when he got there. Kids were better off spending their days having fun while they lasted, only dreaming of dangerous adventures, not experiencing living nightmares. In fact, if he wasn’t devoted to the Flame Alchemist’s cause, he probably would have resigned awhile ago.

Edward, however, was not deterred. “There’s no such thing as an age restriction to be a state alchemist, and I made sure to check.”

“I haven’t heard of anyone who’s managed to become a state alchemist earlier than the age of eighteen.”

“That’s just because alchemy is a skill that takes years to develop.”

“Then shouldn’t you be home studying then. You have a while to go.”

Alphonse quietly argued, “I think that we’ll be fine as it is. You haven’t really seen brother in action. Alchemy isn’t easy to learn, that’s true. And it’s impossible to master, but brother and I have been practicing for years and we’re really good at what we do.”

“Kid, every state alchemist is a prodigy, but they are also grown adults who have spent their lives devoted to their trade. Even then, they are scared that they’ll get demoted or won’t make the cut. I’ve seen the most competent alchemist cut down during their jobs. As an adult interested in your well-being, I insist that you go home and think about this for a while. Wait a few years until you’re sure about this decision.”

“But we are sure. Trust me, sir. We’ve talked about it in great detail and we feel like it’s our only choice. Failing the exam isn’t an option. This is the only thing that’ll help us. Besides, my brother would get too lonely without me to die.”

From the resolute tone in Alphonse’s voice and the sad smile on Edward’s lips, Jean could tell that there wasn’t anything he could do to make them change their decision. Still, a pang of sadness hit his heart because he knew that this would change their lives forever. There was almost no chance that he would pass, but from the way the boys kept surprising him, they would probably find a way.

“Okay, well let me see it.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Your alchemy. I’m not an alchemist so I’m not exactly permitted to watch the exams, but I wouldn’t mind seeing it in action. Besides, I’m falling asleep here, so I need something to keep my attention.” Upon noticing the devious look on the blonde’s face, he added, “Preferably without my own bodily harm.”

“Sure!” Edward exclaimed, loudly clapping his hands together. Miraculously, the old couple hadn’t woken up - from anything - which was probably a good thing because they wouldn’t bear witness to Jean’s jaw dropping to the floor in reaction to the transmutation.

Standing proud in front of him was a ginormous statute of the two boys. Every detail of the armor ingrained into the stone replicate. The only part he found unrealistic was that fact that Edward portrayed himself as tall of his brother, which was easily overlooked when it came to the sheer likeliness of the transmutation.

“That’s not all I can do, but using earth materials is a lot more convenient for me than water or acids.”

“That’s impressive,” he admitted, “You could give Major Armstrong a run for his money.” Then, just because he was tired and had no brain to mouth filter at the moment, he decided to add, “but fancy tricks aren’t exactly going to get you a position as a state alchemist. You need to be able to prove yourself effective in a dangerous situation.”

It wasn’t wrong, the boy probably had a pre-made transmutation circle, but according to his CO, they left little room for creativity. Making statues was cute and all, but what could it do in a situation that involved more than showing off.

If the boy had any doubts, he didn’t show it.

He rushed off to whisper something to his brother. The metal-laced voice carried a bit more in its response, but Jean couldn’t hear anything more than slight mutterings. When a large stone hand rushed out towards the boy, Jean nearly swore in shock.

Edward dodged, laughing as he danced away. He clapped again and stone rose up from the ground in a huge wave, heading straight for his ironclad brother. Alphonse dodged, leaned down, and began to sketch a transmutation circle onto the pavement.

Jean watched the two brothers spar until his eyes grew sleepy. A number of times he caught his head a second before it carried his body to the ground. It wasn’t until the shrill sound of a train rang out that he regained true awareness.

He looked around, expecting to see a sea of upturned stones, massive pillars, and car-sized dips. Instead the station was completely ordinary, restored to its former glory. Internally, he let out a sigh of relief.

“So, since you’ll be escorting us to Eastern Headquarters, do you think we can share seats with you?” Jean jumped in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed the armor sneak up on him, which was weird because he’d been making so much noise earlier. Was that… intentional?

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he waved off, “but I’m not going to be very pleasant company. I’m going to try to catch some shut eye if I can.”

“It’s fine,” Edward cut in. “I’ll be sleeping too.” He got this sad look on his face just then and looked up at Alphonse’s armored head. “If you’ll be okay with that.”

“I’ll be fine brother. Just get some sleep, okay?” The blonde boy gave him a grateful smile, starting the trek up into the train cars. Jean followed behind wondering what was going on inside the two boys’ heads.

When they boarded the train, they discovered - to their delight - that it was almost empty. The delay had pretty much gotten rid of anyone waiting for the trip, and a lot of people had gotten off at the latest stop. This meant that they could steal a first class car without complications. Jean felt like indulging himself and practically melted into his seat, asleep once his head hit the velvet.

A big jolt woke him up. He hit his head on the window, and instinctively lifted his hand to feel at the bruise.

“That looks pretty bad.” Jean’s eyes found the prone form of Edward, impossibly relaxed against the metal exterior of his brother.

“Probably not as bad as his neck is gonna feel in the morning.”

Alphonse chuckled at this. “I don’t know, brother is pretty resilient. He can sleep anywhere, and not feel the slightest discomfort. Once I caught him asleep on Winry’s desk, with automail on it and everything. I’m surprised she didn’t kill him for it.”

Alphonse had his helmet tilted towards the roof, probably reminiscing on that time. Jean was a little lost, but politely restrained himself from asking questions.

“Then there was this one time Edward actually tried to pick apart her automail. Predictably, he broke it. I mean, he knows Winry. Touching her automail is like a death sentence! I swear, brother may be older than me, but it’s times like those that make me feel like I was born first.”

Jean choked on his saliva. “He’s the older one!”

The rest of the trip went on like this. Alphonse and Jean sharing little anecdotes on their everyday lives and Edward sleeping blissfully unaware.

When the train rolled to a stop, though, it was like a switch was flipped. Edward woke and began to stretch like he wasn’t even asleep in the first place. “So,” he began, “Ready to go, Al? Havoc?”

WIthout waiting for a response he sauntered off into the luggage car, returning with both his bags and Jeans. He was honestly surprised that the kid even remembered what his bags looked like. It was just another quirk to the ever growing list of things he’d found out about the Elric brothers.

As they made their way around town, he fondly watched Edward looking at the city in wonder. “They’d grown up as country bumpkins,” Al had explained. This was their first time ever seeing a real city. Speaking of Al, the other boy was hard to read under that armor - which he still wanted a real explanation for, might he add - but the constant turning of his head indicated the same fascination as his older brother.

Making their way into HQ, Jean had to remind them to ‘act normal’, which earned him a glare and and muffled “sorry”. He was worried about what Roy would think about the two. His newfound fondness mixed with the knowledge of the twos’ reluctance to remove the armor left him wanting to abort his mission altogether.

However, this was not to be, because Riza Hawkeye met them around the corner, a surprised look on her face. In a most confusing turn of events, it softened into a tender smile, and she addressed the duo. “Edward, Alphonse, it’s so good to see you.” Jean’s brain short circuited. How the hell did she know these boys? Why did she actually look happy to see them? Was she alarmed at the suit of armor or had she gotten used to it just like him?

“Hey Hawkeye! We were just stopping by to get our paperwork from Mustang. It’s nice to see you too!” Was Edward talking to her like a normal person? Did he mention Mustang? Mustang?

“Ahh, well, he’s a little busy right now, but we can squeeze in a bit of time for you. Let’s get that paperwork taken care of.” She leveled her stare at him, for once not scolding or disappointed. “Thank you for bringing them here, lieutenant. I’ll take it from here.”

Wasn’t he supposed to be the one meeting Mustang? What was going on?

He watched as the trio made their way down the hall, Hawkeye’s exclamation of, “I wasn’t expecting you two to get here so soon,” the last thing that he heard before they disappeared down the hallway.

Breda snuck up behind him, coffee in hand. “Was I seeing stuff or did Hawkeye just go into Mustang’s office with a ten-year-old and a walking suit of armor?”

~~~FMA~~~

Jean Havoc did not see anymore of the Elric brothers for another three weeks. It was on the Monday of the fourth week that he heard what was quite possibly the loudest ruckus he’d ever been present to hear in Eastern Command.

He moved his head towards the door, waiting in anticipation for who knows what. The cheering got louder.

The doors swung open and he caught sight of a familiar blonde braid shadowed by the unforgettable metal armor.

In Edward’s gloved hand was a shining, silver pocket watch. The one that identified state alchemists. With a proud grin stretching across his face, he said, “I told you I could do it.”

#FMA #fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #alphonse elric #jean havoc #the kids and jean bond and I don't regret it #If Roy is their father then Jean is that one indulging uncle #light humor #fanfic #faniction #oneshot

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 5 years ago

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The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (1/?)

What started out as an idea for a short one shot grew into a multichap that I'm almost done editing. I think 🤔 it'll be either 4 or 5 chapters long depending on how long each chapter will be after I'm done editing. Anyway, I hope you guys will enjoy.

In this fic you learn how easily things can change, but how it effects you isn't always a bad thing.

________________

Chapter 1: The Phenomenon

There was little difference to what was happening around you at the moment. There were no little green men, or yellow submarines, neither were there tangelos, or bags of golden rings, but there was a blue-haired man with plenty of dreams. Still, life was swell; summer was around the corner, and you were reading in the garage just to be near Zeta-7; he was working on his latest piece of tech, and you were distracted by his charming quirks and ticks. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it was business as usual. Yet, it was because you had been acquainted with Rick that the previous blindspots of your world were made known to you; conscious of the rare events which were going to take place in another quadrant of space.

A phenomenon was going to occur; one which would not happen again for another 1000 years; the blooming of the Milleannos flower. Legends say that those who touch its pollen might live forever, and those who smell its perfume might be cured of all that ails them, but those claims were supposedly unsubstantiated. There was to be a gala to celebrate the occasion; all in attendance were respectable, distinguished guests and because of Rick, you were also invited, but there were rules; strict guidelines which were to be obeyed unless you wished to throw away your life. And although you weren't happy about them, you were willing to abide by them for Rick's sake. However, there were a few things you didn't understand. "Rick, why won't we be allowed to dance together?"

His hands paused their activity, and his body sagged a little; dreading the reminder not because he's informed you already, but because it pained him to remind himself that he couldn't spend a once in a lifetime occasion with you. "B-because according to the laws of Petram Viridios IV, you are assigned a um - a party companion which is determined according to the alignment of your spine, carbon dioxide levels, as well as daily water intake. And due to the variety of guests, everyone must stand at least six feet apart to avoid air poisoning. However, if given an a-air helmet in order to assist with breathing, then I believe that the last rule isn't as severe. It's - there is a-a lot to remember."

Currently, he was piecing together the circuits and connecting the wires which would power his reflective shield. It was going to be worn under his dress shirt and would be undetectable under their scanners; as a precaution of course. "Ricky, you know I barely drink water." You weren't a fan of water, but you enjoyed flavored beverages and if you did drink water, it was always carbonated first. "I mean, I can get past the distance thing, but what am I supposed to do if I'm assigned to someone I don't like, and have to spend hours being bored and jealous that you're next to gorgeous, realistic fembots from Westworld?"

Unlike you, Zeta-7 drank so much water, you wondered how he wasn't rushing to the bathroom every five minutes. The only other people who drank that much water were beauty gurus who wanted to keep their skin in tip-top shape; you could really try harder if you wanted to. Good naturedly, he answered. "Gosh, y-you don't have to worry about that. I know a fembot when I-I see one."

You raised a brow at this, but seeing as he meant it literally, you listened on. "No s-siree, I won't be assigned a party companion because I'm going t-t-to be assisting the king in protecting their sacred relic."

How Rick became designated to assist with such a task was beyond you, but there seemed to be a glimmer of slight pride in the fact that he'd be so lucky and privileged as to be near the legendary flower, as well as to the beings who revered it. He was determined to find out the truth behind its properties, and if his hypothesis proved true, then he had a plan. You enjoyed when he was diverted with schemes; not the kind which was evil in nature, but the ones which could end happily or inconclusively. Anyway, you two were discussing how to go about it all.

The discussion had gaps of pause where he'd need to concentrate on bits of wiring that needed to be soldered or bent. Without distraction, you were more aware that it was humid, especially with the garage door being fully open for proper ventilation; bits of your hair stuck to your face and to the back of your neck despite how you'd try to tie it. As annoying as it was, it did have its draw; every so often, you'd catch Rick staring and you'd feel a thrill for it could be a year or ten years, but his shy tendencies would never stop being endearing; why he felt the need to reign himself when you were cool with him checking you out was something you hoped he'd someday become more comfortable with, but for now you'd simply giggle and wink at him to let him know you knew. He did his best to focus on the task at hand, but it wasn't going as well as he had hoped for it happened more than once that you'd have to hand him a tool he was blindly reaching out for. "You wouldn't happen to know who my party companion is," you inquired, as you were tying your hair up for the umpteenth time. "do you? And if you do, can't you change them?"

Giving you that look which always preceded his speeches of why he couldn't do that random illegal thing, he explained with kindly patience. "I could change th-the records, and assign you to someone I know, but that wouldn't be legal."

"I know."

"However," he brightened as he paused his work to face you fully. "I do have a copy of the guest list. Give me a-a moment to pull it up on my computer. Hmm," he wondered more to himself then out loud. "that's odd."

"What is it?"

Drumming his fingertips on his workbench, he double-checked his calculations, then went over and wrote it all out on a chalkboard to be sure. Tapping the freshly used chalk tip to his chin in thought, leaving a little powder on his face, he nodded when it seemed satisfactory. "According to um - to my calculations, it's possible that it's either the Salamandrian chemist, V'gha Khadaka or the Chordatan Knight, Noathamas."

"Is there a correlation between the two?"

"Other than their similar water intake levels, they both enjoy their privacy. However, I'm a-a little stumped as to how it might be possible to be assigned to them both. None of your occupations are similar, neither is there a species similarity, but I'm sure I'll figure it out before the event."

Great, just great. That sort of information wasn't all that helpful, but you pressed a kiss to his cheek to ease the worry which he had been hiding. You wondered if it was too late to back out, but for the most part you were determined to be there for him, even if it meant odd company. "Alright. Um… is there something I should keep in mind before I go dress shopping?"

A quick glance at your current outfit made him smile. You were wearing an old band tee and jeans with so many patches, that they were more patch then jean. "I-I don't think so. Almost anything is fine. Though, y-you might want to avoid plant-based materials in favor of synthetics just in case."

"Okay, I think I can do that, but don't be surprised if I look like I just walked out of a 1980s prom. I'll have you know that being slightly flammable is a dream of mine."

He chuckled at that and patted your shoulder. "Hohoho, I'm sure it'll be fine. You - you always look pretty in whatever you wear."

"If you mean that I'll be so fine, that I'll light up the room with my razzle-dazzle, then you better watch out. You never know who'll be charmed without my knowing."

Now, there had been little to no weight to your phrasing just now, but he felt differently. Giving your shoulders a squeeze, there was a distant, far off look in his eyes that you could only recall from specific occasions. It was a mix of longing, sadness, and regret, but you couldn't pin it on what exactly. It was as though he were trying to convey by sight that there was something he ought to do, that he ought to say, but as quickly as it had appeared, it left and was replaced by acceptance. He pulled away and returned to his previous task while you used a spare computer to begin the search for the perfect dress. He said it'll be fine, and you certainly hoped so.

____________

Adjustments in gravity made you feel as though you could jump in and out of craters as though you were wearing moon shoes; that is until you stepped onto a ship or station, then you felt as though you had fifty pounds tied to each foot. You were grateful for the terrain stabilizers that Rick placed in your flats a few adventures ago, otherwise, you would've already been worn out.

You two arrived a few minutes apart by way of the designated ship which held a variety of guests. To explain, the ship itself was a marvel and a work of beauty as far as intergalactic travel was concerned; its mechanical parts were held together by a compound whose main ingredient was a type of scarlet amber. Piece by piece, it had been crafted by a mixture of living matter and tech so advanced, that it'd have taken 300 years of Earth-based studies to understand a fraction of how one of its panels could work; probably sooner for someone like Rick.

Your eyes trailed the conduits as you were led through hallways that seemed to spiral and spill into larger hallways with varying temperatures and design and you wondered how it was those conduits crossed over and branched off like veins, but you had no time to find out and didn't feel privileged enough to ask as you were led into a cabin. Multiple voices hushed, but resumed to their usual loudness once you had settled into what appeared to be a loveseat with the coloring and texture of a pumpkin; it was your assigned seating, but it was not as soft as you would have liked.

It wouldn't be till later that you'd find out that Rick had traveled in a cabin on level 4 while you had been on level 2. In your cabin was a being composed of pure energy, with a name not spelled in letters but in frequencies, who was one of the musicians. A few feet away, was V'gha Khaḍaka; he was tall, sure-looking, had smooth, striped skin which glistened, and a tail strong enough to break someone's spine in a blink; the good thing was that he hadn't been trained in combat, but was simply a scientist who enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge. And a few feet away from the Salamandrian chemist was the knight Noathamas; he stood at half your height, but his chest was puffed out in such a way that made him appear larger, while his round amber eyes and curly whiskers gave him a soft, cuddly appearance; you had been warned by Rick that his appearance did not reveal much about his character and to watch out for him.

It was uncommon but not unheard of to be assigned multiple party companies as you had been; you were matched up to both V'gha and Noathamas due to your odd chemical makeup. Who would've thought that drinking a La Croix before leaving home would confuse their scanners? Goodness, you were grateful that it was a quick trip, and when it was time to depart the ship, you were escorted by two guards before you were given a helmet; it was nearly invisible except for its indicator light which was shaped like a flower, and it blended in with your dress; a colorful sequin cocktail dress you found on eBay. Not far from you were both your companions, who gave off the impression that they were your entourage rather than dates for the night. You saw Rick from a distance, and you knew he was trying to play it cool, but his eyes were sparkling with affection, although he knew he was supposed to suppress it due to the strict traditions imposed by the royal family; he looked away as he was escorted by six guards, but part of you wished that he hadn't.

You took a deep breath to calm your giddiness; this wasn't the time to allow your emotions to carry you away and affect the mission which was to get through the evening. V'gha could pick up on your subtle changes in body language, and thanks to a universal translator in your helmet, you could understand him. "From what I understand," he commented with a surprisingly smooth, velvety voice. "he's the smartest man in the universe. Is that true?"

"Maybe," you replied nonchalantly, "but he's more than just a brain. I heard he's a great lover. Not really my type," you lied because Zeta-7 suggested that you keep the details of your relationship with him a secret; again for safety, but you thought boasting up his reputation wouldn't hurt. "though, to each his own."

"Do you know him personally?"

When questions like this were thrown at you, it made you wonder about the curious people who meant it to sound nice, but in actuality wanted to test the waters as to how much can they ask so soon. Glancing at your nails, you feigned disinterest. "I'm not sure if I'm allowed to give out that type of information."

"You two are the only humans here." he stated matter of factly. There were humanoid beings but he was right. "It doesn't take rocket science to figure that much out."

"How would you know," you retorted with an air of certainty. "you're not a rocket scientist."

"You're right, I'm not. However, I do dabble into it from time to time. I'm sure he does too. I can smell the exhaust from here."

Hmm, perhaps this event was going to be more interesting than you thought. You shared a look of understanding with the chemist, and thought that perhaps you wouldn't need to be so wary of him; his charisma gave him a charm you hadn't yet decided if it was welcomed or should be ignored; whether his earlier comment was out of egotism or curiosity. And before you could make a comeback, Noathamas commented. "Shall we find our assigned seating and continue from there?"

"Sounds fine. Why don't you two walk ahead," you suggested with a coolness you didn't know you had. "I'll be sure to follow."

When you were sure that they were far enough, you took out your miniature glass terrarium necklace, which held a shrunken sunflower that had an iridescent shimmer on its petals; the one Rick had given you after a memorable date; it was made to remind you of how he saw you and you were very glad it had gone undetected under the scanners you passed through. And in your mind's eye you could still see the glimmer and shine of his electric blue eyes as he had taken in your appearance this afternoon before you two departed Earth; oh how he had wanted to kiss you and hug you but had refrained from doing so in order to double-check if he had all his supplies. His compliments had been many as he drove into the inky blackness of space, but when he parked at the station which was at the midway point, and you two lined up to board the ship which took you to this strange world, his face became neutral; his job made him good at that. You kissed your lovely necklace, replaced it so that it laid underneath your dress collar, and your heart called out to him in the void which was Petram Viridios IV; hoping you wouldn't have to go the through the evening without seeing your beloved again before you made yourself appear neutral and made sure to stay at least six feet apart from everyone in your midst.

Tbc

#doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #Rick Sanchez x reader #j19ζ7 #j19z7 #rick j19z7 #Rick Sanchez #rick and morty fanfic #rick and morty fanfiction #rnm fanfic #rnm #my fanfiction #My fanfic #My writing #My works #fanfiction #rnm fanfiction

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nevergiveupneverrun · 5 years ago

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Bodyguard - Chapter Fifty-three “Dead end”

Hello everybody, how are you? Here is chapter Fifty-three of my Story Bodyguard, yay!! I hope you will like this chapter.

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

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- I hope that it will work, Mer… I have no other way anyway… hurry up… I have to find a source of funding, otherwise, I will have to delay or cancel the construction of the home…

Amelia has been in the corner of the living room on the phone with her manager for a few minutes.

I wait wisely letting my gaze stop on the elements near me in the room.

I came back to this apartment with a strange feeling: I didn’t feel like I was in my place yet. To belong to this place.

I was trying to find my markers and my automatisms alongside Amelia.

Her attitude was, however, a little more distant than before: she often avoided my gaze, isolated herself as soon as possible. As if she had a course of action in mind that she set out to apply. Maybe I was having ideas, or I was just more sensitive to the least of her reactions… the fact remains that a host of contrasting sensations mingled when I return as Amelia Shepherd’s bodyguard.

My eyes get lost around me when I suddenly make out o CD cover that calls out to me, placed near the player.

How could it be there?

I approach it automatically and my fingers slide on it.

I caress this piece of plastic with my fingertips and I recognize my handwriting on the sheet of paper that is used for cover.

I open the case, but no CD inside… would she have listened to it?

This disc was so special to me… which allowed me to not be overwhelmed at certain moments of my life… but by what miracle did I then have it in my hand?

- Ok, I got a text from Jackson, he’s going to spend the afternoon at the hospital with April, we will be able to go, I am reassured to know that April is surrounded, Amelia informs me, approaching me. I hope he will boost her, for her physiotherapy exercises…

I turn my back on her, still focused on my discovery.

I can see her presence on the side, her shadow growing near me.

- You can enlighten me… this CD… how come it is here?

- It was a surprise that I discovered when I finished unpacking the boxes from the chalet two days ago, she replies.

In her voice, a soft and calm tone calls out of me. Like a veil of tenderness.

And a suddenly more relaxed attitude which takes hold of her at the mention of the CD.

Almost an Amelia who metamorphoses before me.

- There was an envelope in one of them that I hadn’t paid attention to and that slipped to the bottom when I removed the clothes. There was a little post on it that said: "to keep some of this haven of peace"… signed by Rosie.

I smile while listening to Amelia’s explanation.

It looked like spitting Rosie.

She knew what this cd meant to me… she thought having it with me would be more useful than being locked in a closet.

- I think that she had to undo one of the packages to add this disc before sending them… Amelia concludes.

- Yes, Rosie is full of resources, I add, keeping my smile. You… did you listen to it? I asked a little feverish.

Amelia stares the plastic case, hesitates for a few seconds, then decides to answer me with a smile on her lips. Frank and spontaneous.

One of the first I observe since our reunion.

A show that fascinates me.

- With a title like "Hunt’s symphony" how did you want me to resist… it’s a wonder this cd, I never tire of it for two days…

I remain silent listening to her answer.

This cd indeed contained a series of titles sung by my parents, some songs that I had recorded myself with my father when I was still a teenager… and a song that I had written especially for him… a bit later…

- Your mother’s voice is overwhelming… I guess it’s your father accompanying her…

I nod while the echoes of the melodies of the cd echo in my head.

I am surprised that Amelia develops her impressions and does not immediately end this exchange, but I welcome her words carefully.

- You have a great voice too, but I already told you… I truly like the title "goodbye"… which seems to stand the test of your father’s death… but my favorite is the duo of your parents… it made me dream…

This song that she evokes, it allowed me to keep my head above the water.

To defeat my demons.

It was sacred to me… a song that we don’t touch and that I was unable to sing or even hum… this title has been repeated thousands of times, by many different artists, but for me, it was only my parents who were legitimate to sing it: two beings madly in love with each other… forever.

I would never know that for my part.

- Their cover is magnificent, we perceive all the love that emerges from both… I understand better when you told me about little things that allow us to keep in ourselves the people we love, to make them live and resonate inside us. Is it that song for you?

- You got it right… I weakly confirmed.

- It’s a great declaration of love to sing this song like this… they were really in love with each other… in love and happy…

She stares at me intensely at the end of her comment and our eyes remain connected for long seconds. At this moment, strangely, Amelia doesn’t dodge this silent exchange.

She stays focused and fixed on me.

The moment is destabilizing, I perceive electricity vibrating between us… my old reflexes are expressed again: this chemistry suddenly makes me uncomfortable and leads me to finally look away.

I clear my throat slightly to break the connection.

- Uh… are you ready… can we go?

She takes a few seconds, then sighs quickly confirming to me that she reluctantly goes to this meeting.

- Yes, let’s go, she says. Let it be behind me… I don’t like being trapped in a situation, having no choice but to ask for help… from the last person on my list…

She retrieves a leather jacket, which she quickly wears while tying a light scarf around her neck.

I imitate her and also put on a leather jacket over my suit, then grab my crash helmets and give her hers. Jackson is no longer available, I decided to take her on a motorcycle. This vehicle was also much more practical than a car to escape a possible chase.

We leave the apartment in a few minutes and find the motorbike parked a few steps down in the street.

- Can you remind me of the address, please?

- Uh… you take the direction of Bellevue, the domain address should be indicated next…

I nod my head at her directions and help her fasten her crash helmet securely, as she struggles with the fastener.

I put my crash helmet on and put myself on the motorcycle first.

I take a hand from Amelia and help her sit behind me, stepping over the mount.

I give her a few seconds to find the ideal position, well wedged behind me, and I turn the key.

I turn my head slightly towards her to give her one last instruction before I start.

- Above all, you hold me well, in all circumstances…

She does not answer but supports my request when I feel her arms tighten tightly and her hands cross against my stomach.

Thirty-five-minute drive later, we arrive near Bellevue and I notice a sign effectively designating a domain.

Amelia points her finger at me and tells me in a loud voice behind me: "it’s over there!".

I then scrupulously follow the other signs and after a few minutes, we enter a large paved alley, bordered by plane trees: it thus leads to an immense wrought-iron portal, beyond which there is an imposing building… a castle…

I have to stop in front of the closed gate.

Amelia gets off the motorcycle and removes her crash helmet while approaching a case that looks like an intercom.

- Does he know you were coming? I ask, letting my voice carry beyond the helmet and worrying that entry will be denied.

- No… I preferred not to warn him to prevent it from lasting too long… I have no desire to get stuck here for several hours.

She presses a button unlaid in the case and a female voice eventually rises.

- Yes, hello, can you announce and indicate the subject of your visit?

The question is of a rather surprising formality which makes me smile slightly.

- Hello, I’m Amelia Shepherd, I’m coming to see Alex Karev.

- Do you have an appointment?

- Yes, he is waiting for me…

Amelia’s response is pronounced without hesitation and proves effective when we perceive the portal to open gradually.

- I didn’t know you were such a good liar.

- It’s not quite a lie, since the time he makes it easy for me… she says while putting on her crash helmet and sitting again behind me.

I restart at low speed and enter the domain.

We drive for a few meters before I cut off contact, in front of the large castle door in front of us.

We both get off the bike and take off our helmets. I rid Amelia of this accessory which I place on the motorbike and she hastens to move her head vigorously to replace her hair.

A creak awakens behind us and I turn my head: a silhouette takes shape in the doorway… a male silhouette descending the steps to meet us.

And a face that I recognize immediately.

- Amelia, what a pleasure to see you! He announces with enthusiasm.

Amelia faces him quickly and gives him a big smile… an attitude the complete opposite of what I had observed during the evening for her foundation where she had done everything to avoid him.

But I’m not fooled: I know she is playing a role right now.

She did not come here for pleasure but forced to finance her project.

- Hello Alex, excuse me, I come to see you without warning, but I wanted to speak with you on a very important… and an urgent subject…

- There is no problem, he says with a smile. I have no particular constraints and my parents are traveling… besides, I was expecting a bit of your coming, I think I know what you want to talk to me about, I had a few comments…

I perceive Amelia tense up near me, uncomfortable by understanding that Alex has a very precise idea of the purpose of her visit.

I remain surprised to hear him say that he still lives in this domain with his family: he was however at least 35 years old. But apparently in families of this stature, the blood ties are different and dissipate less quickly: an inheritance and a fortune to be managed seem to give rise to certain duties.

- By the way, I heard the sad news that your friend April had a serious accident, I hope everything is fine? He inquires in a soft and compassionate voice.

- She is recovering slowly, but she is in good hands, thank you for caring, Amelia answers weakly, looking down.

A presence is suddenly guessed behind the host of the house: a young woman, dressed in a strict suit.

- Sir, are you sure I should leave you? My service should not end in two hours, she announces shyly, a little embarrassed.

- Yes, Marie, as I just told you, take your afternoon. I don’t need you anymore… he confirms without looking at the one who turns out to be a housekeeper.

- Alright sir, see you tomorrow.

She advances a little more, nods respectfully, and joins a small car, parked a few meters away.

I feel a piercing look at me and quickly notice that Alex is watching me intensely.

- We weren’t introduced, I believe, he says, holding out a hand.

I shake his hand firmly while perceiving the voice of Amelia by our side.

- Alex, I present to you… Jackson. He’s a musician friend, he kindly wanted to drive me to your house, because my driver is sick.

I listen to Amelia’s words, a little surprised that she doesn’t reveal my true identity, but I don’t let anything show through.

She was probably afraid that Alex would recognize me…

He indeed stares at me intensely as if he was studying each feature of my face precisely.

But he ends up turning his face and tearing his hand away from mine, addressing Amelia again.

- I suggest you come in, Amelia… Jackson, you can park your motorcycle in the garage, there are threatening clouds coming. I think it would be more prudent.

I take a look at the sky and note that it has largely darkened, raising fears of an impending storm.

- Thank you very much, my motorcycle will appreciate, I answer with a weak smile to reduce the tension that I perceived between us.

- I’m going to open it from the inside, it’s the brown door that you see 100 meters in front of you.

- Alright, thank you, I answer politely.

- Amelia, please, come in, he says placing a hand behind Amelia’s back and guiding her up the stairs.

I take a last look at Amelia who is looking for my eyes before turning around one last time: I read in this look all the weariness that already inhabits her… she was forcing herself to ask for his help.

I place my hands on the handlebars of the motorcycle, helmet in hand and the other hanging on the handlebars, and advance to the section of the domain indicated by Alex.

The door opening is engaged, I hear behind me: I can see the brown door rise and gradually reveal a car body.

I turn around towards the entrance of the castle but it is a closed-door that already faces me whereas Alex and Amelia entered inside.

I arrive at the entrance to the garage, the automatic door is completely raised from now on.

I take a few steps in the place that has just been revealed to me while guiding my motorbike: the surface of the room impresses me directly. It’s not just a garage, it’s almost a whole ground floor full of cars.

I go a little further and scan the different vehicles around me, lit by several neon lights installed on the ceiling: Rolls Royces, vintage cars, Porsches, legendary American cars, 4x4…

I try to find a place for my motorcycle and find the ideal place in a corner at the back of the room, facing me. I push my motorcycle carefully, sneaking between a Rolls Royce and an old Cadillac, then set it aside by operation the kickstand.

I can’t help but quickly glance at all these cares with sparkling bodies again, giving me a quick tour of the different models almost installed here on display.

Questions are promptly asked during my contemplation.

What does life in an environment of this nature look like?

An everyday life where you can have everything you want, where everything is accessible?

Do we still only have dreams?

Is that enough to be happy?

Experience had shown me the opposite: all the artists I had encountered, some of whom could, in the same way, afford everything they wanted, were mostly tortured, neurotic, and alone… deeply alone.

I instinctively think of my parents, of my conversation with Amelia a few hours earlier at the apartment: happiness is not just a garage full of luxury cars… happiness is as simple as sharing a song…

I didn’t know Alex and yet I was sure of one thing: this man had everything he wanted, but he lacked the most important… what it takes to be happy.

My thoughts fade when my attention suddenly stops on a vehicle.

The front bumper is damaged and spots of color intrigue me.

I kneel and distinguish shiny traces on the body… my piqued curiosity, I slide my finger there.

The sensation allows me to define more precisely the substance: it is not painting, it is more fluid than a chemical component… sliding easily on my finger and dressing it in a bright red color…

My heart suddenly accelerates by identifying this liquid on my skin…

I lean a little more, to observe the license plate as if by reflex.

But I’m going wrong: this plate is quite usual with a series of numbers and letters.

And yet… I keep this disturbing intuition in the back of my mind.

Something suddenly strikes me when the elements making up the registration number do not seem perfectly straight and aligned to me.

I touch the piece of metal, nothing abnormal… although, by scrutinizing the metal plate a little more precisely, I discern two very distinct shades of white: the one near the edges is less vivid, more beige than white.

My fingers roam the expanse of metal and I surprisingly perceive an edged revealing itself under my skin as a junction.

An edge.

My fingers grip it and so I detach with surprise the license place. It is a magnetic section that can be applied and removed just as easily.

I watch the object in my hand in disbelief: a removable license plate, this is not something common on the market…

I feel the tension increase in me and I end up looking down again at what this plate hid: what appears before my eyes, doesn’t surprise me, but confirms all the suspicions that were beginning to be expressed deep inside me.

Because of no letters or numbers on the real plate of this car… of this matt black 4x4… just a sign, a symbol that I have long looked for in the streets of Seattle… which I recognized with horror on the evening of Amelia’s concert.

It is there in a few inches from my eyes: this mysterious Ferry Boat which has haunted me for many weeks.

Amelia…

A name that invades my mind… that repeats itself with the rhythm of my heartbeat and the intensity of my pulsations.

Without knowing it, I just lead her straight into the nets of our worst enemy…

I have to find her as soon as possible.

A click sounds as I sit up, ready to pounce, and the darkness suddenly surrounds me.

No more light in the room and a metallic noise echoes simultaneously.

My eyes are destabilized by the sudden darkness and I lose the space of a few seconds my bearings.

I groped my way along against the cars to head for the door.

This metallic noise… it seems familiar to me and I realize that it corresponds to the mechanism of the door. But this time, it marks the closing of the garage entrance…

An adrenaline rush spreads throughout my body and mobilizes all my senses in a fraction of a second. My vision quickly adapts to the low light and I note with fright that the door is already half-closed.

I move as fast as I can, in a fight against the mechanics.

I slide on the hood of a car to gain ground, but I watch helplessly the rapid descent from the entrance to the garage.

I’m just a few steps away, I run without paying attention to the shocks against my legs as I hit vehicles. My heart is pounding under the intense effort and tension that assail me. I finally reach this automatic door… but only a handful of free centimeters, too little for me to sneak…

A deaf clatter rises after a few seconds.

The entrance just closed completely in front of me.

I am trapped in this garage.

The fault of my lack of speed.

The fault after a few seconds of hesitation and reflection… very useless. I can only blame myself. And the tension turns into nervousness against myself… then into sharp and guilty anxiety.

Amelia is only a few meters away and yet I can’t reach her.

Here I am stuck… in an impossible situation…

Like the ultimate twit to a bad disaster movie.

What’s worse for a bodyguard than being away from the one he must protect…

What could be worse for me than being helpless, facing this closed door, being fully aware from now on that Amelia is in the greatest danger.

One of my fists violently hits this metal wall in front of me.

A deaf sound pierces the silence that surrounds me.

Behind this gate.

In the castle.

What is going on?

Does he intend to harm her?

Is she safe and sound? Injured? Sequestered?

Because Amelia is alone…

Not with Alex Karev, heir, and privileged donor of the singer’s foundation.

But with the man who has been harassing her for months.

The author of the threats, destabilizations which have marked these last months.

The crazy who inscribed this veil of terror and anguish that now dresses the singer’s face and eyes.

The monster, responsible for the dramas that clouded her life…

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. Have a great week 💛

#greysanatomy #fanfic #omelia #omelia fanfiction #omeliafics #amelia shepherd #owen x amelia #amelia x owen #Owen Hunt #alex karev #bodyguard

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ansgar-martinsson · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Intentions - Part 8

Her body against his, her voice, her breath on his lips, her long, strong fingers in his hair, the press of her warm, warm, oh so warm and probably wetter than hell oh fuck center against his hard, hard, oh how fucking hard so hard it hurts cock, her words, oh Christ. Her words, her flesh, everything about her, everything Joline had wiped his mind clear away, sent his brain to that limbic, primal place, that place where every axon and dendrite of his frontal lobe was shut down in favour of those few centimeters of brain matter that controlled his animal, sexual self.

Those few centimeters that, although it had been well exercised, turned over on occasion over the past few years - casual encounter after casual encounter, fuck after fuck - it had not been as jumpstarted and shocked to life as it was in that moment for quite some time.

And oh, it felt so good. So good. So incredibly good.

And thus, it nearly killed Ansgar to shut it down, to push her away. He felt a part of himself, and not just his cock, but probably those very few centimeters of white brain matter themselves, shrivel up as he stiffened in her arms. With an annoyed growl, he wrenched his head away from her oral explorations. He clutched her hard by the arms and shoved her heat off of his, stepping purposefully out of her embrace.

Fucking hell fucking hell!!! Why? Why now? Fucking Joline Fucking Lindberg why do you have to do this?

“What?” she protested. “What is wrong with you?”

Ansgar took a long, steady breath through flared nostrils, as he peered, heavy-eyed down his long, regal nose at her. He let his arms fall to their sides and stood taller, his shoulders rigid, his head tipped slightly back. “I will give you one chance, Froken Lindberg….”

“Oh, it’s back to Froken Lindberg now, is it?”

He continued, ignoring her interjection. He lifted a finger instructively. “I will give you one chance to take that back.” Before she could speak again, he continued, raising his voice slightly, but still keeping his tone even, low… dangerous. “I told you I was very good at compartmentalizing,” he said. “Separating business from pleasure. I will tell you right now, Froken Lindberg, that I don’t brook threats or ultimatums in business, and I certainly do not in pleasure either.”

She stared at him, narrow-eyed, and furrow-browed.

“So,” he tipped his head slightly back and quirked a half-smile that did not reach his blazing eyes. “You will take that back.” He looked around the park before bending closer to her, his eyes hardening, the fire within alchemizing them from human sclera into layers of onyx over star sapphire over veined white marble. “You see, I can have any woman I want,” he growled. “Any.”

“Then go get one,” she responded, petulantly, her hands on her hips. Ansgar couldn’t help but notice the shake in her voice and the tremors in her hands… tremors to match the ones vibrating the flesh of his own clenched fists, those he was trying desperately to hide. Her discomfiture, her anger made itself known especially as she pointed to a woman jogging on the nearby path. “Go get her, Casa-fucking-nova. Get that one. Go on. Let me see you. Let me see how you work, lover boy.”

“I don’t want her,” Ansgar seethed, his words a sharp point. “But, as much as I want you, and you know I want you, I will not have you…. Will not,” he corrected, “give myself to you under threat, or under terms that I don’t agree to.”

She squinted at him. “How long as it been?”

“How long has what been?” He shook his head, confused.

“Since she did a runner on you? Your wife?”

Ansgar took a long, harsh breath through his nose. “Two years,” he clipped.

“Then… why do you keep wearing it?”

“I’ve my reasons,” he said.

“Which are?”

He said nothing, but simply stared at her, blinking, swallowing. The words on the edge of his tongue felt thick and heavy, stuck in place.

Because my investors have no idea what’s happened to me.

Because it reminds me of my failures. Because it reminds me that I do not want to fall in love again. Because it… because it gives me security. Because it reminds me of happier times in my life. Because it grounds me. Because it’s helped me move on. Because it’s kept me from doing away with my own life. Because it reminds me that someone, at some time, once… did love me, did truly love me for who I was… or so I’d thought.

“I can’t say.”

“You mean you won’t say,” she corrected.

“Semantics.”

“Fine.” She lifted her chin in defiance and shrugged. “No ring, no me.”

Ansgar stilled, allowing his mask - that old, familiar mask - settle into place. “Fine,” he echoed, at last. He dug into his jacket pocket and with thumb and forefinger fished out the keys to her motorbike. He dangled them in the space between them. “Hold out your hand,” he instructed, as if to a child.

She did as he said, her movements almost automatic.

He dropped the keys into her palm, holding his hand open for a moment before making a fist and bringing it slowly back down to his side. “Go to work, Froken Lindberg,” he droned. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock anyway, you shouldn’t be late, it’s unprofessional.” His expression shifted yet again, the mask taking on the visage of a small, businesslike smile. “I shall see you at nine tomorrow morning at the opera house, and then we have a meeting at ten to go over the preliminary plans for the gala. You should have those calendar entries in your inbox. I suggest you accept them before my assistant pesters you. She can be very persistent, you know.”

She swallowed. “Ansgar – “

“Go to work,” he repeated. “And make sure you’re there for our meetings tomorrow. You don’t want to be in breach of your contract. No, I don’t believe you do. You wouldn’t want me to pull our funding for the gala now, would you?” And with that said, he turned on his heel and strode back toward her bike to retrieve his helmet.

“Is that a threat, Martinsson?”

Ansgar stopped and turned. “No. Unlike you I don’t make threats,” he clipped. “As I said, I compartmentalize. Simply because this,” he gestured between them “doesn’t work out on a personal level, does not mean that we can’t do business together. As I also said, I expect you to take our business together seriously, and if you can’t do that, then we simply won’t do business together anymore. I am not and will not equate one with the other, am I clear?”

“Ansgar, I – “

“Am I clear?”

She nodded, and he did the same, his movements crisp and clear and short. “Very well then. I shall see you tomorrow.” He turned once again and stepped away, reaching her bike in a few long strides and lifting his helmet from the seat.

“Hey! How will you get back?” She called after him.

He hitched his helmet under his arm and continued toward the park’s entrance. He waved his phone in the air as he called over his shoulder. “I’ll walk!”

After a long night of frustration, her vibrator barely satisfying the ache Ansgar awakened in her with a kiss, Joline rolled into work the next morning early, coffee in hand. She didn’t go in early because he ordered it. Despite what he told her to, she actually needed the quiet before the crew reported to work to review some of the logs and plans.

When she arrived at work the day before, after her argument with Ansgar, she got swept up in other things, too many other things to sit with the design plans. She had a tourist group come through to take a tour of the building like they did every day at noon. Anna, Joline’s regular guide, called out with car trouble, so Jo filled in as tour guide. A monumental task it was, imparting facts and figures on the history of the building to a group of semi-interested tourists while her body felt strung out on hormones, arousal and utter frustration.

As the day progressed, her attention was needed on other tasks (booking a traveling musician whose producers couldn’t decide on terms of service to organizing a workshop for some of the grade schools interested in learning how a professional theatre was run), her own personal frustration grew. Without warning, a flash of Ansgar would flit through her mind. The whiskers of his goatee against her lips. The smell of his leathers. The sexy roughened tone of his voice when he said her name in desire. The expert control he held over his toned body. The stiff insistent press of his erection when he held her.

Inevitably, the crushing disappointment that he wouldn’t be the one to experience her next orgasm with her… it sucked! She hated that she wasn’t destined for his bed, that he couldn’t see clear to treat her as an equal… to leave his baggage aside so they could be free to enjoy the hell out of each other.

When she got home that night, she checked on her mother before going to bed without dinner to spend a few hours with her vibrator. To find some relief from an Ansgar-less orgasm… and yet her mind brought him into it with every climax, every clench, every spasm. His tongue, his need, his want to search her for other tastes and tats. Christ!

Hours before any of her backstage crew arrived, Joline alone unearthed a long rectangular rehearsal table from the back of the workshop and moved it out on stage. She spread out the maps and plans from the previous productions to compare to the current set up. Harold offered to help, of course, but without a body there wasn’t much he could do. She was still pouring over it when the first of her crew arrived.

“Jojo-bean,” Georg called from the back of the house. “You bend over again like that, those sprinklers are going to go off. The heat, woman!”

Jo had been bending to stretch across the table to grab the La Boheme plans when she heard his call. She laughed wiggling her arse in his direction, “Have I fired you yet this week?”

Georg, her brother Elias’ best friend from the age of seven, bounded down the aisle. Their relationship had always been less than formal since they too grew up together. “Twice! But don’t let that stop ya. The sound designers have a pool going. Do ya think you’ll make it to seven this week?”

“Give me reason,” she greeted him with a hug, waving to other members of the crew walking down the aisle to the stage.

“How’s mama?”

“Some days are better than others.”

“Whatcha doin’ here?” Georg gestured to the piles of papers, plans and logs.

“Some reps from Martinsson Construction are coming in today to start repairs. I got things out for them to refer to if they need it.”

Georg whistled, “How did you finally pull that off?”

Jo winked, gathering some of the papers she needed to go back to her office. “I can be very persuasive when given the right opportunity. Listen, I need you in here today,” she said lowering her voice. “I have a meeting with one of the executives about the gala and I need you to be my eyes and ears out here, yeah?”

“Of course. Who’d ya land the meeting with, Jojo-bean?”

“Ansgar Martinsson, so everyone needs to be on their best behavior.”

Georg whistled again to give due credit. “CEO. You better go on home then… can’t have the likes of you here.”

Jo turned towards her office, wishing she could, run along home.

*~*~*~*~*~

Anger seethed through her veins as much as it did the day before when she mounted her bike in the park. Feeling every bit the jilted lover, she slammed the kickstand, revved the engine, applied the gas and took off like a rocket, gravel kicked up behind her. She’d spotted Herr Martinsson walking proudly down the main drive into the park. She toyed with the idea of running him over. Unfortunately she knew that she needed him: the gala, the repairs, the little theatre, the commission.

He’d tied her to him, and suddenly the partnership felt more like a sentence than the blessing that she originally thought it to be. Of course, she didn’t have throw herself at him.

When did a casual hookup become so complicated? Was it too much to ask that the man be completely into her before she hopped into bed with him? If in his mind, Herr Martinsson was still married, then to Joline, he was off limits. She wanted to fuck him, but that band on his finger represented that he should be fucking another. She couldn’t stomach it; she wanted someone without obligation to end her sexual frustration.

As she attempted to listen to her voicemails, she recalled what she felt as she sped along the motorway. Her body hummed with Ansgar’s kiss, his passion awakened a sexual appetite she’d never known before. Because of her distraction, she hadn’t heard any of her voicemails, her professional self slow to get to work.

She did, however, pull her shit together by the time the man himself entered her office at the appropriate time. “Herr Martinsson,” she said, rising from her computer chair with a quarter turn. “Thank you for coming.” She offered her hand to shake.

He clipped, “Froken Lindberg.” That was all she got with a stiff handshake.

“Please… do come in. I thought my office would be the best to review the details of the gala.” She tied her hair up in a messy ponytail at the top of her head, stepping around to desk. “I did bring some of the plans from previous productions, for your crew. My staff are in for your direction.”

“The preparation is appreciated,” he intoned flatly, his eyes never leaving her.

“I brought a laptop in for your use,” she waved to the device on her desk across from her that she’d loaded with the schedules. “It’s already signed into wifi. Can I get you anything before we get started? Coffee? Tea? Water? Juice?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” He shed his blazer, and hung it over the back of the computer chair that Jo pointed to for his use. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his white button down with a precision of discipline, and preceded to roll them up to the elbows one by one.

Jo didn’t crawl across her desk, but the thought occurred to her when she saw more skin of the man who had haunted her thoughts. She cleared her throat, plopping down into her chair, toying with her mouse to wake her desktop. “Please tell me where you’d like to begin.”

“New Years’ Eve.”

“What about New Years’ Eve?” she frowned.

“We are going to move the date of the Gala to New Years’ Eve. December 31 of this year. We would sell more tickets, that’s certain. Raise more funds.” He fished into his briefcase and fetched out a MacBook Pro. He crossed to the table beside the window, cleared off an area, and set the computer down, opening it with a flourish. “Let’s start with the scheduling, shall we? I’ve taken your calendars….”

She blinked, slightly shell-shocked. “How did you get my….?”

He interrupted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve taken your calendars and modified them slightly. They were excellent the way they were, but we needed some additions with the new date. I set the list of priorities, and provided you with a delegation system for both your employees and mine, as well as a number of outside vendors from my approved list. The work will proceed as planned on the repairs, those should be done within the month. If we follow this course, we will be ready to go by December 30. I’ve already set my event staff on some of these… ah… tasks.”

He cringed inwardly at the small slip in his decorum, but he couldn’t help it. And here it had been so good so far. Even the removal of his jacket had been pain-free. But, as he twisted his torso, the battered muscles around his ribs caught, tightened, and screamed in protest. He rubbed at them, all the while skilfully keeping the mask of businesslike ennui on his face.

For the most part…

She noticed. Of course she’d notice.

She frowned. “You get mugged on your little walk home, or something?”

He rolled his eyes and peered side-eyed at her. “No,” he rest on the edge of the table, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. Yet, he kept his back straight, his shoulders square - damned if he would let her see his pain. “I went to the gym. It’s near the observatory. After that, my driver took me back to Sturekatten where I picked up my Tesla.”

“Oh. Your driver,” she teased.

“Yes,” he replied. “My driver.”

She swiveled her chair. “Wow. You have your very own driver,” she mocked. “I guess I never pegged you for the spoilt executive type, Mister Rockefeller.”

Ansgar gave her a wilting look. “It’s for risk management purposes,” he said. “Liability, safety, and all that. Prevention of exposure to the company should there be an accident involving the CEO. But yes, it can be quite… convenient at times. But you mustn’t concern yourself with that.” He gave her a throwaway gesture, and the movement made his side flare once again. He winced slightly, and sucked a small amount of air in through his teeth.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Nothing is wrong with me.”

“Obviously there is something wrong with you. You’re hissing like an angry cat.” She stood and stepped around her desk to stand before him. Like him, she rested her arse on the edge and crossed her legs beneath her.

“I am not hissing,” he protested.

“Yeah, you are,” she nodded, her eyebrows raised. “What exactly were you doing at the gym?”

“Ring fighting,” he clipped. He dropped his hands and rest them on the edge of the table, relieving some of the pressure on his torso. “Muay Thai, if you must know.”

“Against someone else?”

“Yes. Of course I fought against someone else. How else would you do it?”

“Apparently that someone else was better than you.” she teased.

“No,” he snarled. “He was not better than me.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then… what happened?”

“Nothing happened.” He spoke through clenched teeth and a plastered smile, his eyes flaring with sardonic annoyance.

“You got knocked on your arse, didn’t you?” She quirked a satisfied grin as she reached up and adjusted her ponytail. “Yeah, I’ll bet you did.”

Damn her.

He sighed and fixed her with a long, minatory glare.

Yes, I did. All right? I took a thrusting front kick square in the ribs. I didn’t block. I didn’t dodge. I went down howling, okay? My body is streaked black and blue like a Picasso painting and it still hurts like a mother fuck.

Why?

Because I let my guard down. Because my cock was pounding like a freight train in my shorts. Because I kept imagining you riding on it, your flesh around it. Because my lips still throbbed from your lips. Because I fought like a mindless berserker with trying to forget you. Because I’m a stubborn bastard. Because I’m a fucking idiot…

… Because I want you and I can’t get you off my God damn mind, Joline!

Are you happy now?

“Is this conversation absolutely necessary? No, I don’t believe it is.” He rose from the table and pointed at the computer. “We’ve some very tight deadlines to meet if we’re to make this gala the success you want it to be.”

Joline ignored his diversionary distraction, the opportunity to bust his balls about having his ass handed to him too rich. It was too good, and in her estimation warranted. “So this gym… I’m assuming that you pay them, yes?”

Ansgar almost… pouted when he hadn’t sidetracked her. She couldn’t know that he went to blow off steam because of her. “My trainer is paid very well for his services, if you must know.”

She nodded, tucking her lips between her teeth to hide her glee. She pushed off the table and damn-near skipped back to her desk. She’d tried to keep it professional but he presented it, laid it at her feet and she couldn’t resist. “Could’ve saved yourself some money, I would’ve done it myself for free. I mean… I already had a head start.”

Clearly, he didn’t approve. He scowled and stared her down into her chair behind her desk. “I trust and pay the professionals.” His emphasis abundantly clear.

Her glee instantly turned to hatred. This was her sentence. She’d signed the papers to work with him, and she’d stepped in the shit when she tried to seduce him. Doomed. And yet, she still found him so fucking sexy, and she hated herself for it. She still craved him, drawn to him, could barely resist him.

Her office walls closed in on her, an oppressive atmosphere with his massive presence in the room. Her office was in the oldest part of the building, near the little theatre. It had once been a detention center for criminals awaiting trial in the 1880s before it was converted into a public space for assemblies before opening as a theatre in 1898. It was more a prison, her own personal hell.

He’d picked at the one wound that hurt the most, which stung her deeply, out of all the things he’d said. He implied more than once that she was less than professional, and yet he’d invited it. He’d demanded it of her to use against her when he was pissed off.

“Fine, Herr Martinsson,” she slammed her finger on the mouse, startling her computer from its screensaver. She turned her attention to the altered plans for the gala and her stolen and retooled schedules. All that had been her baby, her celebration for the new season. Again, she felt like she’d failed. “May I call you a pig-headed terrorist?”

“No, you may not.” He got to her and he knew he had.

“Please explain how a soiree for the season opener, in other words, the gala, has been moved four months into the season,” Jo sat erect in her chair, ready to argue her point. “It’s meant to encourage season ticket holders to pledge more money and become sponsors.”

Ansgar didn’t let his oversight trip him up or Jo’s withering look put him off. “We’ll plan something better for the opening… a black tie and gown event. But the gala on New Year’s Eve makes more sense for filtering funds to the little theatre, that’s when we’ll need more money coming in.” He sent her a skype message to show her the budgetary needs for the renovations. “Take a look.” He nodded at her screen.

Jo pulled and tugged at her hair sticking out the top of her head. A pineapple, she thought to herself, I must look like a pineapple with all the sticking out branches. Through her silly bout with self-consciousness, she accepted the message and reviewed the spreadsheet from Ansgar G Martinsson. She sighed in concession, “Very well. But you just gave me a mountainous amount of work to do to get this new event planned in less than four weeks.”

He was about to remind her that he was there to help, that he’d lend a hand and his people. Just as he opened his mouth to do so—

CCCRRRAAACCCKKK!!!

A massive sharp sound ripped through her office from above.

Then a thunder crash boomed.

Ansgar shot to his feet, staring at the ceiling, “What the fuck—?”

Jo plowed through the door to her office, banging the door against the corridor. She starred at the ceiling too, training her ears to listen.

What sounded like bugs running along the steel piping trickled from above. It rolled over her head towards the little theatre at the end of the corridor.

Ansgar stood behind her, his face too turned to the ceiling. “What the hell is that?”

“You tell me, Mister Engineer,” she griped, following the sound.

He let her have that one. He’d made her feel like shit about her job twice already. He gave her that one.

At first her steps were slow, but as she got further down the sculpted marble hallway, she jogged until she full out ran. The sound got louder the further along, when the rain came. The sprinkler in the hall clicked on and water sprayed from above.

“SHIT!!!!!” Jo flung the double doors to the little theatre open. What she found, chaos, complete and total destruction. A large pipe dangled from the ceiling, a distressed break at least a foot long dumped gallons of water into the seats. Water ran down all sides as she peered in. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Fast on his feet, Ansgar dialed emergency responders, barking orders and directions in Swedish.

Jo screamed over him, “I know where the valve shut off is!”

“JOLINE, NO!!!!”

But it was too late, she sprinted down the aisle, splooshing water as she went.

“There are unions for that!!!”

Jo couldn’t listen. She had to stop that destruction. She couldn’t wait; there was no time for that. She catapulted onto the stage, taking a flying leap from the arm of a chair in the audience, springing forward. She landed on her feet and didn’t lose a beat in navigating her way through the backstage to the valve to shut off the water.

The large shut off valve measured about a foot wide and Jo dove at it, throwing her entire body weight into shutting it off. She strained and struggled, the thing barely moving with all the effort she put into it. “DAMN YOU!!!” she panted. “MOVE!”

The thing didn’t budge after one squeak to the right, she almost felt like crying, something she didn’t do. Then she felt him, Ansgar had followed her. He lined his body with hers, his arms cocooning her body, his hands framing hers on the wheel. Together they managed to get the damned thing to rotate and the seemingly endless waterfalls finally stopped.

The echo of the destruction froze them in place, running water gushing off the stage. Jo couldn’t move, afraid to look, petrified to see. And yet, Ansgar was there, pressed against her back, just standing with her, drenched to the skin as she was.

As the events of the last few minutes settled over her, she turned to him. She didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, but pulled him into a fervent kiss of gratitude, of longing, of attraction.

Because he had been there for her when she needed it most.

#the best intentions

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